THE VISION

OF

HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE

BY DANTE ALIGHIERI

TRANSLATED BY

THE REV. H. F. CARY

PURGATORY

Part 5

Cantos 26 - 33

CANTO XXVI

While singly thus along the rim we walk'd, Oft the good master warn'd me: "Look thou well. Avail it that I caution thee. " The sunNow all the western clime irradiate chang'dFrom azure tinct to white; and, as I pass'd, My passing shadow made the umber'd flameBurn ruddier. At so strange a sight I mark'dThat many a spirit marvel'd on his way. 

This bred occasion first to speak of me, "He seems, " said they, "no insubstantial frame:"Then to obtain what certainty they might, Stretch'd towards me, careful not to overpassThe burning pale. "O thou, who followestThe others, haply not more slow than they, But mov'd by rev'rence, answer me, who burnIn thirst and fire: nor I alone, but theseAll for thine answer do more thirst, than dothIndian or Aethiop for the cooling stream. Tell us, how is it that thou mak'st thyselfA wall against the sun, as thou not yetInto th' inextricable toils of deathHadst enter'd?" Thus spake one, and I had straightDeclar'd me, if attention had not turn'dTo new appearance. Meeting these, there came, Midway the burning path, a crowd, on whomEarnestly gazing, from each part I viewThe shadows all press forward, sev'rallyEach snatch a hasty kiss, and then away. E'en so the emmets, 'mid their dusky troops, Peer closely one at other, to spy outTheir mutual road perchance, and how they thrive. 

That friendly greeting parted, ere dispatchOf the first onward step, from either tribeLoud clamour rises: those, who newly come, Shout "Sodom and Gomorrah!" these, "The cowPasiphae enter'd, that the beast she woo'dMight rush unto her luxury. " Then as cranes, That part towards the Riphaean mountains fly, Part towards the Lybic sands, these to avoidThe ice, and those the sun; so hasteth offOne crowd, advances th' other; and resumeTheir first song weeping, and their several shout. 

Again drew near my side the very same, Who had erewhile besought me, and their looksMark'd eagerness to listen. I, who twiceTheir will had noted, spake: "O spirits secure, Whene'er the time may be, of peaceful end!My limbs, nor crude, nor in mature old age, Have I left yonder: here they bear me, fedWith blood, and sinew-strung. That I no moreMay live in blindness, hence I tend aloft. There is a dame on high, who wind for usThis grace, by which my mortal through your realmI bear. But may your utmost wish soon meetSuch full fruition, that the orb of heaven, Fullest of love, and of most ample space, Receive you, as ye tell (upon my pageHenceforth to stand recorded) who ye are, And what this multitude, that at your backsHave past behind us. " As one, mountain-bred, Rugged and clownish, if some city's wallsHe chance to enter, round him stares agape, Confounded and struck dumb; e'en such appear'dEach spirit. But when rid of that amaze, (Not long the inmate of a noble heart)He, who before had question'd, thus resum'd:"O blessed, who, for death preparing, tak'stExperience of our limits, in thy bark!Their crime, who not with us proceed, was that, For which, as he did triumph, Caesar heardThe snout of 'queen, ' to taunt him. Hence their cryOf 'Sodom, ' as they parted, to rebukeThemselves, and aid the burning by their shame. Our sinning was Hermaphrodite: but we, Because the law of human kind we broke, Following like beasts our vile concupiscence, Hence parting from them, to our own disgraceRecord the name of her, by whom the beastIn bestial tire was acted. Now our deedsThou know'st, and how we sinn'd. If thou by nameWouldst haply know us, time permits not nowTo tell so much, nor can I. Of myselfLearn what thou wishest. Guinicelli I, Who having truly sorrow'd ere my last, Already cleanse me. " With such pious joy, As the two sons upon their mother gaz'dFrom sad Lycurgus rescu'd, such my joy(Save that I more represt it) when I heardFrom his own lips the name of him pronounc'd, Who was a father to me, and to thoseMy betters, who have ever us'd the sweetAnd pleasant rhymes of love. So nought I heardNor spake, but long time thoughtfully I went, Gazing on him; and, only for the fire, Approach'd not nearer. When my eyes were fedBy looking on him, with such solemn pledge, As forces credence, I devoted meUnto his service wholly. In replyHe thus bespake me: "What from thee I hearIs grav'd so deeply on my mind, the wavesOf Lethe shall not wash it off, nor makeA whit less lively. But as now thy oathHas seal'd the truth, declare what cause impelsThat love, which both thy looks and speech bewray. "

"Those dulcet lays, " I answer'd, "which, as longAs of our tongue the beauty does not fade, Shall make us love the very ink that trac'd them. "

"Brother!" he cried, and pointed at a shadeBefore him, "there is one, whose mother speechDoth owe to him a fairer ornament. He in love ditties and the tales of proseWithout a rival stands, and lets the foolsTalk on, who think the songster of LimogesO'ertops him. Rumour and the popular voiceThey look to more than truth, and so confirmOpinion, ere by art or reason taught. Thus many of the elder time cried upGuittone, giving him the prize, till truthBy strength of numbers vanquish'd. If thou ownSo ample privilege, as to have gain'dFree entrance to the cloister, whereof ChristIs Abbot of the college, say to himOne paternoster for me, far as needsFor dwellers in this world, where power to sinNo longer tempts us. " Haply to make wayFor one, that follow'd next, when that was said, He vanish'd through the fire, as through the waveA fish, that glances diving to the deep. 

I, to the spirit he had shown me, drewA little onward, and besought his name, For which my heart, I said, kept gracious room. He frankly thus began: "Thy courtesySo wins on me, I have nor power nor willTo hide me. I am Arnault; and with songs, Sorely lamenting for my folly past, Thorough this ford of fire I wade, and seeThe day, I hope for, smiling in my view. I pray ye by the worth that guides ye upUnto the summit of the scale, in timeRemember ye my suff'rings. " With such wordsHe disappear'd in the refining flame. 

