THE VISION

OF

HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE

BY DANTE ALIGHIERI

TRANSLATED BY

THE REV. H. F. CARY, M. A. 

PARADISE

Part 3

CANTO XXII

Astounded, to the guardian of my stepsI turn'd me, like the chill, who always runsThither for succour, where he trusteth most, And she was like the mother, who her sonBeholding pale and breathless, with her voiceSoothes him, and he is cheer'd; for thus she spake, Soothing me: "Know'st not thou, thou art in heav'n?And know'st not thou, whatever is in heav'n, Is holy, and that nothing there is doneBut is done zealously and well? Deem now, What change in thee the song, and what my smilehad wrought, since thus the shout had pow'r to move thee. In which couldst thou have understood their prayers, The vengeance were already known to thee, Which thou must witness ere thy mortal hour, The sword of heav'n is not in haste to smite, Nor yet doth linger, save unto his seeming, Who in desire or fear doth look for it. But elsewhere now l bid thee turn thy view;So shalt thou many a famous spirit behold. "Mine eyes directing, as she will'd, I sawA hundred little spheres, that fairer grewBy interchange of splendour. I remain'd, As one, who fearful of o'er-much presuming, Abates in him the keenness of desire, Nor dares to question, when amid those pearls, One largest and most lustrous onward drew, That it might yield contentment to my wish;And from within it these the sounds I heard. 

"If thou, like me, beheldst the charityThat burns amongst us, what thy mind conceives, Were utter'd. But that, ere the lofty boundThou reach, expectance may not weary thee, I will make answer even to the thought, Which thou hast such respect of. In old days, That mountain, at whose side Cassino rests, Was on its height frequented by a raceDeceived and ill dispos'd: and I it was, Who thither carried first the name of Him, Who brought the soul-subliming truth to man. And such a speeding grace shone over me, That from their impious worship I reclaim'dThe dwellers round about, who with the worldWere in delusion lost. These other flames, The spirits of men contemplative, were allEnliven'd by that warmth, whose kindly forceGives birth to flowers and fruits of holiness. Here is Macarius; Romoaldo here:And here my brethren, who their steps refrain'dWithin the cloisters, and held firm their heart. "

I answ'ring, thus; "Thy gentle words and kind, And this the cheerful semblance, I beholdNot unobservant, beaming in ye all, Have rais'd assurance in me, wakening itFull-blossom'd in my bosom, as a roseBefore the sun, when the consummate flowerHas spread to utmost amplitude. Of theeTherefore entreat I, father! to declareIf I may gain such favour, as to gazeUpon thine image, by no covering veil'd. "

"Brother!" he thus rejoin'd, "in the last sphereExpect completion of thy lofty aim, For there on each desire completion waits, And there on mine: where every aim is foundPerfect, entire, and for fulfillment ripe. There all things are as they have ever been:For space is none to bound, nor pole divides, Our ladder reaches even to that clime, And so at giddy distance mocks thy view. Thither the Patriarch Jacob saw it stretchIts topmost round, when it appear'd to himWith angels laden. But to mount it nowNone lifts his foot from earth: and hence my ruleIs left a profitless stain upon the leaves;The walls, for abbey rear'd, turned into dens, The cowls to sacks choak'd up with musty meal. Foul usury doth not more lift itselfAgainst God's pleasure, than that fruit which makesThe hearts of monks so wanton: for whate'erIs in the church's keeping, all pertains. To such, as sue for heav'n's sweet sake, and notTo those who in respect of kindred claim, Or on more vile allowance. Mortal fleshIs grown so dainty, good beginnings last notFrom the oak's birth, unto the acorn's setting. His convent Peter founded without goldOr silver; I with pray'rs and fasting mine;And Francis his in meek humility. And if thou note the point, whence each proceeds, Then look what it hath err'd to, thou shalt findThe white grown murky. Jordan was turn'd back;And a less wonder, then the refluent sea, May at God's pleasure work amendment here. "

So saying, to his assembly back he drew:And they together cluster'd into one, Then all roll'd upward like an eddying wind. 

The sweet dame beckon'd me to follow them:And, by that influence only, so prevail'dOver my nature, that no natural motion, Ascending or descending here below, Had, as I mounted, with my pennon vied. 

So, reader, as my hope is to returnUnto the holy triumph, for the whichI ofttimes wail my sins, and smite my breast, Thou hadst been longer drawing out and thrustingThy finger in the fire, than I was, ereThe sign, that followeth Taurus, I beheld, And enter'd its precinct. O glorious stars!O light impregnate with exceeding virtue!To whom whate'er of genius lifteth meAbove the vulgar, grateful I refer;With ye the parent of all mortal lifeArose and set, when I did first inhaleThe Tuscan air; and afterward, when graceVouchsaf'd me entrance to the lofty wheelThat in its orb impels ye, fate decreedMy passage at your clime. To you my soulDevoutly sighs, for virtue even nowTo meet the hard emprize that draws me on. 

"Thou art so near the sum of blessedness, "Said Beatrice, "that behooves thy kenBe vigilant and clear. And, to this end, Or even thou advance thee further, henceLook downward, and contemplate, what a worldAlready stretched under our feet there lies:So as thy heart may, in its blithest mood, Present itself to the triumphal throng, Which through the' etherial concave comes rejoicing. "

I straight obey'd; and with mine eye return'dThrough all the seven spheres, and saw this globeSo pitiful of semblance, that perforceIt moved my smiles: and him in truth I holdFor wisest, who esteems it least: whose thoughtsElsewhere are fix'd, him worthiest call and best. I saw the daughter of Latona shineWithout the shadow, whereof late I deem'dThat dense and rare were cause. Here I sustain'dThe visage, Hyperion! of thy sun;And mark'd, how near him with their circle, roundMove Maia and Dione; here discern'dJove's tempering 'twixt his sire and son; and henceTheir changes and their various aspectsDistinctly scann'd. Nor might I not descryOf all the seven, how bulky each, how swift;Nor of their several distances not learn. This petty area (o'er the which we strideSo fiercely), as along the eternal twinsI wound my way, appear'd before me all, Forth from the havens stretch'd unto the hills. Then to the beauteous eyes mine eyes return'd. 

CANTO XXIII

E'en as the bird, who midst the leafy bowerHas, in her nest, sat darkling through the night, With her sweet brood, impatient to descryTheir wished looks, and to bring home their food, In the fond quest unconscious of her toil:She, of the time prevenient, on the spray, That overhangs their couch, with wakeful gazeExpects the sun; nor ever, till the dawn, Removeth from the east her eager ken;So stood the dame erect, and bent her glanceWistfully on that region, where the sunAbateth most his speed; that, seeing herSuspense and wand'ring, I became as one, In whom desire is waken'd, and the hopeOf somewhat new to come fills with delight. 

Short space ensued; I was not held, I say, Long in expectance, when I saw the heav'nWax more and more resplendent; and, "Behold, "Cried Beatrice, "the triumphal hostsOf Christ, and all the harvest reap'd at lengthOf thy ascending up these spheres. " Meseem'd, That, while she spake her image all did burn, And in her eyes such fullness was of joy, And I am fain to pass unconstrued by. 

As in the calm full moon, when Trivia smiles, In peerless beauty, 'mid th' eternal nympus, That paint through all its gulfs the blue profoundIn bright pre-eminence so saw I there, O'er million lamps a sun, from whom all drewTheir radiance as from ours the starry train:And through the living light so lustrous glow'dThe substance, that my ken endur'd it not. 

O Beatrice! sweet and precious guide!Who cheer'd me with her comfortable words!"Against the virtue, that o'erpow'reth thee, Avails not to resist. Here is the might, And here the wisdom, which did open layThe path, that had been yearned for so long, Betwixt the heav'n and earth. " Like to the fire, That, in a cloud imprison'd doth break outExpansive, so that from its womb enlarg'd, It falleth against nature to the ground;Thus in that heav'nly banqueting my soulOutgrew herself; and, in the transport lost. Holds now remembrance none of what she was. 

