Canto XXV   
    
    
ARGUMENT.—Virgil and Statius resolve some doubts that have arisen in the mind of Dante from what he had just seen. They all arrive on the seventh and last cornice, where the sin of incontinence is purged in fire; and the spirits of those suffering therein are heard to record illustrious instances of chastity.   
    
    
IT was an hour, when he who climbs, had need      
To walk uncrippled: for the sun 11 had now      
To Taurus the meridian circle left,      
And to the Scorpion left the night. As one,      
That makes no pause, but presses on his road,           5   
Whate’er betide him, if some urgent need      
Impel; so enter’d we upon our way,      
One before other; for, but singly, none      
That steep and narrow scale admits to climb.      
  E’en as the young stork lifteth up his wing           10   
Through wish to fly, yet ventures not to quit      
The nest, and drops it; so in me desire      
Of questioning my guide arose, and fell,      
Arriving even to the act that marks      
A man prepared for speech. Him all our haste           15   
Restrain’d not; but thus spake the sire beloved:      
“Fear not to speed the shaft, that on thy lip      
Stands trembling for its flight.” Encouraged thus,      
I straight began: “How there can leanness come,      
Where is no want of nourishment to feed?”           20   
  “If thou,” he answer’d, hadst remember’d thee,      
How Meleager 2 with the wasting brand      
Wasted alike, by equal fires consumed;      
This would not trouble thee: and hadst thou thought,      
How in the mirror 3 your reflected form           25   
With mimic motion vibrates; what now seems      
Hard, had appear’d no harder than the pulp      
Of summer-fruit mature. But that thy will      
In certainty may find its full repose,      
Lo Statius here! on him I call, and pray           30   
That he would now be healer of thy wound.”      
  “If, in thy presence, I unfold to him      
The secrets of Heaven’s vengeance, let me plead      
Thine own injunction to exculpate me.”      
So Statius answer’d, and forthwith began:           35   
“Attend my words, O son, and in thy mind      
Receive them; so shall they be light to clear      
The doubt thou offer’st. Blood, concocted well,      
Which by the thirsty veins is ne’er imbibed,      
And rests as food superfluous, to be ta’en           40   
From the replenish’d table, in the heart      
Derives effectual virtue, that informs      
The several human limbs, as being that      
Which passes through the veins itself to make them.      
Yet more concocted it descends, where shame           45   
Forbids to mention: and from thence distils      
In natural vessel on another’s blood.      
There each unite together; one disposed      
To endure, to act the other, through that power      
Derived from whence it came; and being met,           50   
It ’gins to work, coagulating first;      
Then vivifies what its own substance made      
Consist. With animation now indued,      
The active virtue (differing from a plant      
No further, than that this is on the way,           55   
And at its limit that) continues yet      
To operate, that now it moves, and feels,      
As sea-sponge clinging to the rock: and there      
Assumes the organic powers its seed convey’d.      
This is the moment, son! at which the virtue,           60   
That from the generating heart proceeds,      
Is pliant and expansive; for each limb      
Is in the heart by forgetful nature plann’d.      
How babe of animal becomes, remains      
For thy considering. At this point, more wise,           65   
Than thou, has err’d, making the soul disjoin’d      
From passive intellect, because he saw      
No organ for the latter’s use assign’d.      
  “Open thy bosom to the truth that comes.      
Know, soon as in the embryo, to the brain           70   
Articulation is complete, then turns      
The primal Mover with a smile of joy      
On such great work of nature; and imbreathes      
New spirit replete with virtue, that what here      
Active it finds, to its own substance draws;           75   
And forms an individual soul, that lives,      
And feels, and bends reflective on itself.      
And that thou less may’st marvel at the word,      
Mark the sun’s heat; how that to wine doth change,      
Mix’d with the moisture filter’d through the vine.           80   
  “When Lachesis hath spun the thread, 4 the soul      
Takes with her both the human and divine,      
Memory, intelligence, and will, in act      
Far keener than before; the other powers      
Inactive all and mute. No pause allow’d,           85   
In wondrous sort self-moving, to one strand      
Of those, where the departed roam, she falls:      
Here learns her destined path. Soon as the place      
Receives her, round the plastic virtue beams,      
Distinct as in the living limbs before:           90   
And as the air, when saturate with showers,      
The casual beam refracting, decks itself      
With many a hue; so here the ambient air      
Weareth that form, which influence of the soul      
Imprints on it: and like the flame, that where           95   
The fire moves, thither follows; so, henceforth,      
The new form on the spirit follows still:      
Hence hath it semblance, and is shadow call’d,      
With each sense, even to the sight, indued:      
Hence speech is ours, hence laughter, tears, and sighs,           100   
Which thou mayst oft have witness’d on the mount.      
The obedient shadow fails not to present      
Whatever varying passion moves within us.      
And this the cause of what thou marvel’st at.”      
  Now the last flexure of our way we reach’d;           105   
And to the right hand turning, other care      
Awaits us. Here the rocky precipice      
Hurls forth redundant flames; and from the rim      
A blast up-blown, with forcible rebuff      
Driveth them back, sequester’d from its bound.           110   
  Behoved us, one by one, along the side,      
That border’d on the void, to pass; and I      
Fear’d on one hand the fire, on the other fear’d      
Headlong to fall: when thus the instructor warn’d:      
“Strict rein must in this place direct the eyes.           115   
A little swerving and the way is lost.”      
  Then from the bosom of the burning mass,      
“O God of mercy!” 5 heard I sung, and felt      
No less desire to turn. And when I saw      
Spirits along the flame proceeding, I           120   
Between their footsteps and mine own was fain      
To share by turns my view. At the hymn’s close      
They shouted loud, “I do not know a man;” 6      
Then in low voice again took up the strain;      
Which once more ended, “To the wood,” they cried,           125   
“Ran Dian, and drave forth Callisto stung      
With Cytherea’s poison”; then return’d      
Unto their song; then many a pair extoll’d,      
Who lived in virtue chastely and the bands      
Of wedded love. Nor from that task, I ween,           130   
Surcease they; whilesoe’er the scorching fire      
Enclasps them. Of such skill appliance needs,      
To medicine the wound that healeth last.      
    
Note 1. “The sun.” The sun had passed the meridian two hours, and that meridian was now occupied by the constellation of Taurus, to which as the Scorpion is opposite, the latter constellation was consequently at the meridian of night. [back]   
Note 2. Virgil reminds Dante that, as Meleager was wasted away by the decree of the fates, and not through want of blood; so by the divine appointment, there may be leanness where there is no need of nourishment. [back]   
Note 3. As the reflection of a form in a mirror is modified with the modification of the form itself; so the soul, separated from the earthly body, impresses the ghost of that body with its own affections. [back]   
Note 4. “When Lachesis hath spun the thread.” When a man’s life on earth is at an end. [back]   
Note 5. “Summæ Deus clementiæ.” The beginning of the hymn sung on the Sabbath at matins, as in the ancient breviaries; in the modern it is “summæ parens clementiæ.” [back]   
Note 6. Luke, i. 34.