CANTO XXVII

Now was the sun so station'd, as when firstHis early radiance quivers on the heights, Where stream'd his Maker's blood, while Libra hangsAbove Hesperian Ebro, and new firesMeridian flash on Ganges' yellow tide. 

So day was sinking, when the' angel of GodAppear'd before us. Joy was in his mien. Forth of the flame he stood upon the brink, And with a voice, whose lively clearness farSurpass'd our human, "Blessed are the pureIn heart, " he Sang: then near him as we came, "Go ye not further, holy spirits!" he cried, "Ere the fire pierce you: enter in; and listAttentive to the song ye hear from thence. "

I, when I heard his saying, was as oneLaid in the grave. My hands together clasp'd, And upward stretching, on the fire I look'd, And busy fancy conjur'd up the formsErewhile beheld alive consum'd in flames. 

Th' escorting spirits turn'd with gentle looksToward me, and the Mantuan spake: "My son, Here torment thou mayst feel, but canst not death. Remember thee, remember thee, if ISafe e'en on Geryon brought thee: now I comeMore near to God, wilt thou not trust me now?Of this be sure: though in its womb that flameA thousand years contain'd thee, from thy headNo hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth, Approach, and with thy hands thy vesture's hemStretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief. Lay now all fear, O lay all fear aside. Turn hither, and come onward undismay'd. "I still, though conscience urg'd' no step advanc'd. 

When still he saw me fix'd and obstinate, Somewhat disturb'd he cried: "Mark now, my son, From Beatrice thou art by this wallDivided. " As at Thisbe's name the eyeOf Pyramus was open'd (when life ebb'dFast from his veins), and took one parting glance, While vermeil dyed the mulberry; thus I turn'dTo my sage guide, relenting, when I heardThe name, that springs forever in my breast. 

He shook his forehead; and, "How long, " he said, "Linger we now?" then smil'd, as one would smileUpon a child, that eyes the fruit and yields. Into the fire before me then he walk'd;And Statius, who erewhile no little spaceHad parted us, he pray'd to come behind. 

I would have cast me into molten glassTo cool me, when I enter'd; so intenseRag'd the conflagrant mass. The sire belov'd, To comfort me, as he proceeded, stillOf Beatrice talk'd. "Her eyes, " saith he, "E'en now I seem to view. " From the other sideA voice, that sang, did guide us, and the voiceFollowing, with heedful ear, we issued forth, There where the path led upward. "Come, " we heard, "Come, blessed of my Father. " Such the sounds, That hail'd us from within a light, which shoneSo radiant, I could not endure the view. "The sun, " it added, "hastes: and evening comes. Delay not: ere the western sky is hungWith blackness, strive ye for the pass. " Our wayUpright within the rock arose, and fac'dSuch part of heav'n, that from before my stepsThe beams were shrouded of the sinking sun. 

Nor many stairs were overpass, when nowBy fading of the shadow we perceiv'dThe sun behind us couch'd: and ere one faceOf darkness o'er its measureless expanseInvolv'd th' horizon, and the night her lotHeld individual, each of us had madeA stair his pallet: not that will, but power, Had fail'd us, by the nature of that mountForbidden further travel. As the goats, That late have skipp'd and wanton'd rapidlyUpon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta'enTheir supper on the herb, now silent lieAnd ruminate beneath the umbrage brown, While noonday rages; and the goatherd leansUpon his staff, and leaning watches them:And as the swain, that lodges out all nightIn quiet by his flock, lest beast of preyDisperse them; even so all three abode, I as a goat and as the shepherds they, Close pent on either side by shelving rock. 

A little glimpse of sky was seen above;Yet by that little I beheld the starsIn magnitude and rustle shining forthWith more than wonted glory. As I lay, Gazing on them, and in that fit of musing, Sleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oftTidings of future hap. About the hour, As I believe, when Venus from the eastFirst lighten'd on the mountain, she whose orbSeems always glowing with the fire of love, A lady young and beautiful, I dream'd, Was passing o'er a lea; and, as she came, Methought I saw her ever and anonBending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang:"Know ye, whoever of my name would ask, That I am Leah: for my brow to weaveA garland, these fair hands unwearied ply. To please me at the crystal mirror, hereI deck me. But my sister Rachel, sheBefore her glass abides the livelong day, Her radiant eyes beholding, charm'd no less, Than I with this delightful task. Her joyIn contemplation, as in labour mine. "

And now as glimm'ring dawn appear'd, that breaksMore welcome to the pilgrim still, as heSojourns less distant on his homeward way, Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fledMy slumber; whence I rose and saw my guideAlready risen. "That delicious fruit, Which through so many a branch the zealous careOf mortals roams in quest of, shall this dayAppease thy hunger. " Such the words I heardFrom Virgil's lip; and never greeting heardSo pleasant as the sounds. Within me straightDesire so grew upon desire to mount, Thenceforward at each step I felt the wingsIncreasing for my flight. When we had runO'er all the ladder to its topmost round, As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fix'dHis eyes, and thus he spake: "Both fires, my son, The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen, And art arriv'd, where of itself my kenNo further reaches. I with skill and artThus far have drawn thee. Now thy pleasure takeFor guide. Thou hast o'ercome the steeper way, O'ercome the straighter. Lo! the sun, that dartsHis beam upon thy forehead! lo! the herb, The arboreta and flowers, which of itselfThis land pours forth profuse! Will those bright eyesWith gladness come, which, weeping, made me hasteTo succour thee, thou mayst or seat thee down, Or wander where thou wilt. Expect no moreSanction of warning voice or sign from me, Free of thy own arbitrement to choose, Discreet, judicious. To distrust thy senseWere henceforth error. I invest thee thenWith crown and mitre, sovereign o'er thyself. "