"Ope thou thine eyes, and mark me: thou hast seenThings, that empower thee to sustain my smile. "

I was as one, when a forgotten dreamDoth come across him, and he strives in vainTo shape it in his fantasy again, Whenas that gracious boon was proffer'd me, Which never may be cancel'd from the book, Wherein the past is written. Now were allThose tongues to sound, that have on sweetest milkOf Polyhymnia and her sisters fedAnd fatten'd, not with all their help to boot, Unto the thousandth parcel of the truth, My song might shadow forth that saintly smile, flow merely in her saintly looks it wrought. And with such figuring of ParadiseThe sacred strain must leap, like one, that meetsA sudden interruption to his road. But he, who thinks how ponderous the theme, And that 't is lain upon a mortal shoulder, May pardon, if it tremble with the burden. The track, our ventrous keel must furrow, brooksNo unribb'd pinnace, no self-sparing pilot. 

"Why doth my face, " said Beatrice, "thusEnamour thee, as that thou dost not turnUnto the beautiful garden, blossomingBeneath the rays of Christ? Here is the rose, Wherein the word divine was made incarnate;And here the lilies, by whose odour knownThe way of life was follow'd. " Prompt I heardHer bidding, and encounter once againThe strife of aching vision. As erewhile, Through glance of sunlight, stream'd through broken cloud, Mine eyes a flower-besprinkled mead have seen, Though veil'd themselves in shade; so saw I thereLegions of splendours, on whom burning raysShed lightnings from above, yet saw I notThe fountain whence they flow'd. O gracious virtue!Thou, whose broad stamp is on them, higher upThou didst exalt thy glory to give roomTo my o'erlabour'd sight: when at the nameOf that fair flower, whom duly I invokeBoth morn and eve, my soul, with all her mightCollected, on the goodliest ardour fix'd. And, as the bright dimensions of the starIn heav'n excelling, as once here on earthWere, in my eyeballs lively portray'd, Lo! from within the sky a cresset fell, Circling in fashion of a diadem, And girt the star, and hov'ring round it wheel'd. 

Whatever melody sounds sweetest here, And draws the spirit most unto itself, Might seem a rent cloud when it grates the thunder, Compar'd unto the sounding of that lyre, Wherewith the goodliest sapphire, that inlaysThe floor of heav'n, was crown'd. "Angelic LoveI am, who thus with hov'ring flight enwheelThe lofty rapture from that womb inspir'd, Where our desire did dwell: and round thee so, Lady of Heav'n! will hover; long as thouThy Son shalt follow, and diviner joyShall from thy presence gild the highest sphere. "

Such close was to the circling melody:And, as it ended, all the other lightsTook up the strain, and echoed Mary's name. 

The robe, that with its regal folds enwrapsThe world, and with the nearer breath of GodDoth burn and quiver, held so far retir'dIts inner hem and skirting over us, That yet no glimmer of its majestyHad stream'd unto me: therefore were mine eyesUnequal to pursue the crowned flame, That rose and sought its natal seed of fire;And like to babe, that stretches forth its armsFor very eagerness towards the breast, After the milk is taken; so outstretch'dTheir wavy summits all the fervent band, Through zealous love to Mary: then in viewThere halted, and "Regina Coeli" sangSo sweetly, the delight hath left me never. 

O what o'erflowing plenty is up-pil'dIn those rich-laden coffers, which belowSow'd the good seed, whose harvest now they keep. 

Here are the treasures tasted, that with tearsWere in the Babylonian exile won, When gold had fail'd them. Here in synod highOf ancient council with the new conven'd, Under the Son of Mary and of God, Victorious he his mighty triumph holds, To whom the keys of glory were assign'd. 

CANTO XXIV

"O ye! in chosen fellowship advanc'dTo the great supper of the blessed Lamb, Whereon who feeds hath every wish fulfill'd!If to this man through God's grace be vouchsaf'dForetaste of that, which from your table falls, Or ever death his fated term prescribe;Be ye not heedless of his urgent will;But may some influence of your sacred dewsSprinkle him. Of the fount ye alway drink, Whence flows what most he craves. " Beatrice spake, And the rejoicing spirits, like to spheresOn firm-set poles revolving, trail'd a blazeOf comet splendour; and as wheels, that windTheir circles in the horologe, so workThe stated rounds, that to th' observant eyeThe first seems still, and, as it flew, the last;E'en thus their carols weaving variously, They by the measure pac'd, or swift, or slow, Made me to rate the riches of their joy. 

From that, which I did note in beauty mostExcelling, saw I issue forth a flameSo bright, as none was left more goodly there. Round Beatrice thrice it wheel'd about, With so divine a song, that fancy's earRecords it not; and the pen passeth onAnd leaves a blank: for that our mortal speech, Nor e'en the inward shaping of the brain, Hath colours fine enough to trace such folds. 

"O saintly sister mine! thy prayer devoutIs with so vehement affection urg'd, Thou dost unbind me from that beauteous sphere. "

Such were the accents towards my lady breath'dFrom that blest ardour, soon as it was stay'd:To whom she thus: "O everlasting lightOf him, within whose mighty grasp our LordDid leave the keys, which of this wondrous blissHe bare below! tent this man, as thou wilt, With lighter probe or deep, touching the faith, By the which thou didst on the billows walk. If he in love, in hope, and in belief, Be steadfast, is not hid from thee: for thouHast there thy ken, where all things are beheldIn liveliest portraiture. But since true faithHas peopled this fair realm with citizens, Meet is, that to exalt its glory more, Thou in his audience shouldst thereof discourse. "

Like to the bachelor, who arms himself, And speaks not, till the master have propos'dThe question, to approve, and not to end it;So I, in silence, arm'd me, while she spake, Summoning up each argument to aid;As was behooveful for such questioner, And such profession: "As good Christian ought, Declare thee, What is faith?" Whereat I rais'dMy forehead to the light, whence this had breath'd, Then turn'd to Beatrice, and in her looksApproval met, that from their inmost fountI should unlock the waters. "May the grace, That giveth me the captain of the churchFor confessor, " said I, "vouchsafe to meApt utterance for my thoughts!" then added: "Sire!E'en as set down by the unerring styleOf thy dear brother, who with thee conspir'dTo bring Rome in unto the way of life, Faith of things hop'd is substance, and the proofOf things not seen; and herein doth consistMethinks its essence, "--"Rightly hast thou deem'd, "Was answer'd: "if thou well discern, why firstHe hath defin'd it, substance, and then proof. "

"The deep things, " I replied, "which here I scanDistinctly, are below from mortal eyeSo hidden, they have in belief aloneTheir being, on which credence hope sublimeIs built; and therefore substance it intends. And inasmuch as we must needs inferFrom such belief our reasoning, all respectTo other view excluded, hence of proofTh' intention is deriv'd. " Forthwith I heard:"If thus, whate'er by learning men attain, Were understood, the sophist would want roomTo exercise his wit. " So breath'd the flameOf love: then added: "Current is the coinThou utter'st, both in weight and in alloy. But tell me, if thou hast it in thy purse. "

"Even so glittering and so round, " said I, "I not a whit misdoubt of its assay. "

Next issued from the deep imbosom'd splendour:"Say, whence the costly jewel, on the whichIs founded every virtue, came to thee. ""The flood, " I answer'd, "from the Spirit of GodRain'd down upon the ancient bond and new, --Here is the reas'ning, that convinceth meSo feelingly, each argument besideSeems blunt and forceless in comparison. "Then heard I: "Wherefore holdest thou that each, The elder proposition and the new, Which so persuade thee, are the voice of heav'n?"

"The works, that follow'd, evidence their truth;"I answer'd: "Nature did not make for theseThe iron hot, or on her anvil mould them. ""Who voucheth to thee of the works themselves, "Was the reply, "that they in very deedAre that they purport? None hath sworn so to thee. "

"That all the world, " said I, "should have been turn'dTo Christian, and no miracle been wrought, Would in itself be such a miracle, The rest were not an hundredth part so great. E'en thou wentst forth in poverty and hungerTo set the goodly plant, that from the vine, It once was, now is grown unsightly bramble. "That ended, through the high celestial courtResounded all the spheres. "Praise we one God!"In song of most unearthly melody. And when that Worthy thus, from branch to branch, Examining, had led me, that we nowApproach'd the topmost bough, he straight resum'd;"The grace, that holds sweet dalliance with thy soul, So far discreetly hath thy lips unclos'dThat, whatsoe'er has past them, I commend. Behooves thee to express, what thou believ'st, The next, and whereon thy belief hath grown. "

"O saintly sire and spirit!" I began, "Who seest that, which thou didst so believe, As to outstrip feet younger than thine own, Toward the sepulchre? thy will is here, That I the tenour of my creed unfold;And thou the cause of it hast likewise ask'd. And I reply: I in one God believe, One sole eternal Godhead, of whose loveAll heav'n is mov'd, himself unmov'd the while. Nor demonstration physical alone, Or more intelligential and abstruse, Persuades me to this faith; but from that truthIt cometh to me rather, which is shedThrough Moses, the rapt Prophets, and the Psalms. The Gospel, and that ye yourselves did write, When ye were gifted of the Holy Ghost. In three eternal Persons I believe, Essence threefold and one, mysterious leagueOf union absolute, which, many a time, The word of gospel lore upon my mindImprints: and from this germ, this firstling spark, The lively flame dilates, and like heav'n's starDoth glitter in me. " As the master hears, Well pleas'd, and then enfoldeth in his armsThe servant, who hath joyful tidings brought, And having told the errand keeps his peace;Thus benediction uttering with songSoon as my peace I held, compass'd me thriceThe apostolic radiance, whose behestHad op'd lips; so well their answer pleas'd. 