Canto XXVI   
    
    
ARGUMENT.—The spirits wonder at seeing the shadow cast by the body of Dante on the flame as he passes it. This moves one of them to address him. It proves to be Guido Guinicelli, the Italian poet, who points out to him the spirit of Arnault Daniel, the Provençal, with whom he also speaks.   
    
    
WHILE singly thus along the rim we walk’d,      
Oft the good master warn’d me: “Look thou      
Avail it that I caution thee.” The sun [well.      
Now all the western clime irradiate changed      
From azure tinct to white; and, as I pass’d,           5   
My passing shadow made the umber’d flame      
Burn ruddier. At so strange a sight I mark’d      
That many a spirit marvel’d on his way.      
  This bred occasion first to speak of me.      
“He seems,” said they, “no insubstantial frame:”           10   
Then, to obtain what certainty they might,      
Stretch’d tow’rd me, careful not to overpass      
The burning pale. “O thou, who followest      
The others, haply not more slow than they,      
But moved by reverence; answer me, who burn           15   
In thirst and fire: nor I alone, but these      
All for thine answer do more thirst, than doth      
Indian or Æthiop for the cooling stream.      
Tell us, how is it that thou makest thyself      
A wall against the sun, as thou not yet           20   
Into the inextricable toils of death      
Hadst enter’d?” Thus spake one; and I had straight      
Declared me, if attention had not turn’d      
To new appearance. Meeting these, there came,      
Midway the burning path, a crowd, on whom           25   
Earnestly gazing, from each part I view      
The shadows all press forward, severally      
Each snatch a hasty kiss, and then away.      
E’en so the emmets, ’mid their dusky troops,      
Peer closely one at other, to spy out           30   
Their mutual road perchance, and how they thrive.      
  That friendly greeting parted, ere despatch      
Of the first onward step, from either tribe      
Loud clamour rises: those, who newly come,      
Shout “Sodom and Gomorrah!” these, “The cow           35   
Pasiphaë enter’d, that the beast she woo’d      
Might rush unto her luxury.” Then as cranes,      
That part toward the Riphæan mountains fly,      
Part toward the Lybic sands, these to avoid      
The ice, and those the sun; so hasteth off           40   
One crowd, advances the other; and resume      
Their first song, weeping, and their several shout.      
  Again drew near my side the very same,      
Who had erewhile besought me; and their looks      
Mark’d eagerness to listen. I, who twice           45   
Their 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, fed      
With blood, and sinew-strung. That I no more           50   
May live in blindness, hence I tend aloft.      
There is a Dame on high, who wins for us      
This grace, by which my mortal through your realm      
I bear. But may your utmost wish soon meet      
Such full fruition, that the orb of heaven,           55   
Fullest of love, and of most ample space,      
Receive you; as ye tell (upon my page      
Henceforth to stand recorded) who ye are;      
And what this multitude, that at your backs      
Have pass’d behind us.” As one, mountain-bred,           60   
Rugged and clownish, if some city’s walls      
He chance to enter, round him stares agape,      
Confounded and struck dumb; e’en such appear’d      
Each spirit. But when rid of that amaze,      
(Not long the inmate of a noble heart,)           65   
He, who before had question’d thus resumed:      
“O blessed! who, for death preparing, takest      
Experience of our limits, in thy bark;      
Their crime, who not with us proceed, was that      
For which, as he did triumph, Cæsar heard           70   
The shout of ‘queen,’ to taunt him. Hence their cry      
Of ‘Sodom,’ as they parted; to rebuke      
Themselves, and aid the burning by their shame.      
Our sinning was hermaphrodite: but we,      
Because the law of human kind we broke,           75   
Following like beasts our vile concupiscence,      
Hence parting from them, to our own disgrace      
Record the name of her, by whom the beast      
In bestial tire was acted. Now our deeds      
Thou know’st, and how we sinn’d. If thou by name           80   
Wouldst haply know us, time permits not now      
To tell so much, nor can I. Of myself      
Learn what thou wishest. Guinicelli I;      
Who having truly sorrow’d ere my last,      
Already cleanse me.” With such pious joy,           85   
As the two sons upon their mother gazed      
From sad Lycurgus 1 rescued; such my joy      
(Save that I more repress’d it) when I heard      
From his own lips the name of him pronounced,      
Who was a father to me, and to those           90   
My betters, who have ever used the sweet      
And pleasant rhymes of love. So naught I heard,      
Nor spake; but long time thoughtfully I went,      
Gazing on him; and, only for the fire,      
Approached not nearer. When my eyes were fed           95   
By looking on him; with such solemn pledge,      
As forces credence, I devoted me      
Unto his service wholly. In reply      
He thus bespake me: “What from thee I hear      
Is graved so deeply on my mind, the waves           100   
Of Lethe shall not wash it off, nor make      
A whit less lively. But as now thy oath      
Has seal’d the truth, declare what cause impels      
That love, which both thy looks and speech bewray.”      
  “Those dulcet lays,” I answer’d; “which, as long           105   
As of our tongue the beauty does not fade,      
Shall make us love the very ink that traced them.”      
  “Brother!” he cried, and pointed at the shade      
Before him, “there is one, whose mother speech      
Doth owe to him a fairer ornament.           110   
He 2 in love ditties, and the tales of prose,      
Without a rival stands; and lets the fools      
Talk on, who think the songster of Limoges 3      
O’ertops him. Rumour and the popular voice      
They look to, more than truth; and so confirm           115   
Opinion, ere by art or reason taught.      
Thus many of the elder time cried up      
Guittone, giving him the prize, till truth      
By strength of numbers vanquish’d. If thou own      
So ample privilege, as to have gain’d           120   
Free entrance to the cloister, whereof Christ      
Is Abbot of the college; say to him      
One paternoster for me, far as needs      
For dwellers in this world, where power to sin      
No longer tempts us.” Haply to make way           125   
For one that follow’d next, when that was said,      
He vanish’d through the fire, as through the wave      
A fish, that glances diving to the deep.      
  I, to the spirit he had shown me, drew      
A little onward, and besought his name,           130   
For which my heart, I said, kept gracious room.      
He frankly thus began: “Thy courtesy 4      
So wins on me, I have nor power nor will      
To hide me. I am Arnault; and with songs,      
Sorely waymenting for my folly past,           135   
Thorough this ford of fire I wade, and see      
The day, I hope for, smiling in my view.      
I pray ye by the worth that guides ye up      
Unto the summit of the scale, in time      
Remember ye my sufferings.” With such words           140   
He disappear’d in the refining flame.      
    