CANTO XXVIII

Through that celestial forest, whose thick shadeWith lively greenness the new-springing dayAttemper'd, eager now to roam, and searchIts limits round, forthwith I left the bank, Along the champain leisurely my wayPursuing, o'er the ground, that on all sidesDelicious odour breath'd. A pleasant air, That intermitted never, never veer'd, Smote on my temples, gently, as a windOf softest influence: at which the sprays, Obedient all, lean'd trembling to that partWhere first the holy mountain casts his shade, Yet were not so disorder'd, but that stillUpon their top the feather'd quiristersApplied their wonted art, and with full joyWelcom'd those hours of prime, and warbled shrillAmid the leaves, that to their jocund laysinept tenor; even as from branch to branch, Along the piney forests on the shoreOf Chiassi, rolls the gath'ring melody, When Eolus hath from his cavern loos'dThe dripping south. Already had my steps, Though slow, so far into that ancient woodTransported me, I could not ken the placeWhere I had enter'd, when behold! my pathWas bounded by a rill, which to the leftWith little rippling waters bent the grass, That issued from its brink. On earth no waveHow clean soe'er, that would not seem to haveSome mixture in itself, compar'd with this, Transpicuous, clear; yet darkly on it roll'd, Darkly beneath perpetual gloom, which ne'erAdmits or sun or moon light there to shine. 

My feet advanc'd not; but my wond'ring eyesPass'd onward, o'er the streamlet, to surveyThe tender May-bloom, flush'd through many a hue, In prodigal variety: and there, As object, rising suddenly to view, That from our bosom every thought besideWith the rare marvel chases, I beheldA lady all alone, who, singing, went, And culling flower from flower, wherewith her wayWas all o'er painted. "Lady beautiful!Thou, who (if looks, that use to speak the heart, Are worthy of our trust), with love's own beamDost warm thee, " thus to her my speech I fram'd:"Ah! please thee hither towards the streamlet bendThy steps so near, that I may list thy song. Beholding thee and this fair place, methinks, I call to mind where wander'd and how look'dProserpine, in that season, when her childThe mother lost, and she the bloomy spring. "

As when a lady, turning in the dance, Doth foot it featly, and advances scarceOne step before the other to the ground;Over the yellow and vermilion flowersThus turn'd she at my suit, most maiden-like, Valing her sober eyes, and came so near, That I distinctly caught the dulcet sound. Arriving where the limped waters nowLav'd the green sward, her eyes she deign'd to raise, That shot such splendour on me, as I weenNe'er glanced from Cytherea's, when her sonHad sped his keenest weapon to her heart. Upon the opposite bank she stood and smil'dthrough her graceful fingers shifted stillThe intermingling dyes, which without seedThat lofty land unbosoms. By the streamThree paces only were we sunder'd: yetThe Hellespont, where Xerxes pass'd it o'er, (A curb for ever to the pride of man)Was by Leander not more hateful heldFor floating, with inhospitable wave'Twixt Sestus and Abydos, than by meThat flood, because it gave no passage thence. 

"Strangers ye come, and haply in this place, That cradled human nature in its birth, Wond'ring, ye not without suspicion viewMy smiles: but that sweet strain of psalmody, 'Thou, Lord! hast made me glad, ' will give ye light, Which may uncloud your minds. And thou, who stand'stThe foremost, and didst make thy suit to me, Say if aught else thou wish to hear: for ICame prompt to answer every doubt of thine. "

She spake; and I replied: "I know not howTo reconcile this wave and rustling soundOf forest leaves, with what I late have heardOf opposite report. " She answering thus:"I will unfold the cause, whence that proceeds, Which makes thee wonder; and so purge the cloudThat hath enwraps thee. The First Good, whose joyIs only in himself, created manFor happiness, and gave this goodly place, His pledge and earnest of eternal peace. Favour'd thus highly, through his own defectHe fell, and here made short sojourn; he fell, And, for the bitterness of sorrow, chang'dLaughter unblam'd and ever-new delight. That vapours none, exhal'd from earth beneath, Or from the waters (which, wherever heatAttracts them, follow), might ascend thus farTo vex man's peaceful state, this mountain roseSo high toward the heav'n, nor fears the rageOf elements contending, from that partExempted, where the gate his limit bars. Because the circumambient air throughoutWith its first impulse circles still, unlessAught interpose to cheek or thwart its course;Upon the summit, which on every sideTo visitation of th' impassive airIs open, doth that motion strike, and makesBeneath its sway th' umbrageous wood resound:And in the shaken plant such power resides, That it impregnates with its efficacyThe voyaging breeze, upon whose subtle plumeThat wafted flies abroad; and th' other landReceiving (as 't is worthy in itself, Or in the clime, that warms it), doth conceive, And from its womb produces many a treeOf various virtue. This when thou hast heard, The marvel ceases, if in yonder earthSome plant without apparent seed be foundTo fix its fibrous stem. And further learn, That with prolific foison of all seeds, This holy plain is fill'd, and in itselfBears fruit that ne'er was pluck'd on other soil. 

"The water, thou behold'st, springs not from vein, As stream, that intermittently repairsAnd spends his pulse of life, but issues forthFrom fountain, solid, undecaying, sure;And by the will omnific, full supplyFeeds whatsoe'er On either side it pours;On this devolv'd with power to take awayRemembrance of offence, on that to bringRemembrance back of every good deed done. From whence its name of Lethe on this part;On th' other Eunoe: both of which must firstBe tasted ere it work; the last exceedingAll flavours else. Albeit thy thirst may nowBe well contented, if I here break off, No more revealing: yet a corollaryI freely give beside: nor deem my wordsLess grateful to thee, if they somewhat passThe stretch of promise. They, whose verse of yoreThe golden age recorded and its bliss, On the Parnassian mountain, of this placePerhaps had dream'd. Here was man guiltless, herePerpetual spring and every fruit, and thisThe far-fam'd nectar. " Turning to the bards, When she had ceas'd, I noted in their looksA smile at her conclusion; then my faceAgain directed to the lovely dame. 

CANTO XXIX

Singing, as if enamour'd, she resum'dAnd clos'd the song, with "Blessed they whose sinsAre cover'd. " Like the wood-nymphs then, that tripp'dSingly across the sylvan shadows, oneEager to view and one to 'scape the sun, So mov'd she on, against the current, upThe verdant rivage. I, her mincing stepObserving, with as tardy step pursued. 