CANTO XXV

If e'er the sacred poem that hath madeBoth heav'n and earth copartners in its toil, And with lean abstinence, through many a year, Faded my brow, be destin'd to prevailOver the cruelty, which bars me forthOf the fair sheep-fold, where a sleeping lambThe wolves set on and fain had worried me, With other voice and fleece of other grainI shall forthwith return, and, standing upAt my baptismal font, shall claim the wreathDue to the poet's temples: for I thereFirst enter'd on the faith which maketh soulsAcceptable to God: and, for its sake, Peter had then circled my forehead thus. 

Next from the squadron, whence had issued forthThe first fruit of Christ's vicars on the earth, Toward us mov'd a light, at view whereofMy Lady, full of gladness, spake to me:"Lo! lo! behold the peer of mickle might, That makes Falicia throng'd with visitants!"

As when the ring-dove by his mate alights, In circles each about the other wheels, And murmuring cooes his fondness; thus saw IOne, of the other great and glorious prince, With kindly greeting hail'd, extolling bothTheir heavenly banqueting; but when an endWas to their gratulation, silent, each, Before me sat they down, so burning bright, I could not look upon them. Smiling then, Beatrice spake: "O life in glory shrin'd!"Who didst the largess of our kingly courtSet down with faithful pen! let now thy voiceOf hope the praises in this height resound. For thou, who figur'st them in shapes, as clear, As Jesus stood before thee, well can'st speak them. "

"Lift up thy head, and be thou strong in trust:For that, which hither from the mortal worldArriveth, must be ripen'd in our beam. "

Such cheering accents from the second flameAssur'd me; and mine eyes I lifted upUnto the mountains that had bow'd them lateWith over-heavy burden. "Sith our LiegeWills of his grace that thou, or ere thy death, In the most secret council, with his lordsShouldst be confronted, so that having view'dThe glories of our court, thou mayst therewithThyself, and all who hear, invigorateWith hope, that leads to blissful end; declare, What is that hope, how it doth flourish in thee, And whence thou hadst it?" Thus proceeding still, The second light: and she, whose gentle loveMy soaring pennons in that lofty flightEscorted, thus preventing me, rejoin'd:Among her sons, not one more full of hope, Hath the church militant: so 't is of himRecorded in the sun, whose liberal orbEnlighteneth all our tribe: and ere his termOf warfare, hence permitted he is come, From Egypt to Jerusalem, to see. The other points, both which thou hast inquir'd, Not for more knowledge, but that he may tellHow dear thou holdst the virtue, these to himLeave I; for he may answer thee with ease, And without boasting, so God give him grace. "Like to the scholar, practis'd in his task, Who, willing to give proof of diligence, Seconds his teacher gladly, "Hope, " said I, "Is of the joy to come a sure expectance, Th' effect of grace divine and merit preceding. This light from many a star visits my heart, But flow'd to me the first from him, who sangThe songs of the Supreme, himself supremeAmong his tuneful brethren. 'Let all hopeIn thee, ' so speak his anthem, 'who have knownThy name;' and with my faith who know not that?From thee, the next, distilling from his spring, In thine epistle, fell on me the dropsSo plenteously, that I on others showerThe influence of their dew. " Whileas I spake, A lamping, as of quick and vollied lightning, Within the bosom of that mighty sheen, Play'd tremulous; then forth these accents breath'd:"Love for the virtue which attended meE'en to the palm, and issuing from the field, Glows vigorous yet within me, and inspiresTo ask of thee, whom also it delights;What promise thou from hope in chief dost win. "

"Both scriptures, new and ancient, " I reply'd;"Propose the mark (which even now I view)For souls belov'd of God. Isaias saith, That, in their own land, each one must be cladIn twofold vesture; and their proper lands this delicious life. In terms more full, And clearer far, thy brother hath set forthThis revelation to us, where he tellsOf the white raiment destin'd to the saints. "And, as the words were ending, from above, "They hope in thee, " first heard we cried: wheretoAnswer'd the carols all. Amidst them next, A light of so clear amplitude emerg'd, That winter's month were but a single day, Were such a crystal in the Cancer's sign. 

Like as a virgin riseth up, and goes, And enters on the mazes of the dance, Though gay, yet innocent of worse intent, Than to do fitting honour to the bride;So I beheld the new effulgence comeUnto the other two, who in a ringWheel'd, as became their rapture. In the danceAnd in the song it mingled. And the dameHeld on them fix'd her looks: e'en as the spouseSilent and moveless. "This is he, who layUpon the bosom of our pelican:This he, into whose keeping from the crossThe mighty charge was given. " Thus she spake, Yet therefore naught the more remov'd her SightFrom marking them, or ere her words began, Or when they clos'd. As he, who looks intent, And strives with searching ken, how he may seeThe sun in his eclipse, and, through desireOf seeing, loseth power of sight: so IPeer'd on that last resplendence, while I heard:"Why dazzlest thou thine eyes in seeking that, Which here abides not? Earth my body is, In earth: and shall be, with the rest, so long, As till our number equal the decreeOf the Most High. The two that have ascended, In this our blessed cloister, shine aloneWith the two garments. So report below. "

As when, for ease of labour, or to shunSuspected peril at a whistle's breath, The oars, erewhile dash'd frequent in the wave, All rest; the flamy circle at that voiceSo rested, and the mingling sound was still, Which from the trinal band soft-breathing rose. I turn'd, but ah! how trembled in my thought, When, looking at my side again to seeBeatrice, I descried her not, althoughNot distant, on the happy coast she stood. 

CANTO XXVI

With dazzled eyes, whilst wond'ring I remain'd, Forth of the beamy flame which dazzled me, Issued a breath, that in attention muteDetain'd me; and these words it spake: "'T were well, That, long as till thy vision, on my formO'erspent, regain its virtue, with discourseThou compensate the brief delay. Say then, Beginning, to what point thy soul aspires:

"And meanwhile rest assur'd, that sight in theeIs but o'erpowered a space, not wholly quench'd:Since thy fair guide and lovely, in her lookHath potency, the like to that which dweltIn Ananias' hand. " I answering thus:"Be to mine eyes the remedy or lateOr early, at her pleasure; for they wereThe gates, at which she enter'd, and did lightHer never dying fire. My wishes hereAre centered; in this palace is the weal, That Alpha and Omega, is to allThe lessons love can read me. " Yet againThe voice which had dispers'd my fear, when daz'dWith that excess, to converse urg'd, and spake:"Behooves thee sift more narrowly thy terms, And say, who level'd at this scope thy bow. "

"Philosophy, " said I, ''hath arguments, And this place hath authority enough'T' imprint in me such love: for, of constraint, Good, inasmuch as we perceive the good, Kindles our love, and in degree the more, As it comprises more of goodness in 't. The essence then, where such advantage is, That each good, found without it, is naught elseBut of his light the beam, must needs attractThe soul of each one, loving, who the truthDiscerns, on which this proof is built. Such truthLearn I from him, who shows me the first loveOf all intelligential substancesEternal: from his voice I learn, whose wordIs truth, that of himself to Moses saith, 'I will make all my good before thee pass. 'Lastly from thee I learn, who chief proclaim'st, E'en at the outset of thy heralding, In mortal ears the mystery of heav'n. "