Note 1. Hypsipile had left her infant charge, the son of Lycurgus, on a bank, where it was destroyed by a serpent, when she went to show the Argive army the river of Langia; and on her escaping the effects of Lycurgus’ resentment, the joy her own children felt at the sight of her was such as our Poet felt on beholding his predecessor Guinicelli. [back]   
Note 2. Dante and Petrarch place Arnault Daniel first among Provençal poets. [back]   
Note 3. Giraud de Borneil, of Sideuil, a castle in Limoges. He was a Troubadour, much admired and caressed in his day, and appears to have been in favor with the monarchs of Castile, Leon, Navarre, and Arragon. [back]   
Note 4. Arnault is here made to speak in his own tongue, the Provençal.

   
Canto XXVII   
    
    
ARGUMENT.—An Angel sends them forward through the fire to the last ascent, which leads to the terrestrial Paradise, situated on the summit of the mountain. They have not proceeded many steps on their way upward, when the fall of night hinders them from going further; and our Poet, who has lain down with Virgil and Statius to rest, beholds in a dream two females, figuring the active and contemplative life. With the return of morning, they reach the height; and here Virgil gives Dante full liberty to use his own pleasure and judgment in the choice of his way, till he shall meet with Beatrice.   
    
    
NOW was the sun 1 so station’d as when first      
His early radiance quivers on the heights,      
Where stream’d his Maker’s blood; while Libra hangs      
Above Hesperian Ebro; and new fires,      
Meridian, flash on Ganges’ yellow tide.           5   
  So day was sinking, when the Angel of God      
Appear’d before us. Joy was in his mien.      
Forth of the flame he stood upon the brink;      
And with a voice, whose lively clearness far      
Surpass’d our human, “Blessed 2 are the pure           10   
In 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 list      
Attentive to the song ye hear from thence.”      
  I, when I heard his saying, was as one           15   
Laid in the grave. My hands together clasp’d,      
And upward stretching, on the fire I look’d;      
And busy fancy conjured up the forms      
Erewhile beheld alive consumed in flames.      
  The escorting spirits turn’d with gentle looks           20   
Toward me; and the Mantuan spake: “My son,      
Here torment thou mayst feel, but canst not death.      
Remember thee, remember thee, if I      
Safe e’en on Geryon brought thee; now I come      
More near to God, wilt thou not trust me now?           25   
Of this be sure; though in its womb that flame      
A thousand years contain’d thee, from thy head      
No hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth,      
Approach; and with thy hand thy vesture’s hem      
Stretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief.           30   
Lay now all fear, oh! lay all fear aside.      
Turn hither, and come onward undismay’d.”      
  I still, though conscience urged, no step advanced.      
  When still he saw me fix’d and obstinate.      
Somewhat disturb’d he cried: “Mark now, my son,           35   
From Beatrice thou art by this wall      
Divided.” As at Thisbe’s name the eye      
Of Pyramus was open’d, (when life ebb’d      
Fast from his veins), and took one parting glance,      
While vermeil dyed the mulberry; thus I turn’d           40   
To my sage guide, relenting, when I heard      
The name that springs forever in my breast.      
  He shook his forehead; and, “How long,” he said,      
“Linger we now?” then smiled, as one would smile      
Upon a child that eyes the fruit and yields.           45   
Into the fire before me then he walk’d;      
And Statius, who erewhile no little space      
Had parted us, he pray’d to come behind.      
  I would have cast me into molten glass      
To cool me, when I enter’d; so intense           50   
Raged the conflagrant mass. The sire beloved,      
To comfort me, as he proceeded, still      
Of Beatrice talk’d. “Her eyes,” saith he,      
“E’en now I seem to view.” From the other side      
A voice, that sang, did guide us; and the voice           55   
Following, with heedful ear, we issued forth,      
There where the path led upward. “Come,” 3 we heard,      
“Come, blessed of my Father.” Such the sounds,      
That hail’d us from within a light, which shone      
So radiant, I could not endure the view.           60   
“The sun,” it added, “hastes: and evening comes.      
Delay not: ere the western sky is hung      
With blackness, strive ye for the pass.” Our way      
Upright within the rock arose, and faced      
Such part of heaven, that from before my steps           65   
The beams were shrouded of the sinking sun.      
  Nor many stairs were overpast, when now      
By fading of the shadow we perceived      
The sun behind us couch’d; and ere one face      
Of darkness o’er its measureless expanse           70   
Involved the horizon, and the night her lot      
Held individual, each of us had made      
A stair his pallet; not that will, but power,      
Had fail’d us, by the nature of that mount      
Forbidden further travel. As the goats,           75   
That late have skipt and wanton’d rapidly      
Upon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta’en      
Their supper on the herb, now silent lie      
And ruminate beneath the umbrage brown,      
While noon-day rages; and the goatherd leans           80   
Upon his staff, and leaning watches them:      
And as the swain, that lodges out all night      
In quiet by his flock, lest beast of prey      
Disperse them: even so all three abode,      
I as a goat, and as the shepherds they,           85   
Close pent on either side by shelving rock.      
  A little glimpse of sky was seen above;      
Yet by that little I beheld the stars,      
In magnitude and lustre shining forth      
With more than wonted glory. As I lay,           90   
Gazing on them, and in that fit of musing      
Sleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oft      
Tidings of future hap. About the hour,      
As I believe, when Venus from the east      
First lighten’d on the mountain, she whose orb           95   
Seems 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 anon      
Bending to cull the flowers, and thus she sang:           100   
“Know ye, whoever of my name would ask,      
That I am Leah: 4 for my brow to weave      
A garland, these fair hands unwearied ply.      
To please me at the crystal mirror, here      
I deck me. But my sister Rachel, she           105   
Before her glass abides the livelong day,      
Her radiant eyes beholding, charm’d no less,      
Than I with this delightful task. Her joy      
In contemplation, as in labour mine.”      
  And now as glimmering dawn appear’d, that breaks           110   
More welcome to the pilgrim still, as he      
Sojourns less distant on his homeward way,      
Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fled      
My slumber; whence I rose, and saw my guide      
Already risen. “That delicious fruit,           115   
Which through so many a branch the zealous care      
Of mortals roams in quest of, shall this day      
Appease thy hunger.” Such the words I heard      
From Virgil’s lip; and never greeting heard,      
So pleasant as the sounds. Within me straight           120   
Desire so grew upon desire to mount,      
Thenceforward at each step I felt the wings      
Increasing for my flight. When we had run      
O’er all the ladder to its topmost round,      
As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fix’d           125   
His eyes, and thus he spake: “Both fires, my son,      
The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen;      
And art arrived, where of itself my ken      
No further reaches. I, with skill and art,      
Thus far have drawn thee. Now thy pleasure take           130   
For guide. Thou hast o’ercome the steeper way,      
O’ercome the straiter. Lo! the sun, that darts      
His beam upon my forehead: lo! the herb,      
The arboreta and flowers, which of itself      
This land pours forth profuse. Till those bright eyes 5           135   
With gladness come, which, weeping, made me haste      
To succour thee, thou mayst or seat thee down,      
Or wander where thou wilt. Expect no more      
Sanction of warning voice or sign from me,      
Free of thy own arbitrament to chose,           140   
Discreet, judicious. To distrust thy sense      
Were henceforth error. I invest thee then      
With crown and mitre, sovereign o’er thyself.”      
    