Between us not an hundred paces trod, The bank, on each side bending equally, Gave me to face the orient. Nor our wayFar onward brought us, when to me at onceShe turn'd, and cried: "My brother! look and hearken. "And lo! a sudden lustre ran acrossThrough the great forest on all parts, so brightI doubted whether lightning were abroad;But that expiring ever in the spleen, That doth unfold it, and this during stillAnd waxing still in splendor, made me questionWhat it might be: and a sweet melodyRan through the luminous air. Then did I chideWith warrantable zeal the hardihoodOf our first parent, for that there were earthStood in obedience to the heav'ns, she only, Woman, the creature of an hour, endur'd notRestraint of any veil: which had she borneDevoutly, joys, ineffable as these, Had from the first, and long time since, been mine. 

While through that wilderness of primy sweetsThat never fade, suspense I walk'd, and yetExpectant of beatitude more high, Before us, like a blazing fire, the airUnder the green boughs glow'd; and, for a song, Distinct the sound of melody was heard. 

O ye thrice holy virgins! for your sakesIf e'er I suffer'd hunger, cold and watching, Occasion calls on me to crave your bounty. Now through my breast let Helicon his streamPour copious; and Urania with her choirArise to aid me: while the verse unfoldsThings that do almost mock the grasp of thought. 

Onward a space, what seem'd seven trees of gold, The intervening distance to mine eyeFalsely presented; but when I was comeSo near them, that no lineament was lostOf those, with which a doubtful object, seenRemotely, plays on the misdeeming sense, Then did the faculty, that ministersDiscourse to reason, these for tapers of goldDistinguish, and it th' singing trace the sound"Hosanna. " Above, their beauteous garnitureFlam'd with more ample lustre, than the moonThrough cloudless sky at midnight in her full. 

I turn'd me full of wonder to my guide;And he did answer with a countenanceCharg'd with no less amazement: whence my viewReverted to those lofty things, which cameSo slowly moving towards us, that the brideWould have outstript them on her bridal day. 

The lady called aloud: "Why thus yet burnsAffection in thee for these living, lights, And dost not look on that which follows them?"

I straightway mark'd a tribe behind them walk, As if attendant on their leaders, cloth'dWith raiment of such whiteness, as on earthWas never. On my left, the wat'ry gleamBorrow'd, and gave me back, when there I look'd. As in a mirror, my left side portray'd. 

When I had chosen on the river's edgeSuch station, that the distance of the streamAlone did separate me; there I stay'dMy steps for clearer prospect, and beheldThe flames go onward, leaving, as they went, The air behind them painted as with trailOf liveliest pencils! so distinct were mark'dAll those sev'n listed colours, whence the sunMaketh his bow, and Cynthia her zone. These streaming gonfalons did flow beyondMy vision; and ten paces, as I guess, Parted the outermost. Beneath a skySo beautiful, came foul and-twenty elders, By two and two, with flower-de-luces crown'd. 

All sang one song: "Blessed be thou amongThe daughters of Adam! and thy lovelinessBlessed for ever!" After that the flowers, And the fresh herblets, on the opposite brink, Were free from that elected race; as lightIn heav'n doth second light, came after themFour animals, each crown'd with verdurous leaf. With six wings each was plum'd, the plumage fullOf eyes, and th' eyes of Argus would be such, Were they endued with life. Reader, more rhymesWill not waste in shadowing forth their form:For other need no straitens, that in thisI may not give my bounty room. But readEzekiel; for he paints them, from the northHow he beheld them come by Chebar's flood, In whirlwind, cloud and fire; and even suchAs thou shalt find them character'd by him, Here were they; save as to the pennons; there, From him departing, John accords with me. 

The space, surrounded by the four, enclos'dA car triumphal: on two wheels it cameDrawn at a Gryphon's neck; and he aboveStretch'd either wing uplifted, 'tween the midstAnd the three listed hues, on each side three;So that the wings did cleave or injure none;And out of sight they rose. The members, farAs he was bird, were golden; white the restWith vermeil intervein'd. So beautifulA car in Rome ne'er grac'd Augustus pomp, Or Africanus': e'en the sun's itselfWere poor to this, that chariot of the sunErroneous, which in blazing ruin fellAt Tellus' pray'r devout, by the just doomMysterious of all-seeing Jove. Three nymphsat the right wheel, came circling in smooth dance;The one so ruddy, that her form had scarceBeen known within a furnace of clear flame:The next did look, as if the flesh and bonesWere emerald: snow new-fallen seem'd the third. 

Now seem'd the white to lead, the ruddy now;And from her song who led, the others tookTheir treasure, swift or slow. At th' other wheel, A band quaternion, each in purple clad, Advanc'd with festal step, as of them oneThe rest conducted, one, upon whose frontThree eyes were seen. In rear of all this group, Two old men I beheld, dissimilarIn raiment, but in port and gesture like, Solid and mainly grave; of whom the oneDid show himself some favour'd counsellorOf the great Coan, him, whom nature madeTo serve the costliest creature of her tribe. His fellow mark'd an opposite intent, Bearing a sword, whose glitterance and keen edge, E'en as I view'd it with the flood between, Appall'd me. Next four others I beheld, Of humble seeming: and, behind them all, One single old man, sleeping, as he came, With a shrewd visage. And these seven, eachLike the first troop were habited, but woreNo braid of lilies on their temples wreath'd. Rather with roses and each vermeil flower, A sight, but little distant, might have sworn, That they were all on fire above their brow. 

Whenas the car was o'er against me, straight. Was heard a thund'ring, at whose voice it seem'dThe chosen multitude were stay'd; for there, With the first ensigns, made they solemn halt. 