"Through human wisdom, and th' authorityTherewith agreeing, " heard I answer'd, "keepThe choicest of thy love for God. But say, If thou yet other cords within thee feel'stThat draw thee towards him; so that thou reportHow many are the fangs, with which this loveIs grappled to thy soul. " I did not miss, To what intent the eagle of our LordHad pointed his demand; yea noted wellTh' avowal, which he led to; and resum'd:"All grappling bonds, that knit the heart to God, Confederate to make fast our clarity. The being of the world, and mine own being, The death which he endur'd that I should live, And that, which all the faithful hope, as I do, To the foremention'd lively knowledge join'd, Have from the sea of ill love sav'd my bark, And on the coast secur'd it of the right. As for the leaves, that in the garden bloom, My love for them is great, as is the goodDealt by th' eternal hand, that tends them all. "

I ended, and therewith a song most sweetRang through the spheres; and "Holy, holy, holy, "Accordant with the rest my lady sang. And as a sleep is broken and dispers'dThrough sharp encounter of the nimble light, With the eye's spirit running forth to meetThe ray, from membrane on to the membrane urg'd;And the upstartled wight loathes that he sees;So, at his sudden waking, he misdeemsOf all around him, till assurance waitsOn better judgment: thus the saintly cameDrove from before mine eyes the motes away, With the resplendence of her own, that castTheir brightness downward, thousand miles below. Whence I my vision, clearer shall before, Recover'd; and, well nigh astounded, ask'dOf a fourth light, that now with us I saw. 

And Beatrice: "The first diving soul, That ever the first virtue fram'd, admiresWithin these rays his Maker. " Like the leaf, That bows its lithe top till the blast is blown;By its own virtue rear'd then stands aloof;So I, the whilst she said, awe-stricken bow'd. Then eagerness to speak embolden'd me;And I began: "O fruit! that wast aloneMature, when first engender'd! Ancient father!That doubly seest in every wedded brideThy daughter by affinity and blood!Devoutly as I may, I pray thee holdConverse with me: my will thou seest; and I, More speedily to hear thee, tell it not. "

It chanceth oft some animal bewrays, Through the sleek cov'ring of his furry coat. The fondness, that stirs in him and conformsHis outside seeming to the cheer within:And in like guise was Adam's spirit mov'dTo joyous mood, that through the covering shone, Transparent, when to pleasure me it spake:"No need thy will be told, which I untoldBetter discern, than thou whatever thingThou holdst most certain: for that will I seeIn Him, who is truth's mirror, and HimselfParhelion unto all things, and naught elseTo him. This wouldst thou hear; how long since GodPlac'd me high garden, from whose houndsShe led me up in this ladder, steep and long;What space endur'd my season of delight;Whence truly sprang the wrath that banish'd me;And what the language, which I spake and fram'dNot that I tasted of the tree, my son, Was in itself the cause of that exile, But only my transgressing of the markAssign'd me. There, whence at thy lady's hestThe Mantuan mov'd him, still was I debarr'dThis council, till the sun had made complete, Four thousand and three hundred rounds and twice, His annual journey; and, through every lightIn his broad pathway, saw I him return, Thousand save sev'nty times, the whilst I dweltUpon the earth. The language I did useWas worn away, or ever Nimrod's raceTheir unaccomplishable work began. For naught, that man inclines to, ere was lasting, Left by his reason free, and variable, As is the sky that sways him. That he speaks, Is nature's prompting: whether thus or thus, She leaves to you, as ye do most affect it. Ere I descended into hell's abyss, El was the name on earth of the Chief Good, Whose joy enfolds me: Eli then 't was call'dAnd so beseemeth: for, in mortals, useIs as the leaf upon the bough; that goes, And other comes instead. Upon the mountMost high above the waters, all my life, Both innocent and guilty, did but reachFrom the first hour, to that which cometh next(As the sun changes quarter), to the sixth. "

CANTO XXVII

Then "Glory to the Father, to the Son, And to the Holy Spirit, " rang aloudThroughout all Paradise, that with the songMy spirit reel'd, so passing sweet the strain:And what I saw was equal ecstasy;One universal smile it seem'd of all things, Joy past compare, gladness unutterable, Imperishable life of peace and love, Exhaustless riches and unmeasur'd bliss. 

Before mine eyes stood the four torches lit;And that, which first had come, began to waxIn brightness, and in semblance such became, As Jove might be, if he and Mars were birds, And interchang'd their plumes. Silence ensued, Through the blest quire, by Him, who here appointsVicissitude of ministry, enjoin'd;When thus I heard: "Wonder not, if my hueBe chang'd; for, while I speak, these shalt thou seeAll in like manner change with me. My placeHe who usurps on earth (my place, ay, mine, Which in the presence of the Son of GodIs void), the same hath made my cemeteryA common sewer of puddle and of blood:The more below his triumph, who from henceMalignant fell. " Such colour, as the sun, At eve or morning, paints an adverse cloud, Then saw I sprinkled over all the sky. And as th' unblemish'd dame, who in herselfSecure of censure, yet at bare reportOf other's failing, shrinks with maiden fear;So Beatrice in her semblance chang'd:And such eclipse in heav'n methinks was seen, When the Most Holy suffer'd. Then the wordsProceeded, with voice, alter'd from itselfSo clean, the semblance did not alter more. "Not to this end was Christ's spouse with my blood, With that of Linus, and of Cletus fed:That she might serve for purchase of base gold:But for the purchase of this happy lifeDid Sextus, Pius, and Callixtus bleed, And Urban, they, whose doom was not withoutMuch weeping seal'd. No purpose was of ourThat on the right hand of our successorsPart of the Christian people should be set, And part upon their left; nor that the keys, Which were vouchsaf'd me, should for ensign serveUnto the banners, that do levy warOn the baptiz'd: nor I, for sigil-markSet upon sold and lying privileges;Which makes me oft to bicker and turn red. In shepherd's clothing greedy wolves belowRange wide o'er all the pastures. Arm of God!Why longer sleepst thou? Caorsines and GasconaPrepare to quaff our blood. O good beginningTo what a vile conclusion must thou stoop!But the high providence, which did defendThrough Scipio the world's glory unto Rome, Will not delay its succour: and thou, son, Who through thy mortal weight shall yet againReturn below, open thy lips, nor hideWhat is by me not hidden. " As a HoodOf frozen vapours streams adown the air, What time the she-goat with her skiey hornTouches the sun; so saw I there stream wideThe vapours, who with us had linger'd lateAnd with glad triumph deck th' ethereal cope. Onward my sight their semblances pursued;So far pursued, as till the space betweenFrom its reach sever'd them: whereat the guideCelestial, marking me no more intentOn upward gazing, said, "Look down and seeWhat circuit thou hast compass'd. " From the hourWhen I before had cast my view beneath, All the first region overpast I saw, Which from the midmost to the bound'ry winds;That onward thence from Gades I beheldThe unwise passage of Laertes' son, And hitherward the shore, where thou, Europa!Mad'st thee a joyful burden: and yet moreOf this dim spot had seen, but that the sun, A constellation off and more, had ta'enHis progress in the zodiac underneath. 

Then by the spirit, that doth never leaveIts amorous dalliance with my lady's looks, Back with redoubled ardour were mine eyesLed unto her: and from her radiant smiles, Whenas I turn'd me, pleasure so divineDid lighten on me, that whatever baitOr art or nature in the human flesh, Or in its limn'd resemblance, can combineThrough greedy eyes to take the soul withal, Were to her beauty nothing. Its boon influenceFrom the fair nest of Leda rapt me forth, And wafted on into the swiftest heav'n. 

What place for entrance Beatrice chose, I may not say, so uniform was all, Liveliest and loftiest. She my secret wishDivin'd; and with such gladness, that God's loveSeem'd from her visage shining, thus began:"Here is the goal, whence motion on his raceStarts; motionless the centre, and the restAll mov'd around. Except the soul divine, Place in this heav'n is none, the soul divine, Wherein the love, which ruleth o'er its orb, Is kindled, and the virtue that it sheds;One circle, light and love, enclasping it, As this doth clasp the others; and to Him, Who draws the bound, its limit only known. Measur'd itself by none, it doth divideMotion to all, counted unto them forth, As by the fifth or half ye count forth ten. The vase, wherein time's roots are plung'd, thou seest, Look elsewhere for the leaves. O mortal lust!That canst not lift thy head above the wavesWhich whelm and sink thee down! The will in manBears goodly blossoms; but its ruddy promiseIs, by the dripping of perpetual rain, Made mere abortion: faith and innocenceAre met with but in babes, each taking leaveEre cheeks with down are sprinkled; he, that fasts, While yet a stammerer, with his tongue let looseGluts every food alike in every moon. One yet a babbler, loves and listens toHis mother; but no sooner hath free useOf speech, than he doth wish her in her grave. So suddenly doth the fair child of him, Whose welcome is the morn and eve his parting, To negro blackness change her virgin white. 