Note 1. “The sun,” At Jerusalem it was dawn, in Spain midnight, and in India noonday, in Purgatory sunset. [back]   
Note 2. “Blessed.”—Matt. v. 8. [back]   
Note 3. “Come.”—Matt. xxv. 34. [back]   
Note 4. Leah, the active life; Rachel, the contemplative; Michael Angelo has used these allegorical personages on his monument of Julius II in the church of S. Pietro in Vincolo. [back]   
Note 5. The eyes of Beatrice.

Canto XXVIII   
    
    
ARGUMENT.—Dante wanders through the forest of the terrestrial Paradise, till he is stopped by a stream, on the other side of which he beholds a fair lady, culling flowers. He speaks to her; and she, in reply, explains to him certain things touching the nature of that place, and tells that the water, which flows between them, is here called Lethe, and in another place has the name of Eunoe.   
    
    
THROUGH that celestial forest, whose thick shade      
With lively greenness the new-springing day      
Attemper’d, eager now to roam, and search      
Its limits round, forthwith I left the bank;      
Along the champain leisurely my way           5   
Pursuing, o’er the ground, that on all sides      
Delicious odour breathed. A pleasant air,      
That intermitted never, never veer’d,      
Smote on my temples, gently, as a wind      
Of softest influence: at which the sprays,           10   
Obedient all, lean’d trembling to that part 1      
Where first the holy mountain casts his shade;      
Yet were not so disorder’d, but that still      
Upon their top the feather’d quiristers      
Applied their wonted art, and with full joy           15   
Welcomed those hours of prime, and warbled shrill      
Amid the leaves, that to their jocund lays      
Kept tenour; even as from branch to branch,      
Along the piny forests on the shore      
Of Chiassi, rolls the gathering melody,           20   
When Eolus hath from his cavern loosed      
The dripping south. Already had my steps,      
Though slow, so far into that ancient wood      
Transported me, I could not ken the place      
Where I had enter’d; when, behold! my path           25   
Was bounded by a rill, which, to the left,      
With little rippling waters bent the grass      
That issued from its brink. On earth no wave      
How clean soe’er, that would not seem to have      
Some mixture in itself, compared with this,           30   
Transpicuous clear; yet darkly on it roll’d,      
Darkly beneath perpetual gloom, which ne’er      
Admits or sun or moon-light there to shine.      
  My feet advanced not; but my wondering eyes      
Pass’d onward, o’er the streamlet to survey           35   
The 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 beside      
With the rare marvel chases, I beheld           40   
A lady 2 all alone, who, singing, went,      
And culling flower from flower, wherewith her way      
Was all o’er painted. “Lady beautiful!      
Thou, who (if looks, that use to speak the heart,      
Art worthy of our trust) with love’s own beam           45   
Dost warm thee,” thus to her my speech I framed;      
“Ah! please thee hither toward the streamlet bend      
Thy 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’d           50   
Proserpine, in that season, when her child      
The mother lost, and she the bloomy spring.”      
  As when a lady, turning in the dance,      
Doth foot it featly, and advances scarce      
One step before the other to the ground;           55   
Over the yellow and vermilion flowers,      
Thus 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 limpid waters now           60   
Laved the greensward, her eyes she deign’d to raise,      
That shot such splendour on me, as I ween      
Ne’er glanced from Cytherea’s, when her son      
Had sped his keenest weapon to her heart.      
Upon the opposite bank she stood and smiled;           65   
As through her graceful fingers shifted still      
The intermingling dyes, which without seed      
That lofty land unbosoms. By the stream      
Three paces only were we sunder’d: yet,      
The Hellespont, where Xerxes pass’d it o’er,           70   
(A curb for ever to the pride of man, 3)      
Was by Leander not more hateful held      
For floating, with inhospitable wave,      
’Twixt Sestos and Abydos, than by me      
That flood, because it gave no passage thence.           75   
  “Strangers ye come; and haply in this place,      
That cradled human nature in its birth,      
Wondering, ye not without suspicion view      
My smiles: but that sweet strain of psalmody,      
‘Thou, Lord! hast made me glad,’ 4 will give ye light,           80   
Which may uncloud your minds. And thou, who stand’st      
The foremost, and didst make thy suit to me,      
Say if aught else thou wish to hear: for I      
Came prompt to answer every doubt of thine.”      
  She spake; and I replied: “I know not how           85   
To reconcile this wave, and rustling sound      
Of forest leaves, with what I late have heard      
Of opposite report.” She answering thus:      
“I will unfold the cause, whence that proceeds,      
Which makes thee wonder; and so purge the cloud           90   
That hath enwrapt thee. The First Good, whose joy      
Is only in Himself, created man,      
For happiness; and gave this goodly place,      
His pledge and earnest of eternal peace.      
Favour’d thus highly, through his own defect           95   
He fell; and here made short sojourn; he fell,      
And, for the bitterness of sorrow, changed      
Laughter unblamed and ever-new delight.      
That vapours none, exhaled from earth beneath,      
Or from the waters, (which, wherever heat           100   
Attracts them, follow), might ascend thus far      
To vex man’s peaceful state, this mountain rose      
So high toward the Heaven, nor fears the rage      
Of elements contending; from that part      
Exempted, where the gate his limit bars.           105   
Because the circumambient air, throughout,      
With its first impulse circles still, unless      
Aught interpose to check or thwart its course;      
Upon the summit, which on every side      
To visitation of the impassive air           110   
Is open, doth that motion strike, and makes      
Beneath its sway the umbrageous wood resound:      
And in the shaken plant such power resides,      
That it impregnates with its efficacy      
The voyaging breeze, upon whose subtle plume           115   
That, wafted, flies abroad; and the other land, 5      
Receiving, (as ’tis worthy in itself,      
Or in the clime, that warms it,) doth conceive;      
And from its womb produces many a tree      
Of various virtue. This when thou hast heard,           120   
The marvel ceases, if in yonder earth      
Some plant, without apparent seed, be found      
To fix its fibrous stem. And further learn,      
That with prolific foison of all seeds      
This holy plain is fill’d, and in itself           125   
Bears fruit that ne’er was pluck’d on other soil.      
  “The water, thou behold’st, springs not from vein,      
Restored by vapour, that the cold converts;      
As stream that intermittently repairs      
And spends his pulse of life; but issues forth           130   
From fountain, solid, undecaying, sure:      
And, by the Will Omnific, full supply      
Feeds whatsoe’er on either side it pours;      
On this, devolved with power to take away      
Remembrance of offence; on that, to bring           135   
Remembrance back of every good deed done.      
From whence its name of Lethe on this part;      
On the other, Eunoë: both of which must first      
Be tasted, ere it work; the last exceeding      
All flavours else. Albeit thy thirst may now           140   
Be well contented, if I here break off,      
No more revealing; yet a corollary      
I freely give beside: nor deem my words      
Less grateful to thee, if they somewhat pass      
The stretch of promise. They, whose verse of yore           145   
The golden age recorded and its bliss,      
On the Parnassian mountain, of this place      
Perhaps had dream’d. Here was man guiltless; here      
Perpetual spring, and every fruit; and this      
The far-famed nectar.” Turning to the bards,           150   
When she had ceased, I noted in their looks      
A smile at her conclusion; then my face      
Again directed to the lovely dame.      
    