CANTO XXX

Soon as the polar light, which never knowsSetting nor rising, nor the shadowy veilOf other cloud than sin, fair ornamentOf the first heav'n, to duty each one thereSafely convoying, as that lower dothThe steersman to his port, stood firmly fix'd;Forthwith the saintly tribe, who in the vanBetween the Gryphon and its radiance came, Did turn them to the car, as to their rest:And one, as if commission'd from above, In holy chant thrice shorted forth aloud:"Come, spouse, from Libanus!" and all the restTook up the song--At the last audit soThe blest shall rise, from forth his cavern eachUplifting lightly his new-vested flesh, As, on the sacred litter, at the voiceAuthoritative of that elder, sprangA hundred ministers and messengersOf life eternal. "Blessed thou! who com'st!"And, "O, " they cried, "from full hands scatter yeUnwith'ring lilies;" and, so saying, castFlowers over head and round them on all sides. 

I have beheld, ere now, at break of day, The eastern clime all roseate, and the skyOppos'd, one deep and beautiful serene, And the sun's face so shaded, and with mistsAttemper'd at lids rising, that the eyeLong while endur'd the sight: thus in a cloudOf flowers, that from those hands angelic rose, And down, within and outside of the car, Fell showering, in white veil with olive wreath'd, A virgin in my view appear'd, beneathGreen mantle, rob'd in hue of living flame:

And o'er my Spirit, that in former daysWithin her presence had abode so long, No shudd'ring terror crept. Mine eyes no moreHad knowledge of her; yet there mov'd from herA hidden virtue, at whose touch awak'd, The power of ancient love was strong within me. 

No sooner on my vision streaming, smoteThe heav'nly influence, which years past, and e'enIn childhood, thrill'd me, than towards Virgil ITurn'd me to leftward, panting, like a babe, That flees for refuge to his mother's breast, If aught have terrified or work'd him woe:And would have cried: "There is no dram of blood, That doth not quiver in me. The old flameThrows out clear tokens of reviving fire:"But Virgil had bereav'd us of himself, Virgil, my best-lov'd father; Virgil, heTo whom I gave me up for safety: nor, All, our prime mother lost, avail'd to saveMy undew'd cheeks from blur of soiling tears. 

"Dante, weep not, that Virgil leaves thee: nay, Weep thou not yet: behooves thee feel the edgeOf other sword, and thou shalt weep for that. "

As to the prow or stern, some admiralPaces the deck, inspiriting his crew, When 'mid the sail-yards all hands ply aloof;Thus on the left side of the car I saw, (Turning me at the sound of mine own name, Which here I am compell'd to register)The virgin station'd, who before appearedVeil'd in that festive shower angelical. 

Towards me, across the stream, she bent her eyes;Though from her brow the veil descending, boundWith foliage of Minerva, suffer'd notThat I beheld her clearly; then with actFull royal, still insulting o'er her thrall, Added, as one, who speaking keepeth backThe bitterest saying, to conclude the speech:"Observe me well. I am, in sooth, I amBeatrice. What! and hast thou deign'd at lastApproach the mountainnewest not, O man!Thy happiness is whole?" Down fell mine eyesOn the clear fount, but there, myself espying, Recoil'd, and sought the greensward: such a weightOf shame was on my forehead. With a mienOf that stern majesty, which doth surroundmother's presence to her awe-struck child, She look'd; a flavour of such bitternessWas mingled in her pity. There her wordsBrake off, and suddenly the angels sang:"In thee, O gracious Lord, my hope hath been:"But went no farther than, "Thou Lord, hast setMy feet in ample room. " As snow, that liesAmidst the living rafters on the backOf Italy congeal'd when drifted highAnd closely pil'd by rough Sclavonian blasts, Breathe but the land whereon no shadow falls, And straightway melting it distils away, Like a fire-wasted taper: thus was I, Without a sigh or tear, or ever theseDid sing, that with the chiming of heav'n's sphere, Still in their warbling chime: but when the strainOf dulcet symphony, express'd for meTheir soft compassion, more than could the words"Virgin, why so consum'st him?" then the ice, Congeal'd about my bosom, turn'd itselfTo spirit and water, and with anguish forthGush'd through the lips and eyelids from the heart. 

Upon the chariot's right edge still she stood, Immovable, and thus address'd her wordsTo those bright semblances with pity touch'd:"Ye in th' eternal day your vigils keep, So that nor night nor slumber, with close stealth, Conveys from you a single step in allThe goings on of life: thence with more heedI shape mine answer, for his ear intended, Who there stands weeping, that the sorrow nowMay equal the transgression. Not aloneThrough operation of the mighty orbs, That mark each seed to some predestin'd aim, As with aspect or fortunate or illThe constellations meet, but through benignLargess of heav'nly graces, which rain downFrom such a height, as mocks our vision, this manWas in the freshness of his being, such, So gifted virtually, that in himAll better habits wond'rously had thriv'd. The more of kindly strength is in the soil, So much doth evil seed and lack of cultureMar it the more, and make it run to wildness. These looks sometime upheld him; for I show'dMy youthful eyes, and led him by their lightIn upright walking. Soon as I had reach'dThe threshold of my second age, and chang'dMy mortal for immortal, then he left me, And gave himself to others. When from fleshTo spirit I had risen, and increaseOf beauty and of virtue circled me, I was less dear to him, and valued less. His steps were turn'd into deceitful ways, Following false images of good, that makeNo promise perfect. Nor avail'd me aughtTo sue for inspirations, with the which, I, both in dreams of night, and otherwise, Did call him back; of them so little reck'd him, Such depth he fell, that all device was shortOf his preserving, save that he should viewThe children of perdition. To this endI visited the purlieus of the dead:And one, who hath conducted him thus high, Receiv'd my supplications urg'd with weeping. It were a breaking of God's high decree, If Lethe should be past, and such food tastedWithout the cost of some repentant tear. "

CANTO XXXI

"O Thou!" her words she thus without delayResuming, turn'd their point on me, to whomThey but with lateral edge seem'd harsh before, "Say thou, who stand'st beyond the holy stream, If this be true. A charge so grievous needsThine own avowal. " On my facultySuch strange amazement hung, the voice expir'dImperfect, ere its organs gave it birth. 