"Thou, to abate thy wonder, note that noneBears rule in earth, and its frail familyAre therefore wand'rers. Yet before the date, When through the hundredth in his reck'ning dropsPale January must be shor'd asideFrom winter's calendar, these heav'nly spheresShall roar so loud, that fortune shall be fainTo turn the poop, where she hath now the prow;So that the fleet run onward; and true fruit, Expected long, shall crown at last the bloom!"

CANTO XXVII

So she who doth imparadise my soul, Had drawn the veil from off our pleasant life, And bar'd the truth of poor mortality;When lo! as one who, in a mirror, spiesThe shining of a flambeau at his back, Lit sudden ore he deem of its approach, And turneth to resolve him, if the glassHave told him true, and sees the record faithfulAs note is to its metre; even thus, I well remember, did befall to me, Looking upon the beauteous eyes, whence loveHad made the leash to take me. As I turn'd;And that, which, in their circles, none who spies, Can miss of, in itself apparent, struckOn mine; a point I saw, that darted lightSo sharp, no lid, unclosing, may bear upAgainst its keenness. The least star we viewFrom hence, had seem'd a moon, set by its side, As star by side of star. And so far off, Perchance, as is the halo from the lightWhich paints it, when most dense the vapour spreads, There wheel'd about the point a circle of fire, More rapid than the motion, which first girdsThe world. Then, circle after circle, roundEnring'd each other; till the seventh reach'dCircumference so ample, that its bow, Within the span of Juno's messenger, lied scarce been held entire. Beyond the sev'nth, Follow'd yet other two. And every one, As more in number distant from the first, Was tardier in motion; and that glow'dWith flame most pure, that to the sparkle' of truthWas nearest, as partaking most, methinks, Of its reality. The guide belov'dSaw me in anxious thought suspense, and spake:"Heav'n, and all nature, hangs upon that point. The circle thereto most conjoin'd observe;And know, that by intenser love its courseIs to this swiftness wing'd. " To whom I thus:"It were enough; nor should I further seek, Had I but witness'd order, in the worldAppointed, such as in these wheels is seen. But in the sensible world such diff'rence is, That is each round shows more divinity, As each is wider from the centre. Hence, If in this wondrous and angelic temple, That hath for confine only light and love, My wish may have completion I must know, Wherefore such disagreement is betweenTh' exemplar and its copy: for myself, Contemplating, I fail to pierce the cause. "

"It is no marvel, if thy fingers foil'dDo leave the knot untied: so hard 't is grownFor want of tenting. " Thus she said: "But take, "She added, "if thou wish thy cure, my words, And entertain them subtly. Every orbCorporeal, doth proportion its extentUnto the virtue through its parts diffus'd. The greater blessedness preserves the more. The greater is the body (if all partsShare equally) the more is to preserve. Therefore the circle, whose swift course enwheelsThe universal frame answers to that, Which is supreme in knowledge and in loveThus by the virtue, not the seeming, breadthOf substance, measure, thou shalt see the heav'ns, Each to the' intelligence that ruleth it, Greater to more, and smaller unto less, Suited in strict and wondrous harmony. "

As when the sturdy north blows from his cheekA blast, that scours the sky, forthwith our air, Clear'd of the rack, that hung on it before, Glitters; and, With his beauties all unveil'd, The firmament looks forth serene, and smiles;Such was my cheer, when Beatrice droveWith clear reply the shadows back, and truthWas manifested, as a star in heaven. And when the words were ended, not unlikeTo iron in the furnace, every cirqueEbullient shot forth scintillating fires:And every sparkle shivering to new blaze, In number did outmillion the accountReduplicate upon the chequer'd board. Then heard I echoing on from choir to choir, "Hosanna, " to the fixed point, that holds, And shall for ever hold them to their place, From everlasting, irremovable. 

Musing awhile I stood: and she, who sawby inward meditations, thus began:"In the first circles, they, whom thou beheldst, Are seraphim and cherubim. Thus swiftFollow their hoops, in likeness to the point, Near as they can, approaching; and they canThe more, the loftier their vision. Those, That round them fleet, gazing the Godhead next, Are thrones; in whom the first trine ends. And allAre blessed, even as their sight descendsDeeper into the truth, wherein rest isFor every mind. Thus happiness hath rootIn seeing, not in loving, which of sightIs aftergrowth. And of the seeing suchThe meed, as unto each in due degreeGrace and good-will their measure have assign'd. The other trine, that with still opening budsIn this eternal springtide blossom fair, Fearless of bruising from the nightly ram, Breathe up in warbled melodies threefoldHosannas blending ever, from the threeTransmitted. Hierarchy of gods, for ayeRejoicing, dominations first, next thenVirtues, and powers the third. The next to whomAre princedoms and archangels, with glad roundTo tread their festal ring; and last the bandAngelical, disporting in their sphere. All, as they circle in their orders, lookAloft, and downward with such sway prevail, That all with mutual impulse tend to God. These once a mortal view beheld. DesireIn Dionysius so intently wrought, That he, as I have done rang'd them; and nam'dTheir orders, marshal'd in his thought. From himDissentient, one refus'd his sacred read. But soon as in this heav'n his doubting eyesWere open'd, Gregory at his error smil'dNor marvel, that a denizen of earthShould scan such secret truth; for he had learntBoth this and much beside of these our orbs, From an eye-witness to heav'n's mysteries. "

CANTO XXIX

No longer than what time Latona's twinsCover'd of Libra and the fleecy star, Together both, girding the' horizon hang, In even balance from the zenith pois'd, Till from that verge, each, changing hemisphere, Part the nice level; e'en so brief a spaceDid Beatrice's silence hold. A smileBat painted on her cheek; and her fix'd gazeBent on the point, at which my vision fail'd:When thus her words resuming she began:"I speak, nor what thou wouldst inquire demand;For I have mark'd it, where all time and placeAre present. Not for increase to himselfOf good, which may not be increas'd, but forthTo manifest his glory by its beams, Inhabiting his own eternity, Beyond time's limit or what bound soe'erTo circumscribe his being, as he will'd, Into new natures, like unto himself, Eternal Love unfolded. Nor before, As if in dull inaction torpid lay. For not in process of before or aftUpon these waters mov'd the Spirit of God. Simple and mix'd, both form and substance, forthTo perfect being started, like three dartsShot from a bow three-corded. And as rayIn crystal, glass, and amber, shines entire, E'en at the moment of its issuing; thusDid, from th' eternal Sovran, beam entireHis threefold operation, at one actProduc'd coeval. Yet in order eachCreated his due station knew: those highest, Who pure intelligence were made: mere powerThe lowest: in the midst, bound with strict league, Intelligence and power, unsever'd bond. Long tract of ages by the angels past, Ere the creating of another world, Describ'd on Jerome's pages thou hast seen. But that what I disclose to thee is true, Those penmen, whom the Holy Spirit mov'dIn many a passage of their sacred bookAttest; as thou by diligent search shalt findAnd reason in some sort discerns the same, Who scarce would grant the heav'nly ministersOf their perfection void, so long a space. Thus when and where these spirits of love were made, Thou know'st, and how: and knowing hast allay'dThy thirst, which from the triple question rose. Ere one had reckon'd twenty, e'en so soonPart of the angels fell: and in their fallConfusion to your elements ensued. The others kept their station: and this task, Whereon thou lookst, began with such delight, That they surcease not ever, day nor night, Their circling. Of that fatal lapse the causeWas the curst pride of him, whom thou hast seenPent with the world's incumbrance. Those, whom hereThou seest, were lowly to confess themselvesOf his free bounty, who had made them aptFor ministries so high: therefore their viewsWere by enlight'ning grace and their own meritExalted; so that in their will confirm'dThey stand, nor feel to fall. For do not doubt, But to receive the grace, which heav'n vouchsafes, Is meritorious, even as the soulWith prompt affection welcometh the guest. Now, without further help, if with good heedMy words thy mind have treasur'd, thou henceforthThis consistory round about mayst scan, And gaze thy fill. But since thou hast on earthHeard vain disputers, reasoners in the schools, Canvas the' angelic nature, and disputeIts powers of apprehension, memory, choice;Therefore, 't is well thou take from me the truth, Pure and without disguise, which they below, Equivocating, darken and perplex. 