Note 1. “To that part.” The west. [back]   
Note 2. Most of the commentators suppose that this lady, who in the last Canto is called Matilda, is the Countess Matilda, who endowed the Holy See with the estates called the Patrimony of St. Peter, and died in 1115. But it seems more probable that she should be intended for an allegorical personage. [back]   
Note 3. Because Xerxes had been so humbled, when he was compelled to repass the Hellespont in one small bark, after having a little before crossed with a prodigious army, in the hopes of subduing Greece. [back]   
Note 4. “Thou, Lord! hast made me glad.”—Psalm xcii. 4. [back]   
Note 5. The continent, inhabited by the living, and separated from Purgatory by the ocean, is affected (and that diversely, according to the nature of the soil, or the climate) by a virtue, conveyed to it by the winds from plants growing in the terrestrial Paradise, which is situated on the summit of Purgatory; and this is the cause why some plants are found on earth without any apparent seed to produce them.

   
Canto XXIX   
    
    
ARGUMENT.—The lady, who in a following Canto is called Matilda, moves along the side of the stream in a contrary direction to the current, and Dante keeps equal pace with her on the opposite bank. A marvellous sight, preceded by music, appears in view.   
    
    
SINGING, as if enamour’d, she resumed      
And closed the song, with “Blessed they 1 whose sins      
Are cover’d.” Like the wood-nymphs then, that      
Singly across the sylvan shadows; one [tripp’d      
Eager to view, and one to escape the sun;           5   
So moved she on, against the current, up      
The verdant rivage. I, her mincing step      
Observing, with as tardy step pursued.      
  Between us not an hundred paces trod,      
The bank, on each side bending equally,           10   
Gave me to face the orient. Nor our way      
Far onward brought us, when to me at once      
She turn’d, and cried: “My brother! look, and hearken.”      
And lo! a sudden lustre ran across      
Through the great forest on all parts, so bright,           15   
I doubted whether lightning were abroad;      
But that, expiring ever in the spleen      
That doth unfold it, and this during still,      
And waxing still in splendour, made me question      
What it might be: and a sweet melody           20   
Ran through the luminous air. Then did I chide,      
With warrantable zeal, the hardihood      
Of our first, parent; for that there, where earth,      
Stood in obedience to the Heavens, she only,      
Woman, the creature of an hour, endured not           25   
Restraint of any veil, which had she borne      
Devoutly, joys, ineffable as these,      
Had from the first, and long time since, been mine.      
  While, through that wilderness of primly sweets      
That never fade, suspense I walk’d, and yet           30   
Expectant of beatitude more high;      
Before us, like a blazing fire, the air      
Under the green boughs glow’d; and, for a song,      
Distinct the sound of melody was heard.      
  O ye thrice holy virgins! for your sakes           35   
If e’er I suffer’d hunger, cold, and watching,      
Occasion calls on me to crave your bounty.      
Now through my breast let Helicon his stream      
Pour copious, and Urania 2 with her choir      
Arise to aid me; while the verse unfolds           40   
Things, that do almost mock the grasp of thought.      
  Onward a space, what seem’d seven trees of gold      
The intervening distance to mine eye      
Falsely presented; but, when I was come      
So near them, that no lineament was lost           45   
Of those, with which a doubtful object, seen      
Remotely, plays on the misdeeming sense;      
Then did the faculty, that ministers      
Discourse to reason, these for tapers of gold 3      
Distinguish; and i’ the singing trace the sound           50   
“Hosanna!” Above, their beauteous garniture      
Flamed with more ample lustre, than the moon      
Through cloudless sky at midnight, in her noon.      
  I turn’d me, full of wonder, to my guide;      
And he did answer with a countenance           55   
Charged with no less amazement: whence my view      
Reverted to those lofty things, which came      
So slowly moving toward us, that the bride      
Would have outstript them on her bridal day.      
  The lady call’d aloud: “Why thus yet burns           60   
Affection 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, clothed      
With raiment of such whiteness, as on earth           65   
Was never. On my left, the watery gleam      
Borrow’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 edge      
Such station, that the distance of the stream           70   
Alone did separate me; there I stay’d      
My steps for clearer prospect, and beheld      
The flames go onward, leaving, as they went,      
The air behind them painted as with trail      
Of liveliest pencils; so distinct were mark’d           75   
All those seven listed colours, whence the sun      
Maketh his bow, and Cynthia her zone.      
These streaming gonfalons did flow beyond      
My vision; and ten paces, as I guess,      
Parted the outermost. Beneath a sky           80   
So beautiful, came four and twenty elders 4,      
By two and two, with flower-de-luces crown’d.      
All sang one song: “Blessed be thou 5 among      
The daughters of Adam! and thy loveliness      
Blessed forever!” After that the flowers,           85   
And the fresh herblets, on the opposite brink,      
Were free from that elected race; as light      
In heaven doth second light, came after them      
Four 6 animals, each crown’d with verdurous leaf.      
With six wings each was plumed; the plumage full           90   
Of eyes; and the eyes of Argus would be such,      
Were they endued with life. Reader! more rhymes      
I will not waste in shadowing forth their form:      
For other need so straitens, that in this      
I may not give my bounty room. But read           95   
Ezekiel; 7 for he paints them, from the north      
How he beheld them come by Chebar’s flood,      
In whirlwind, cloud, and fire; and even such      
As thou shalt find them character’d by him,      
Here were they; save as to the pennons: there,           100   
From him departing, John 8 accords with me.      
  The space, surrounded by the four, enclosed      
A car triumphal: 9 on two wheels it came,      
Drawn at a Gryphon’s 10 neck; and he above      
Stretch’d either wing uplifted, ’tween the midst           105   
And 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, far      
As he was bird, were golden; white the rest,      
with vermeil interven’d. So beautiful           110   
A car, in Rome, ne’er graced Augustus’ pomp,      
Or Africanus’: e’en the sun’s itself      
Were poor to this; that chariot of the sun,      
Erroneous, which in blazing ruin fell      
At Tellus’ prayer devout, by the just doom           115   
Mysterious of all-seeing Jove. Three nymphs 11,      
At the right wheel, came circling in smooth dance:      
The one so ruddy, that her form had scarce      
Been known within a furnace of clear flame;      
The next did look, as if the flesh and bones           120   
Were 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 took      
Their measure, swift or slow. At the other wheel,      
A band quaternion 12, each in purple clad,           125   
Advanced with festal step, as, of them, one      
The rest conducted; 13 one, upon whose front      
Three eyes were seen. In rear of all this group,      
Two old men 14 I beheld, dissimilar      
In raiment, but in port and gesture like,           130   
Solid and mainly grave; of whom, the one      
Did show himself some favor’d counsellor      
Of the great Coan, 15 him, whom nature made      
To serve the costliest creature of her tribe:      
His fellow mark’d an opposite intent;           135   
Bearing a sword, whose glitterance and keen edge,      
E’en as I viewed it with the flood between,      
Appall’d me. Next, four others 16 I beheld      
Of humble seeming: and, behind them all,      
One single old man, 17 sleeping as he came,           140   
With a shrewd visage. And these seven, each      
Like the first troop were habited; but wore      
No braid of lilies on their temples wreathed.      
Rather, with roses and each vermeil flower,      
A sight, but little distant, might have sworn,           145   
That they were all on fire above their brow.      
  Whenas the car was o’er against me, straight      
Was heard a thundering, at whose voice it seem’d      
The chosen multitude were stay’d; for there,      
With the first ensigns, made they solemn halt.           150   
    