A little space refraining, then she spake:"What dost thou muse on? Answer me. The waveOn thy remembrances of evil yetHath done no injury. " A mingled senseOf fear and of confusion, from my lipsDid such a "Yea" produce, as needed helpOf vision to interpret. As when breaksIn act to be discharg'd, a cross-bow bentBeyond its pitch, both nerve and bow o'erstretch'd, The flagging weapon feebly hits the mark;Thus, tears and sighs forth gushing, did I burstBeneath the heavy load, and thus my voiceWas slacken'd on its way. She straight began:"When my desire invited thee to loveThe good, which sets a bound to our aspirings, What bar of thwarting foss or linked chainDid meet thee, that thou so should'st quit the hopeOf further progress, or what bait of easeOr promise of allurement led thee onElsewhere, that thou elsewhere should'st rather wait?"

A bitter sigh I drew, then scarce found voiceTo answer, hardly to these sounds my lipsGave utterance, wailing: "Thy fair looks withdrawn, Things present, with deceitful pleasures, turn'dMy steps aside. " She answering spake: "Hadst thouBeen silent, or denied what thou avow'st, Thou hadst not hid thy sin the more: such eyeObserves it. But whene'er the sinner's cheekBreaks forth into the precious-streaming tearsOf self-accusing, in our court the wheelOf justice doth run counter to the edge. Howe'er that thou may'st profit by thy shameFor errors past, and that henceforth more strengthMay arm thee, when thou hear'st the Siren-voice, Lay thou aside the motive to this grief, And lend attentive ear, while I unfoldHow opposite a way my buried fleshShould have impell'd thee. Never didst thou spyIn art or nature aught so passing sweet, As were the limbs, that in their beauteous frameEnclos'd me, and are scatter'd now in dust. If sweetest thing thus fail'd thee with my death, What, afterward, of mortal should thy wishHave tempted? When thou first hadst felt the dartOf perishable things, in my departingFor better realms, thy wing thou should'st have prun'dTo follow me, and never stoop'd againTo 'bide a second blow for a slight girl, Or other gaud as transient and as vain. The new and inexperienc'd bird awaits, Twice it may be, or thrice, the fowler's aim;But in the sight of one, whose plumes are full, In vain the net is spread, the arrow wing'd. "

I stood, as children silent and asham'dStand, list'ning, with their eyes upon the earth, Acknowledging their fault and self-condemn'd. And she resum'd: "If, but to hear thus pains thee, Raise thou thy beard, and lo! what sight shall do!"

With less reluctance yields a sturdy holm, Rent from its fibers by a blast, that blowsFrom off the pole, or from Iarbas' land, Than I at her behest my visage rais'd:And thus the face denoting by the beard, I mark'd the secret sting her words convey'd. 

No sooner lifted I mine aspect up, Than downward sunk that vision I beheldOf goodly creatures vanish; and mine eyesYet unassur'd and wavering, bent their lightOn Beatrice. Towards the animal, Who joins two natures in one form, she turn'd, And, even under shadow of her veil, And parted by the verdant rill, that flow'dBetween, in loveliness appear'd as muchHer former self surpassing, as on earthAll others she surpass'd. Remorseful goadsShot sudden through me. Each thing else, the moreIts love had late beguil'd me, now the moreI Was loathsome. On my heart so keenly smoteThe bitter consciousness, that on the groundO'erpower'd I fell: and what my state was then, She knows who was the cause. When now my strengthFlow'd back, returning outward from the heart, The lady, whom alone I first had seen, I found above me. "Loose me not, " she cried:"Loose not thy hold;" and lo! had dragg'd me highAs to my neck into the stream, while she, Still as she drew me after, swept along, Swift as a shuttle, bounding o'er the wave. 

The blessed shore approaching then was heardSo sweetly, "Tu asperges me, " that IMay not remember, much less tell the sound. The beauteous dame, her arms expanding, clasp'dMy temples, and immerg'd me, where 't was fitThe wave should drench me: and thence raising up, Within the fourfold dance of lovely nymphsPresented me so lav'd, and with their armThey each did cover me. "Here are we nymphs, And in the heav'n are stars. Or ever earthWas visited of Beatrice, weAppointed for her handmaids, tended on her. We to her eyes will lead thee; but the lightOf gladness that is in them, well to scan, Those yonder three, of deeper ken than ours, Thy sight shall quicken. " Thus began their song;And then they led me to the Gryphon's breast, While, turn'd toward us, Beatrice stood. "Spare not thy vision. We have stationed theeBefore the emeralds, whence love erewhileHath drawn his weapons on thee. " As they spake, A thousand fervent wishes rivetedMine eyes upon her beaming eyes, that stoodStill fix'd toward the Gryphon motionless. As the sun strikes a mirror, even thusWithin those orbs the twofold being, shone, For ever varying, in one figure nowReflected, now in other. Reader! museHow wond'rous in my sight it seem'd to markA thing, albeit steadfast in itself, Yet in its imag'd semblance mutable. 

Full of amaze, and joyous, while my soulFed on the viand, whereof still desireGrows with satiety, the other threeWith gesture, that declar'd a loftier line, Advanc'd: to their own carol on they cameDancing in festive ring angelical. 

"Turn, Beatrice!" was their song: "O turnThy saintly sight on this thy faithful one, Who to behold thee many a wearisome paceHath measur'd. Gracious at our pray'r vouchsafeUnveil to him thy cheeks: that he may markThy second beauty, now conceal'd. " O splendour!O sacred light eternal! who is heSo pale with musing in Pierian shades, Or with that fount so lavishly imbued, Whose spirit should not fail him in th' essayTo represent thee such as thou didst seem, When under cope of the still-chiming heavenThou gav'st to open air thy charms reveal'd. 

CANTO XXXII

Mine eyes with such an eager coveting, Were bent to rid them of their ten years' thirst, No other sense was waking: and e'en theyWere fenc'd on either side from heed of aught;So tangled in its custom'd toils that smileOf saintly brightness drew me to itself, When forcibly toward the left my sightThe sacred virgins turn'd; for from their lipsI heard the warning sounds: "Too fix'd a gaze!"