"Know thou, that, from the first, these substances, Rejoicing in the countenance of God, Have held unceasingly their view, intentUpon the glorious vision, from the whichNaught absent is nor hid: where then no changeOf newness with succession interrupts, Remembrance there needs none to gather upDivided thought and images remote

"So that men, thus at variance with the truthDream, though their eyes be open; reckless someOf error; others well aware they err, To whom more guilt and shame are justly due. Each the known track of sage philosophyDeserts, and has a byway of his own:So much the restless eagerness to shineAnd love of singularity prevail. Yet this, offensive as it is, provokesHeav'n's anger less, than when the book of GodIs forc'd to yield to man's authority, Or from its straightness warp'd: no reck'ning madeWhat blood the sowing of it in the worldHas cost; what favour for himself he wins, Who meekly clings to it. The aim of allIs how to shine: e'en they, whose office isTo preach the Gospel, let the gospel sleep, And pass their own inventions off instead. One tells, how at Christ's suffering the wan moonBent back her steps, and shadow'd o'er the sunWith intervenient disk, as she withdrew:Another, how the light shrouded itselfWithin its tabernacle, and left darkThe Spaniard and the Indian, with the Jew. Such fables Florence in her pulpit hears, Bandied about more frequent, than the namesOf Bindi and of Lapi in her streets. The sheep, meanwhile, poor witless ones, returnFrom pasture, fed with wind: and what availsFor their excuse, they do not see their harm?Christ said not to his first conventicle, 'Go forth and preach impostures to the world, 'But gave them truth to build on; and the soundWas mighty on their lips; nor needed they, Beside the gospel, other spear or shield, To aid them in their warfare for the faith. The preacher now provides himself with storeOf jests and gibes; and, so there be no lackOf laughter, while he vents them, his big cowlDistends, and he has won the meed he sought:Could but the vulgar catch a glimpse the whileOf that dark bird which nestles in his hood, They scarce would wait to hear the blessing said. Which now the dotards hold in such esteem, That every counterfeit, who spreads abroadThe hands of holy promise, finds a throngOf credulous fools beneath. Saint AnthonyFattens with this his swine, and others worseThan swine, who diet at his lazy board, Paying with unstamp'd metal for their fare. 

"But (for we far have wander'd) let us seekThe forward path again; so as the wayBe shorten'd with the time. No mortal tongueNor thought of man hath ever reach'd so far, That of these natures he might count the tribes. What Daniel of their thousands hath reveal'dWith finite number infinite conceals. The fountain at whose source these drink their beams, With light supplies them in as many modes, As there are splendours, that it shines on: eachAccording to the virtue it conceives, Differing in love and sweet affection. Look then how lofty and how huge in breadthThe' eternal might, which, broken and dispers'dOver such countless mirrors, yet remainsWhole in itself and one, as at the first. "

CANTO XXX

Noon's fervid hour perchance six thousand milesFrom hence is distant; and the shadowy coneAlmost to level on our earth declines;When from the midmost of this blue abyssBy turns some star is to our vision lost. And straightway as the handmaid of the sunPuts forth her radiant brow, all, light by light, Fade, and the spangled firmament shuts in, E'en to the loveliest of the glittering throng. Thus vanish'd gradually from my sightThe triumph, which plays ever round the point, That overcame me, seeming (for it did)Engirt by that it girdeth. Wherefore love, With loss of other object, forc'd me bendMine eyes on Beatrice once again. 

If all, that hitherto is told of her, Were in one praise concluded, 't were too weakTo furnish out this turn. Mine eyes did lookOn beauty, such, as I believe in sooth, Not merely to exceed our human, but, That save its Maker, none can to the fullEnjoy it. At this point o'erpower'd I fail, Unequal to my theme, as never bardOf buskin or of sock hath fail'd before. For, as the sun doth to the feeblest sight, E'en so remembrance of that witching smileHath dispossess my spirit of itself. Not from that day, when on this earth I firstBeheld her charms, up to that view of them, Have I with song applausive ever ceas'dTo follow, but not follow them no more;My course here bounded, as each artist's is, When it doth touch the limit of his skill. 

She (such as I bequeath her to the bruitOf louder trump than mine, which hasteneth on, Urging its arduous matter to the close), Her words resum'd, in gesture and in voiceResembling one accustom'd to command:"Forth from the last corporeal are we comeInto the heav'n, that is unbodied light, Light intellectual replete with love, Love of true happiness replete with joy, Joy, that transcends all sweetness of delight. Here shalt thou look on either mighty hostOf Paradise; and one in that array, Which in the final judgment thou shalt see. "

As when the lightning, in a sudden spleenUnfolded, dashes from the blinding eyesThe visive spirits dazzled and bedimm'd;So, round about me, fulminating streamsOf living radiance play'd, and left me swath'dAnd veil'd in dense impenetrable blaze. Such weal is in the love, that stills this heav'n;For its own flame the torch this fitting ever!

No sooner to my list'ning ear had comeThe brief assurance, than I understoodNew virtue into me infus'd, and sightKindled afresh, with vigour to sustainExcess of light, however pure. I look'd;And in the likeness of a river sawLight flowing, from whose amber-seeming wavesFlash'd up effulgence, as they glided on'Twixt banks, on either side, painted with spring, Incredible how fair; and, from the tide, There ever and anon, outstarting, flewSparkles instinct with life; and in the flow'rsDid set them, like to rubies chas'd in gold;Then, as if drunk with odors, plung'd againInto the wondrous flood; from which, as oneRe'enter'd, still another rose. "The thirstOf knowledge high, whereby thou art inflam'd, To search the meaning of what here thou seest, The more it warms thee, pleases me the more. But first behooves thee of this water drink, Or ere that longing be allay'd. " So spakeThe day-star of mine eyes; then thus subjoin'd:"This stream, and these, forth issuing from its gulf, And diving back, a living topaz each, With all this laughter on its bloomy shores, Are but a preface, shadowy of the truthThey emblem: not that, in themselves, the thingsAre crude; but on thy part is the defect, For that thy views not yet aspire so high. "Never did babe, that had outslept his wont, Rush, with such eager straining, to the milk, As I toward the water, bending me, To make the better mirrors of mine eyesIn the refining wave; and, as the eavesOf mine eyelids did drink of it, forthwithSeem'd it unto me turn'd from length to round, Then as a troop of maskers, when they putTheir vizors off, look other than before, The counterfeited semblance thrown aside;So into greater jubilee were chang'dThose flowers and sparkles, and distinct I sawBefore me either court of heav'n displac'd. 

O prime enlightener! thou who crav'st me strengthOn the high triumph of thy realm to gaze!Grant virtue now to utter what I kenn'd, There is in heav'n a light, whose goodly shineMakes the Creator visible to allCreated, that in seeing him aloneHave peace; and in a circle spreads so far, That the circumference were too loose a zoneTo girdle in the sun. All is one beam, Reflected from the summit of the first, That moves, which being hence and vigour takes, And as some cliff, that from the bottom eyesIts image mirror'd in the crystal flood, As if 't admire its brave apparelingOf verdure and of flowers: so, round about, Eyeing the light, on more than million thrones, Stood, eminent, whatever from our earthHas to the skies return'd. How wide the leavesExtended to their utmost of this rose, Whose lowest step embosoms such a spaceOf ample radiance! Yet, nor amplitudeNor height impeded, but my view with easeTook in the full dimensions of that joy. Near or remote, what there avails, where GodImmediate rules, and Nature, awed, suspendsHer sway? Into the yellow of the rosePerennial, which in bright expansiveness, Lays forth its gradual blooming, redolentOf praises to the never-wint'ring sun, As one, who fain would speak yet holds his peace, Beatrice led me; and, "Behold, " she said, "This fair assemblage! stoles of snowy whiteHow numberless! The city, where we dwell, Behold how vast! and these our seats so throng'dFew now are wanting here! In that proud stall, On which, the crown, already o'er its stateSuspended, holds thine eyes--or ere thyselfMayst at the wedding sup, --shall rest the soulOf the great Harry, he who, by the worldAugustas hail'd, to Italy must come, Before her day be ripe. But ye are sick, And in your tetchy wantonness as blind, As is the bantling, that of hunger dies, And drives away the nurse. Nor may it be, That he, who in the sacred forum sways, Openly or in secret, shall with himAccordant walk: Whom God will not endureI' th' holy office long; but thrust him downTo Simon Magus, where Magna's priestWill sink beneath him: such will be his meed. "