Note 1. “Blessed they.”—Psalm xxxii. 1. [back]   
Note 2. “Urania.” Landino observes, that intending to sing of heavenly things, he rightly invokes Urania. Thus Milton:
           “Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name   
If rightly thou art call’d.”   
Paradise Lost, b. vii. 1.
 [back]   
Note 3. See Rev. i. 12. [back]   
Note 4. “Upon the seats I saw four and twenty elders sitting.”—Rev. iv. 4. [back]   
Note 5. “Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb.”—Luke 1. 42. [back]   
Note 6. “Four.” The four evangelists. [back]   
Note 7. “Ezekiel.” “And I looked, and behold, a whirlwind came out of the north, a great cloud, and a fire infolding itself, and a brightness was about it, and out of the midst thereof as the color of amber, out of the midst of fire. Also out of the midst thereof came the likeness of four living creatures. And this was their appearance; they had the likeness of a man. And every one had four faces, and every one had four wings.”—Ezekiel, i. 4, 5, 6. [back]   
Note 8. “John.” “And the four beasts had each of them six wings about him.”—Rev. iv. 8. [back]   
Note 9. Either the Christian Church or perhaps the papal chair. [back]   
Note 10. Under the griffin (gryphon), an imaginary creature, the fore-part of which is an eagle, and the hinder a lion, is shadowed forth the union of the divine and the human nature in Jesus Christ. [back]   
Note 11. The three evangelical virtues: Charity, Hope, and Faith. Faith may be produced by charity, or charity by faith, but the inducements to hope must arise either from one or other of these. [back]   
Note 12. The four moral virtues, of whom Prudence directs the others. [back]   
Note 13. Prudence, described with three eyes, because she regards the past, the present, and the future. [back]   
Note 14. “Two old men.” St. Luke, the physician, characterized as the writer of the Acts of the Apostles, and St. Paul, represented with a sword, on account, as it should seem, of the power of his style. [back]   
Note 15. Hippocrates, “whom nature made for the benefit of her favorite creature, man.” [back]   
Note 16. “The commentators,” says Venturi, “suppose these four to be the four evangelists; but I should rather take them to be four principal doctors of the Church.” Yet both Landino and Vellutello expressly call them the authors of the epistles, James, Peter, John, and Jude. [back]   
Note 17. As some say, St. John, under the character of the author of the Apocalypse.

Canto XXX   
    
    
ARGUMENT.—Beatrice descends from Heaven, and rebukes the Poet.   
    