Awhile my vision labor'd; as when lateUpon the' o'erstrained eyes the sun hath smote:But soon to lesser object, as the viewWas now recover'd (lesser in respectTo that excess of sensible, whence lateI had perforce been sunder'd) on their rightI mark'd that glorious army wheel, and turn, Against the sun and sev'nfold lights, their front. As when, their bucklers for protection rais'd, A well-rang'd troop, with portly banners curl'd, Wheel circling, ere the whole can change their ground:E'en thus the goodly regiment of heav'nProceeding, all did pass us, ere the carHad slop'd his beam. Attendant at the wheelsThe damsels turn'd; and on the Gryphon mov'dThe sacred burden, with a pace so smooth, No feather on him trembled. The fair dameWho through the wave had drawn me, companiedBy Statius and myself, pursued the wheel, Whose orbit, rolling, mark'd a lesser arch. 

Through the high wood, now void (the more her blame, Who by the serpent was beguil'd) I pastWith step in cadence to the harmonyAngelic. Onward had we mov'd, as farPerchance as arrow at three several flightsFull wing'd had sped, when from her station downDescended Beatrice. With one voiceAll murmur'd "Adam, " circling next a plantDespoil'd of flowers and leaf on every bough. Its tresses, spreading more as more they rose, Were such, as 'midst their forest wilds for heightThe Indians might have gaz'd at. "Blessed thou!Gryphon, whose beak hath never pluck'd that treePleasant to taste: for hence the appetiteWas warp'd to evil. " Round the stately trunkThus shouted forth the rest, to whom return'dThe animal twice-gender'd: "Yea: for soThe generation of the just are sav'd. "And turning to the chariot-pole, to footHe drew it of the widow'd branch, and boundThere left unto the stock whereon it grew. 

As when large floods of radiance from aboveStream, with that radiance mingled, which ascendsNext after setting of the scaly sign, Our plants then burgeon, and each wears anewHis wonted colours, ere the sun have yok'dBeneath another star his flamy steeds;Thus putting forth a hue, more faint than rose, And deeper than the violet, was renew'dThe plant, erewhile in all its branches bare. 

Unearthly was the hymn, which then arose. I understood it not, nor to the endEndur'd the harmony. Had I the skillTo pencil forth, how clos'd th' unpitying eyesSlumb'ring, when Syrinx warbled, (eyes that paidSo dearly for their watching, ) then like painter, That with a model paints, I might designThe manner of my falling into sleep. But feign who will the slumber cunningly;I pass it by to when I wak'd, and tellHow suddenly a flash of splendour rentThe curtain of my sleep, and one cries out:"Arise, what dost thou?" As the chosen three, On Tabor's mount, admitted to beholdThe blossoming of that fair tree, whose fruitIs coveted of angels, and doth makePerpetual feast in heaven, to themselvesReturning at the word, whence deeper sleepsWere broken, that they their tribe diminish'd saw, Both Moses and Elias gone, and chang'dThe stole their master wore: thus to myselfReturning, over me beheld I standThe piteous one, who cross the stream had broughtMy steps. "And where, " all doubting, I exclaim'd, "Is Beatrice?"--"See her, " she replied, "Beneath the fresh leaf seated on its root. Behold th' associate choir that circles her. The others, with a melody more sweetAnd more profound, journeying to higher realms, Upon the Gryphon tend. " If there her wordsWere clos'd, I know not; but mine eyes had nowTa'en view of her, by whom all other thoughtsWere barr'd admittance. On the very groundAlone she sat, as she had there been leftA guard upon the wain, which I beheldBound to the twyform beast. The seven nymphsDid make themselves a cloister round about her, And in their hands upheld those lights secureFrom blast septentrion and the gusty south. 

"A little while thou shalt be forester here:And citizen shalt be forever with me, Of that true Rome, wherein Christ dwells a RomanTo profit the misguided world, keep nowThine eyes upon the car; and what thou seest, Take heed thou write, returning to that place. "

Thus Beatrice: at whose feet inclin'dDevout, at her behest, my thought and eyes, I, as she bade, directed. Never fire, With so swift motion, forth a stormy cloudLeap'd downward from the welkin's farthest bound, As I beheld the bird of Jove descendingPounce on the tree, and, as he rush'd, the rind, Disparting crush beneath him, buds much moreAnd leaflets. On the car with all his mightHe struck, whence, staggering like a ship, it reel'd, At random driv'n, to starboard now, o'ercome, And now to larboard, by the vaulting waves. 

Next springing up into the chariot's wombA fox I saw, with hunger seeming pin'dOf all good food. But, for his ugly sinsThe saintly maid rebuking him, awayScamp'ring he turn'd, fast as his hide-bound corpseWould bear him. Next, from whence before he came, I saw the eagle dart into the hullO' th' car, and leave it with his feathers lin'd;And then a voice, like that which issues forthFrom heart with sorrow riv'd, did issue forthFrom heav'n, and, "O poor bark of mine!" it cried, "How badly art thou freighted!" Then, it seem'd, That the earth open'd between either wheel, And I beheld a dragon issue thence, That through the chariot fix'd his forked train;And like a wasp that draggeth back the sting, So drawing forth his baleful train, he dragg'dPart of the bottom forth, and went his wayExulting. What remain'd, as lively turfWith green herb, so did clothe itself with plumes, Which haply had with purpose chaste and kindBeen offer'd; and therewith were cloth'd the wheels, Both one and other, and the beam, so quicklyA sigh were not breath'd sooner. Thus transform'd, The holy structure, through its several parts, Did put forth heads, three on the beam, and oneOn every side; the first like oxen horn'd, But with a single horn upon their frontThe four. Like monster sight hath never seen. O'er it methought there sat, secure as rockOn mountain's lofty top, a shameless whore, Whose ken rov'd loosely round her. At her side, As 't were that none might bear her off, I sawA giant stand; and ever, and anonThey mingled kisses. But, her lustful eyesChancing on me to wander, that fell minionScourg'd her from head to foot all o'er; then fullOf jealousy, and fierce with rage, unloos'dThe monster, and dragg'd on, so far acrossThe forest, that from me its shades aloneShielded the harlot and the new-form'd brute. 