CANTO XXXI

In fashion, as a snow-white rose, lay thenBefore my view the saintly multitude, Which in his own blood Christ espous'd. MeanwhileThat other host, that soar aloft to gazeAnd celebrate his glory, whom they love, Hover'd around; and, like a troop of bees, Amid the vernal sweets alighting now, Now, clustering, where their fragrant labour glows, Flew downward to the mighty flow'r, or roseFrom the redundant petals, streaming backUnto the steadfast dwelling of their joy. Faces had they of flame, and wings of gold;The rest was whiter than the driven snow. And as they flitted down into the flower, From range to range, fanning their plumy loins, Whisper'd the peace and ardour, which they wonFrom that soft winnowing. Shadow none, the vastInterposition of such numerous flightCast, from above, upon the flower, or viewObstructed aught. For, through the universe, Wherever merited, celestial lightGlides freely, and no obstacle prevents. 

All there, who reign in safety and in bliss, Ages long past or new, on one sole markTheir love and vision fix'd. O trinal beamOf individual star, that charmst them thus, Vouchsafe one glance to gild our storm below!

If the grim brood, from Arctic shores that roam'd, (Where helice, forever, as she wheels, Sparkles a mother's fondness on her son)Stood in mute wonder 'mid the works of Rome, When to their view the Lateran aroseIn greatness more than earthly; I, who thenFrom human to divine had past, from timeUnto eternity, and out of FlorenceTo justice and to truth, how might I chooseBut marvel too? 'Twixt gladness and amaze, In sooth no will had I to utter aught, Or hear. And, as a pilgrim, when he restsWithin the temple of his vow, looks roundIn breathless awe, and hopes some time to tellOf all its goodly state: e'en so mine eyesCours'd up and down along the living light, Now low, and now aloft, and now around, Visiting every step. Looks I beheld, Where charity in soft persuasion sat, Smiles from within and radiance from above, And in each gesture grace and honour high. 

So rov'd my ken, and its general formAll Paradise survey'd: when round I turn'dWith purpose of my lady to inquireOnce more of things, that held my thought suspense, But answer found from other than I ween'd;For, Beatrice, when I thought to see, I saw instead a senior, at my side, Rob'd, as the rest, in glory. Joy benignGlow'd in his eye, and o'er his cheek diffus'd, With gestures such as spake a father's love. And, "Whither is she vanish'd?" straight I ask'd. 

"By Beatrice summon'd, " he replied, "I come to aid thy wish. Looking aloftTo the third circle from the highest, thereBehold her on the throne, wherein her meritHath plac'd her. " Answering not, mine eyes I rais'd, And saw her, where aloof she sat, her browA wreath reflecting of eternal beams. Not from the centre of the sea so farUnto the region of the highest thunder, As was my ken from hers; and yet the formCame through that medium down, unmix'd and pure, "O Lady! thou in whom my hopes have rest!Who, for my safety, hast not scorn'd, in hellTo leave the traces of thy footsteps mark'd!For all mine eyes have seen, I, to thy powerAnd goodness, virtue owe and grace. Of slave, Thou hast to freedom brought me; and no means, For my deliverance apt, hast left untried. Thy liberal bounty still toward me keep. That, when my spirit, which thou madest whole, Is loosen'd from this body, it may findFavour with thee. " So I my suit preferr'd:And she, so distant, as appear'd, look'd down, And smil'd; then tow'rds th' eternal fountain turn'd. 

And thus the senior, holy and rever'd:"That thou at length mayst happily concludeThy voyage (to which end I was dispatch'd, By supplication mov'd and holy love)Let thy upsoaring vision range, at large, This garden through: for so, by ray divineKindled, thy ken a higher flight shall mount;And from heav'n's queen, whom fervent I adore, All gracious aid befriend us; for that IAm her own faithful Bernard. " Like a wight, Who haply from Croatia wends to seeOur Veronica, and the while 't is shown, Hangs over it with never-sated gaze, And, all that he hath heard revolving, saithUnto himself in thought: "And didst thou lookE'en thus, O Jesus, my true Lord and God?And was this semblance thine?" So gaz'd I thenAdoring; for the charity of him, Who musing, in the world that peace enjoy'd, Stood lively before me. "Child of grace!"Thus he began: "thou shalt not knowledge gainOf this glad being, if thine eyes are heldStill in this depth below. But search aroundThe circles, to the furthest, till thou spySeated in state, the queen, that of this realmIs sovran. " Straight mine eyes I rais'd; and bright, As, at the birth of morn, the eastern climeAbove th' horizon, where the sun declines;To mine eyes, that upward, as from valeTo mountain sped, at th' extreme bound, a partExcell'd in lustre all the front oppos'd. And as the glow burns ruddiest o'er the wave, That waits the sloping beam, which PhaetonIll knew to guide, and on each part the lightDiminish'd fades, intensest in the midst;So burn'd the peaceful oriflame, and slack'dOn every side the living flame decay'd. And in that midst their sportive pennons wav'dThousands of angels; in resplendence eachDistinct, and quaint adornment. At their gleeAnd carol, smil'd the Lovely One of heav'n, That joy was in the eyes of all the blest. 

Had I a tongue in eloquence as rich, As is the colouring in fancy's loom, 'T were all too poor to utter the least partOf that enchantment. When he saw mine eyesIntent on her, that charm'd him, Bernard gaz'dWith so exceeding fondness, as infus'dArdour into my breast, unfelt before. 

CANTO XXXII

Freely the sage, though wrapt in musings high, Assum'd the teacher's part, and mild began:"The wound, that Mary clos'd, she open'd first, Who sits so beautiful at Mary's feet. The third in order, underneath her, lo!Rachel with Beatrice. Sarah next, Judith, Rebecca, and the gleaner maid, Meek ancestress of him, who sang the songsOf sore repentance in his sorrowful mood. All, as I name them, down from deaf to leaf, Are in gradation throned on the rose. And from the seventh step, successively, Adown the breathing tresses of the flow'rStill doth the file of Hebrew dames proceed. For these are a partition wall, wherebyThe sacred stairs are sever'd, as the faithIn Christ divides them. On this part, where bloomsEach leaf in full maturity, are setSuch as in Christ, or ere he came, believ'd. On th' other, where an intersected spaceYet shows the semicircle void, abideAll they, who look'd to Christ already come. And as our Lady on her glorious stool, And they who on their stools beneath her sit, This way distinction make: e'en so on his, The mighty Baptist that way marks the line(He who endur'd the desert and the painsOf martyrdom, and for two years of hell, Yet still continued holy), and beneath, Augustin, Francis, Benedict, and the rest, Thus far from round to round. So heav'n's decreeForecasts, this garden equally to fill. With faith in either view, past or to come, Learn too, that downward from the step, which cleavesMidway the twain compartments, none there areWho place obtain for merit of their own, But have through others' merit been advanc'd, On set conditions: spirits all releas'd, Ere for themselves they had the power to choose. And, if thou mark and listen to them well, Their childish looks and voice declare as much. 