    
SOON as that polar light, 1 fair ornament      
Of the first Heaven, which hath never known      
Setting nor rising, nor the shadowy veil      
Of other cloud than sin, to duty there      
Each one convoying, as that lower doth           5   
The steersman to his port, stood firmly fix’d;      
Forthwith the saintly tribe, who in the van      
Between the Gryphon and its radiance came,      
Did turn them to the car, as to their rest:      
And one, as if commission’d from above,           10   
In holy chant thrice shouted forth aloud;      
“Come, 2 spouse! from Libanus:” and all the rest      
Took up the song.—At the last audit, so      
The blest shall rise, from forth his cavern each      
Uplifting lightly his new-vested flesh;           15   
As, on the sacred litter, at the voice      
Authoritative of that elder, sprang      
A hundred ministers and messengers      
Of life eternal. “Blessed 3 thou, who comest!”      
And, “Oh!” they cried, “from full hands scatter ye           20   
Unwithering lilies”: and, so saying, cast      
Flowers overhead and round them on all sides.      
  I have beheld, ere now, at break of day,      
The eastern clime all roseate; and the sky      
Opposed, one deep and beautiful serene;           25   
And the sun’s face so shaded, and with mists      
Attemper’d, at his rising, that the eye      
Long while endured the sight: thus, in a cloud      
Of flowers, that from those hands angelic rose,      
And down within and outside of the car           30   
Fell showering, in white veil with olive wreathed,      
A virgin in my view appear’d, beneath      
Green mantle, robed in hue of living flame:      
And o’er my spirit, that so long a time      
Had from her presence felt no shuddering dread,           35   
Albeit mine eyes discern’d her not, there moved      
A hidden virtue from her, at whose touch      
The power of ancient love was strong within me.      
  No sooner on my vision streaming, smote      
The heavenly influence, which, years past, and e’en           40   
In childhood, thrill’d me, than towards Virgil I      
Turn’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,           45   
That doth not quiver in me. The old flame      
Throws out clear tokens of reviving fire.”      
But Virgil had bereaved us of himself;      
Virgil, my best-loved father, Virgil, he      
To whom I gave me up for safety: nor           50   
All, our prime mother lost, avail’d to save      
My undew’d cheeks from blur of soiling tears.      
  “Dante! weep not that Virgil leaves thee; nay,      
Weep thou not yet: behoves thee feel the edge      
Of other sword; and thou shalt weep for that.”           55   
  As to the prow or stern, some admiral      
Paces 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,           60   
Which here I am compell’d to register)      
The virgin station’d, who before appear’d      
Veil’d in that festive shower angelical.      
  Towards me, across the stream, she bent her eyes;      
Though from her brow the veil descending, bound           65   
With foliage of Minerva, suffer’d not      
That I beheld her clearly: then with act      
Full royal, still insulting o’er her thrall,      
Added, as one who, speaking, keepeth back      
The bitterest saying, to conclude the speech:           70   
“Observe me well. I am, in sooth, I am      
Beatrice. What! and hast thou deign’d at last      
Approach the mountain? Knewest not, O man!      
Thy happiness is here?” Down fell mine eyes      
On the clear fount; but there, myself espying,           75   
Recoil’d, and sought the greensward; such a weight      
Of shame was on my forehead. With a mien      
Of that stern majesty, which doth surround      
A mother’s presence to her awe-struck child,      
She look’d; a flavor of such bitterness           80   
Was mingled in her pity. There her words      
Brake off; and suddenly the angels sang,      
“In thee, O gracious Lord! my hope hath been”:      
But 4 went no further than, “Thou, Lord! hast set      
My feet in ample room” As snow, that lies,           85   
Amidst the living rafters on the back      
Of Italy, congeal’d, when drifted high      
And closely piled by rough Sclavonian blasts;      
Breathe but the land whereon no shadow falls,      
And straightway melting it distills away,           90   
Like a fire-wasted taper: thus was I,      
Without a sigh or tear, or ever these      
Did sing, that, with the chiming of Heaven’s sphere,      
Still in their warbling chime: but when the strain      
Of dulcet symphony express’d for me           95   
Their soft compassion, more than could the words,      
“Virgin! why so consumest him?” then, the ice      
Congeal’d about my bosom, turn’d itself      
To spirit and water; and with anguish forth      
Gush’d, through the lips and eyelids, from the heart.           100   
  Upon the chariot’s same edge still she stood,      
Immovable; and thus address’d her words      
To those bright semblances with pity touch’d:      
“Ye in the eternal day your vigils keep;      
So that nor night nor slumber, with close stealth,           105   
Conveys from you a single step, in all      
The goings on of time: thence, with more heed      
I shape mine answer, for his ear intended,      
Who there stands weeping; that the sorrow now      
May equal the transgression. Not alone           110   
Through operation of the mighty orbs,      
That mark each seed to some predestined aim,      
As with aspect or fortunate or ill      
The constellations meet; but through benign      
Largess of heavenly graces, which rain down           115   
From such a height as mocks our vision, this man      
Was, in the freshness of his being, such,      
So gifted virtually, that in him      
All better habits wondrously had thrived      
The more of kindly strength is in the soil,           120   
So much doth evil seed and lack of culture      
Mar it the more, and make it run to wildness.      
These looks sometime upheld him; for I show’d      
My youthful eyes, and led him by their light      
In upright walking. Soon as I had reach’d           125   
Tee threshold of my second age, and changed      
My mortal for immortal; then he left me,      
And gave himself to others. When from flesh      
To spirit I had risen, and increase      
Of beauty and of virtue circled me,           130   
I was less dear to him, and valued less.      
His steps were turn’d into deceitful ways,      
Following false images of good, that make      
No promise perfect. Nor avail’d me aught      
To sue for inspirations, with the which,           135   
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 short      
Of his preserving, save that he should view      
The children of perdition. To this end           140   
I visited the purlieus of the dead:      
And one, who hath conducted him thus high,      
Received my supplications urged with weeping.      
It were a breaking of God’s high decree,      
If Lethe should be pass’d, and such food 5 tasted,           145   
Without the cost of some repentant tear.”      
    
Note 1. The seven candlesticks of gold, which he calls the polar light of Heaven itself, because they perform the same office for Christians that the polar star does for mariners, in guiding them to their port. [back]   
Note 2. “Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, with me, from Lebanon.”—Song of Solomon, iv. 8. [back]   
Note 3. Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.”—Matt. xxi. 9. [back]   
Note 4. “But.” They sang the thirty-first Psalm, to the end of the eighth verse. What follows would not have suited the place or the occasion. [back]   
Note 5. The oblivion of sins.

Canto XXXI   
    
    
ARGUMENT.—Beatrice continues her reprehension of Dante, who confesses his error, and falls to the ground; coming to himself again, he is by Matilda drawn through the waters of Lethe, and presented first to the four virgins who figure the cardinal virtues; these in their turn lead him to the Gryphon, a symbol of our Saviour; and the three virgins, representing the evangelical virtues, intercede for him with Beatrice, that she would display to him her second beauty.   
    