CANTO XXXIII

"The heathen, Lord! are come!" responsive thus, The trinal now, and now the virgin bandQuaternion, their sweet psalmody began, Weeping; and Beatrice listen'd, sadAnd sighing, to the song', in such a mood, That Mary, as she stood beside the cross, Was scarce more chang'd. But when they gave her placeTo speak, then, risen upright on her feet, She, with a colour glowing bright as fire, Did answer: "Yet a little while, and yeShall see me not; and, my beloved sisters, Again a little while, and ye shall see me. "

Before her then she marshall'd all the seven, And, beck'ning only motion'd me, the dame, And that remaining sage, to follow her. 

So on she pass'd; and had not set, I ween, Her tenth step to the ground, when with mine eyesHer eyes encounter'd; and, with visage mild, "So mend thy pace, " she cried, "that if my wordsAddress thee, thou mayst still be aptly plac'dTo hear them. " Soon as duly to her sideI now had hasten'd: "Brother!" she began, "Why mak'st thou no attempt at questioning, As thus we walk together?" Like to thoseWho, speaking with too reverent an aweBefore their betters, draw not forth the voiceAlive unto their lips, befell me shellThat I in sounds imperfect thus began:"Lady! what I have need of, that thou know'st, And what will suit my need. " She answering thus:"Of fearfulness and shame, I will, that thouHenceforth do rid thee: that thou speak no more, As one who dreams. Thus far be taught of me:The vessel, which thou saw'st the serpent break, Was and is not: let him, who hath the blame, Hope not to scare God's vengeance with a sop. Without an heir for ever shall not beThat eagle, he, who left the chariot plum'd, Which monster made it first and next a prey. Plainly I view, and therefore speak, the starsE'en now approaching, whose conjunction, freeFrom all impediment and bar, brings onA season, in the which, one sent from God, (Five hundred, five, and ten, do mark him out)That foul one, and th' accomplice of her guilt, The giant, both shall slay. And if perchanceMy saying, dark as Themis or as Sphinx, Fail to persuade thee, (since like them it foilsThe intellect with blindness) yet ere longEvents shall be the Naiads, that will solveThis knotty riddle, and no damage lightOn flock or field. Take heed; and as these wordsBy me are utter'd, teach them even soTo those who live that life, which is a raceTo death: and when thou writ'st them, keep in mindNot to conceal how thou hast seen the plant, That twice hath now been spoil'd. This whoso robs, This whoso plucks, with blasphemy of deedSins against God, who for his use aloneCreating hallow'd it. For taste of this, In pain and in desire, five thousand yearsAnd upward, the first soul did yearn for him, Who punish'd in himself the fatal gust. 

"Thy reason slumbers, if it deem this heightAnd summit thus inverted of the plant, Without due cause: and were not vainer thoughts, As Elsa's numbing waters, to thy soul, And their fond pleasures had not dyed it darkAs Pyramus the mulberry, thou hadst seen, In such momentous circumstance alone, God's equal justice morally impliedIn the forbidden tree. But since I mark theeIn understanding harden'd into stone, And, to that hardness, spotted too and stain'd, So that thine eye is dazzled at my word, I will, that, if not written, yet at leastPainted thou take it in thee, for the cause, That one brings home his staff inwreath'd with palm. "

I thus: "As wax by seal, that changeth notIts impress, now is stamp'd my brain by thee. But wherefore soars thy wish'd-for speech so highBeyond my sight, that loses it the more, The more it strains to reach it?"--"To the endThat thou mayst know, " she answer'd straight, "the school, That thou hast follow'd; and how far behind, When following my discourse, its learning halts:And mayst behold your art, from the divineAs distant, as the disagreement is'Twixt earth and heaven's most high and rapturous orb. "

"I not remember, " I replied, "that e'erI was estrang'd from thee, nor for such faultDoth conscience chide me. " Smiling she return'd:"If thou canst, not remember, call to mindHow lately thou hast drunk of Lethe's wave;And, sure as smoke doth indicate a flame, In that forgetfulness itself concludeBlame from thy alienated will incurr'd. From henceforth verily my words shall beAs naked as will suit them to appearIn thy unpractis'd view. " More sparkling now, And with retarded course the sun possess'dThe circle of mid-day, that varies stillAs th' aspect varies of each several clime, When, as one, sent in vaward of a troopFor escort, pauses, if perchance he spyVestige of somewhat strange and rare: so paus'dThe sev'nfold band, arriving at the vergeOf a dun umbrage hoar, such as is seen, Beneath green leaves and gloomy branches, oftTo overbrow a bleak and alpine cliff. And, where they stood, before them, as it seem'd, Tigris and Euphrates both beheld, Forth from one fountain issue; and, like friends, Linger at parting. "O enlight'ning beam!O glory of our kind! beseech thee sayWhat water this, which from one source deriv'dItself removes to distance from itself?"

To such entreaty answer thus was made:"Entreat Matilda, that she teach thee this. "

And here, as one, who clears himself of blameImputed, the fair dame return'd: "Of meHe this and more hath learnt; and I am safeThat Lethe's water hath not hid it from him. "

And Beatrice: "Some more pressing careThat oft the memory 'reeves, perchance hath madeHis mind's eye dark. But lo! where Eunoe cows!Lead thither; and, as thou art wont, reviveHis fainting virtue. " As a courteous spirit, That proffers no excuses, but as soonAs he hath token of another's will, Makes it his own; when she had ta'en me, thusThe lovely maiden mov'd her on, and call'dTo Statius with an air most lady-like:"Come thou with him. " Were further space allow'd, Then, Reader, might I sing, though but in part, That beverage, with whose sweetness I had ne'erBeen sated. But, since all the leaves are full, Appointed for this second strain, mine artWith warning bridle checks me. I return'dFrom the most holy wave, regenerate, If 'en as new plants renew'd with foliage new, Pure and made apt for mounting to the stars.