"Here, silent as thou art, I know thy doubt;And gladly will I loose the knot, whereinThy subtle thoughts have bound thee. From this realmExcluded, chalice no entrance here may find, No more shall hunger, thirst, or sorrow can. A law immutable hath establish'd all;Nor is there aught thou seest, that doth not fit, Exactly, as the finger to the ring. It is not therefore without cause, that these, O'erspeedy comers to immortal life, Are different in their shares of excellence. Our Sovran Lord--that settleth this estateIn love and in delight so absolute, That wish can dare no further--every soul, Created in his joyous sight to dwell, With grace at pleasure variously endows. And for a proof th' effect may well suffice. And 't is moreover most expressly mark'dIn holy scripture, where the twins are saidTo, have struggled in the womb. Therefore, as graceInweaves the coronet, so every browWeareth its proper hue of orient light. And merely in respect to his prime gift, Not in reward of meritorious deed, Hath each his several degree assign'd. In early times with their own innocenceMore was not wanting, than the parents' faith, To save them: those first ages past, behoov'dThat circumcision in the males should impThe flight of innocent wings: but since the dayOf grace hath come, without baptismal ritesIn Christ accomplish'd, innocence herselfMust linger yet below. Now raise thy viewUnto the visage most resembling Christ:For, in her splendour only, shalt thou winThe pow'r to look on him. " Forthwith I sawSuch floods of gladness on her visage shower'd, From holy spirits, winging that profound;That, whatsoever I had yet beheld, Had not so much suspended me with wonder, Or shown me such similitude of God. And he, who had to her descended, once, On earth, now hail'd in heav'n; and on pois'd wing. "Ave, Maria, Gratia Plena, " sang:To whose sweet anthem all the blissful court, From all parts answ'ring, rang: that holier joyBrooded the deep serene. "Father rever'd:Who deign'st, for me, to quit the pleasant place, Wherein thou sittest, by eternal lot!Say, who that angel is, that with such gleeBeholds our queen, and so enamour'd glowsOf her high beauty, that all fire he seems. "So I again resorted to the loreOf my wise teacher, he, whom Mary's charmsEmbellish'd, as the sun the morning star;Who thus in answer spake: "In him are summ'd, Whatever of buxomness and free delightMay be in Spirit, or in angel, met:And so beseems: for that he bare the palmDown unto Mary, when the Son of GodVouchsaf'd to clothe him in terrestrial weeds. Now let thine eyes wait heedful on my words, And note thou of this just and pious realmThe chiefest nobles. Those, highest in bliss, The twain, on each hand next our empress thron'd, Are as it were two roots unto this rose. He to the left, the parent, whose rash tasteProves bitter to his seed; and, on the right, That ancient father of the holy church, Into whose keeping Christ did give the keysOf this sweet flow'r: near whom behold the seer, That, ere he died, saw all the grievous timesOf the fair bride, who with the lance and nailsWas won. And, near unto the other, restsThe leader, under whom on manna fedTh' ungrateful nation, fickle and perverse. On th' other part, facing to Peter, lo!Where Anna sits, so well content to lookOn her lov'd daughter, that with moveless eyeShe chants the loud hosanna: while, oppos'dTo the first father of your mortal kind, Is Lucia, at whose hest thy lady sped, When on the edge of ruin clos'd thine eye. 

"But (for the vision hasteneth so an end)Here break we off, as the good workman doth, That shapes the cloak according to the cloth:And to the primal love our ken shall rise;That thou mayst penetrate the brightness, farAs sight can bear thee. Yet, alas! in soothBeating thy pennons, thinking to advance, Thou backward fall'st. Grace then must first be gain'd;Her grace, whose might can help thee. Thou in prayerSeek her: and, with affection, whilst I sue, Attend, and yield me all thy heart. " He said, And thus the saintly orison began. 

CANTO XXXIII

"O virgin mother, daughter of thy Son, Created beings all in lowlinessSurpassing, as in height, above them all, Term by th' eternal counsel pre-ordain'd, Ennobler of thy nature, so advanc'dIn thee, that its great Maker did not scorn, Himself, in his own work enclos'd to dwell!For in thy womb rekindling shone the loveReveal'd, whose genial influence makes nowThis flower to germin in eternal peace!Here thou to us, of charity and love, Art, as the noon-day torch: and art, beneath, To mortal men, of hope a living spring. So mighty art thou, lady! and so great, That he who grace desireth, and comes notTo thee for aidance, fain would have desireFly without wings. Nor only him who asks, Thy bounty succours, but doth freely oftForerun the asking. Whatsoe'er may beOf excellence in creature, pity mild, Relenting mercy, large munificence, Are all combin'd in thee. Here kneeleth one, Who of all spirits hath review'd the state, From the world's lowest gap unto this height. Suppliant to thee he kneels, imploring graceFor virtue, yet more high to lift his kenToward the bliss supreme. And I, who ne'erCoveted sight, more fondly, for myself, Than now for him, my prayers to thee prefer, (And pray they be not scant) that thou wouldst driveEach cloud of his mortality away;That on the sovran pleasure he may gaze. This also I entreat of thee, O queen!Who canst do what thou wilt! that in him thouWouldst after all he hath beheld, preserveAffection sound, and human passions quell. Lo! Where, with Beatrice, many a saintStretch their clasp'd hands, in furtherance of my suit!"

The eyes, that heav'n with love and awe regards, Fix'd on the suitor, witness'd, how benignShe looks on pious pray'rs: then fasten'd theyOn th' everlasting light, wherein no eyeOf creature, as may well be thought, so farCan travel inward. I, meanwhile, who drewNear to the limit, where all wishes end, The ardour of my wish (for so behooved), Ended within me. Beck'ning smil'd the sage, That I should look aloft: but, ere he bade, Already of myself aloft I look'd;For visual strength, refining more and more, Bare me into the ray authenticalOf sovran light. Thenceforward, what I saw, Was not for words to speak, nor memory's selfTo stand against such outrage on her skill. As one, who from a dream awaken'd, straight, All he hath seen forgets; yet still retainsImpression of the feeling in his dream;E'en such am I: for all the vision dies, As 't were, away; and yet the sense of sweet, That sprang from it, still trickles in my heart. Thus in the sun-thaw is the snow unseal'd;Thus in the winds on flitting leaves was lostThe Sybil's sentence. O eternal beam!(Whose height what reach of mortal thought may soar?)Yield me again some little particleOf what thou then appearedst, give my tonguePower, but to leave one sparkle of thy glory, Unto the race to come, that shall not loseThy triumph wholly, if thou waken aughtOf memory in me, and endure to hearThe record sound in this unequal strain. 

Such keenness from the living ray I met, That, if mine eyes had turn'd away, methinks, I had been lost; but, so embolden'd, onI pass'd, as I remember, till my viewHover'd the brink of dread infinitude. 

O grace! unenvying of thy boon! that gav'stBoldness to fix so earnestly my kenOn th' everlasting splendour, that I look'd, While sight was unconsum'd, and, in that depth, Saw in one volume clasp'd of love, whateverThe universe unfolds; all propertiesOf substance and of accident, beheld, Compounded, yet one individual lightThe whole. And of such bond methinks I sawThe universal form: for that wheneverI do but speak of it, my soul dilatesBeyond her proper self; and, till I speak, One moment seems a longer lethargy, Than five-and-twenty ages had appear'dTo that emprize, that first made Neptune wonderAt Argo's shadow darkening on his flood. 

With fixed heed, suspense and motionless, Wond'ring I gaz'd; and admiration stillWas kindled, as I gaz'd. It may not be, That one, who looks upon that light, can turnTo other object, willingly, his view. For all the good, that will may covet, thereIs summ'd; and all, elsewhere defective found, Complete. My tongue shall utter now, no moreE'en what remembrance keeps, than could the babe'sThat yet is moisten'd at his mother's breast. Not that the semblance of the living lightWas chang'd (that ever as at first remain'd)But that my vision quickening, in that soleAppearance, still new miracles descry'd, And toil'd me with the change. In that abyssOf radiance, clear and lofty, seem'd methought, Three orbs of triple hue clipt in one bound:And, from another, one reflected seem'd, As rainbow is from rainbow: and the thirdSeem'd fire, breath'd equally from both. Oh speechHow feeble and how faint art thou, to giveConception birth! Yet this to what I sawIs less than little. Oh eternal light!Sole in thyself that dwellst; and of thyselfSole understood, past, present, or to come!Thou smiledst; on that circling, which in theeSeem'd as reflected splendour, while I mus'd;For I therein, methought, in its own hueBeheld our image painted: steadfastlyI therefore por'd upon the view. As oneWho vers'd in geometric lore, would fainMeasure the circle; and, though pondering longAnd deeply, that beginning, which he needs, Finds not; e'en such was I, intent to scanThe novel wonder, and trace out the form, How to the circle fitted, and thereinHow plac'd: but the flight was not for my wing;Had not a flash darted athwart my mind, And in the spleen unfolded what it sought. 

Here vigour fail'd the tow'ring fantasy:But yet the will roll'd onward, like a wheelIn even motion, by the Love impell'd, That moves the sun in heav'n and all the stars.