    
“O THOU!” her words she thus without delay      
Resuming, turn’d their point on me, to whom      
They, with but lateral edge, seem’d harsh before:      
“Say thou, who stand’st beyond the holy stream,      
If this be true. A charge, so grievous, needs           5   
Thine own avowal.” On my faculty      
Such strange amazement hung, the voice expired      
Imperfect, ere its organs gave it birth.      
  A little space refraining, then she spake:      
“What dost thou muse on? Answer me. The wave           10   
On thy remembrances of evil yet      
Hath done no injury.” A mingled sense      
Of fear and of confusion, from my lips      
Did such a “Yea” produce, as needed help      
Of vision to interpret. As when breaks,           15   
In act to be discharged, a cross-bow bent      
Beyond its pitch, both nerve and bow o’erstretch’d;      
The flagging weapon feebly hits the mark:      
Thus, tears and sighs forth gushing, did I burst,      
Beneath the heavy load: and thus my voice           20   
Was slacken’d on its way. She straight began:      
“When my desire invited thee to love      
The good, which sets a bound to our aspirings;      
What bar of thwarting foss or linked chain      
Did meet thee, that thou so shouldst quit the hope           25   
Of further progress? or what bait of ease,      
Or promise of allurement, led thee on      
Elsewhere, that thou elsewhere shouldst rather wait?”      
  A bitter sigh I drew, then scarce found voice      
To answer; hardly to these sounds my lips           30   
Gave utterance, wailing: “Thy fair looks withdrawn,      
Things present, with deceitful pleasures, turn’d      
My steps aside.” She answering spake: “Hadst thou      
Been silent, or denied what thou avow’st,      
Thou hadst not hid thy sin the more; such eye           35   
Observes it. But whene’er the sinner’s cheek      
Breaks forth into the precious-streaming tears      
Of self-accusing, in our court the wheel      
Of justice doth run counter to the edge. 1      
Howe’er, that thou mayst profit by thy shame           40   
For errors past, and that henceforth more strength      
May arm thee, when thou hear’st the Syren-voice;      
Lay thou aside the motive to this grief,      
And lend attentive ear, while I unfold      
How opposite a way my buried flesh           45   
Should have impell’d thee. Never didst thou spy,      
In art or nature, aught so passing sweet,      
As were the limbs that in their beauteous frame      
Enclosed me, and are scatter’d now in dust.      
If sweetest thing thus fail’d thee with my death,           50   
What, afterward, of moral, should thy wish      
Have tempted? When thou first hadst felt the dart      
Of perishable things, in my departing      
For better realms, thy wing thou shouldst have pruned      
To follow me; and never stoop’d again,           55   
To ’bide a second blow, for a slight girl, 2      
Or other gaud as transient and as vain.      
The new and inexperienced bird 3 awaits,      
Twice it may be, or thrice, the fowler’s aim;      
But in the sight of one whose plumes are full,           60   
In vain the net is spread, the arrow wing’d.”      
  I stood, as children silent and ashamed      
Stand, listening, with their eyes upon the earth,      
Acknowledging their fault, and self-condemn’d.      
And she resumed: “If, but to hear, thus pains thee,           65   
Raise thou thy beard, and lo! what sight shall do.”      
  With less reluctance yields a sturdy holm,      
Rent from its fibres by a blast, that blows      
From off the pole, or from Iarbas’ land, 4      
Than I at her behest my visage raised:           70   
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 I perceived those primal creatures cease      
Their flowery sprinkling; and mine eyes beheld           75   
(Yet unassured and wavering in their view)      
Beatrice; she, who toward the mystic shape,      
That joins two natures in one form, had turn’d:      
And, even under shadow of her veil,      
And parted by the verdant rill that flow’d           80   
Between, in loveliness she seem’d as much      
Her former self surpassing, as on earth      
All others she surpass’d. Remorseful goads      
Shot sudden through me. Each thing else, the more      
Its love had late beguiled me, now the more           85   
Was loathsome. On my heart so keenly smote      
The bitter consciousness, that on the ground      
O’erpower’d I fell: and what my state was then,      
She knows, who was the cause. When now my strength      
Flow’d back, returning outward from the heart,           90   
The lady, 5 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 high      
As to my neck into the stream; while she,      
Still as she drew me after, swept along,           95   
Swift as a shuttle, bounding o’er the wave.      
  The blessed shore approaching, then was heard      
So sweetly, “Tu asperges me,” that I      
May not remember, much less tell the sound.      
  The beauteous dame, her arms expanding, clasp’d           100   
My temples, and immerged me where ’twas fit      
The wave should drench me: and, thence raising up,      
Within the fourfold dance of lovely nymphs      
Presented me so laved; and with their arm      
They each did cover me. “Here are we nymphs,           105   
  And in the heaven are stars. Or ever earth      
Was visited of Beatrice, we,      
Appointed for her handmaids, tended on her.      
We to her eyes will lead thee: but the light      
Of gladness, that is in them, well to scan,           110   
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,      
Where, turn’d toward us, Beatrice stood.      
“Spare not thy vision. We have station’d thee           115   
Before the emeralds, whence love, erewhile,      
Hath drawn his weapons on thee.” As they spake,      
A thousand fervent wishes riveted      
Mine eyes upon her beaming eyes, that stood,      
Still fix’d toward the Gryphon, motionless.           120   
As the sun strikes a mirror, even thus      
Within those orbs the twofold being shone;      
Forever varying, in one figure now      
Reflected, now in other. Reader! muse      
How wondrous in my sight it seem’d, to mark           125   
A thing, albeit steadfast in itself,      
Yet in its imaged semblance mutable.      
  Full of amaze, and joyous, while my soul      
Fed on the viand, whereof still desire      
Grows with satiety; the other three,           130   
With gesture that declared a loftier line,      
Advanced: to their own carol, on they came      
Dancing, in festive ring angelical.      
  “Turn, Beatrice!” was their song: “Oh! turn      
Thy saintly sight on this thy faithful one,           135   
Who, to behold thee, many a wearisome pace      
Hath measured. Gracious at our prayer, vouchsafe      
Unveiled to him thy cheeks; that he may mark      
Thy second beauty, now conceal’d.” O splendour!      
O sacred light eternal! who is he,           140   
So pale with musing in Pierian shades,      
Or with that fount so lavishly imbued,      
Whose spirit should not fail him in the essay      
To represent thee such as thou didst seem,      
When under cope of the still-chiming Heaven           145   
Thou gavest to open air thy charms reveal’d?      
    
Note 1. “The weapons of divine justice are blunted by the confession and sorrow of the offender.” [back]   
Note 2. “For a slight girl.” Daniello and Venturi say that this alludes to Gentucca of Lucca, mentioned in the twenty-fourth Canto. [back]   
Note 3. “Bird.” “Surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird.”—Prov. i. 17. [back]   
Note 4. “From Iarbas’ land.” The south. [back]   
Note 5. “The lady.” Matilda.

Canto XXXII   
    
    
ARGUMENT.—Dante is warned not to gaze too fixedly on Beatrice. The procession moves on, accompanied by Matilda, Statius, and Dante, till they reach an exceeding lofty tree, where divers strange chances befall.   
    
    
MINE eyes with such an eager coveting      
Were bent to rid them of their ten years’ thirst, 1      
Not other sense was waking: and e’en they      
Were fenced on either side from heed of aught;      
So tangled, in its custom’d toils, that smile           5   
Of saintly brightness drew me to itself:      
When forcibly, toward the left, my sight      
The sacred virgins turn’d; for from their lips      
I heard the warning sounds: “Too fix’d a gaze!”      
  A while my vision labour’d; as when late           10   
Upon the o’erstrained eyes the sun hath smote:      
But soon, to lesser object, as the view      
Was now recover’d, (lesser in respect      
To that excess of sensible, whence late      
I had perforce been sunder’d), on their right           15   
I mark’d that glorious army wheel, and turn,      
Against the sun and sevenfold lights, their front.      
As when, their bucklers for protection raised,      
A well-ranged troop, with portly banners curl’d,      
Wheel circling, ere the whole can change their ground;           20   
E’en thus the goodly regiment of Heaven      
Proceeding, all did pass us, ere the car      
Had sloped his beam. Attendant at the wheels      
The damsels turn’d; and on the Gryphon moved      
The sacred burden, with a pace so smooth,           25   
No feather on him trembled. The fair dame,      
Who through the wave had drawn me, companied      
By Statius and myself, pursued the wheel,      
Whose orbit, rolling, mark’d a lesser arch.      
  Through the high wood, now void, (the more her blame,           30   
Who by the serpent was beguiled), I pass’d,      
With step in cadence to the harmony      
Angelic. Onward had we moved, as far,      
Perchance, as arrow at three several flights      
Full wing’d had sped, when from her station down           35   
Descended Beatrice. With one voice      
All murmur’d “Adam”; circling next a plant      
Despoil’d of flowers and leaf, on every bough,      
Its tresses, spreading more as more they rose,      
Were such, as ’midst their forest wilds, for height,           40   
The Indians might have gazed at. “Blessed thou,      
Gryphon! 2 whose beak hath never pluck’d that tree      
Pleasant to taste: for hence the appetite      
Was warp’d to evil.” Round the stately trunk      
Thus shouted forth the rest, to whom return’d           45   
The animal twice-gender’d: “Yea! for so      
The generation of the just are saved.”      
And turning to the chariot-pole, to foot      
He drew it of the widow’d branch, and bound      
There, left unto the stock whereon it grew.           50   
  As when large floods of radiance from above      
Stream, with that radiance mingled, which ascends      
Next after setting of the scaly sign,      
Our plants then burgeon, and each wears anew      
His wonted colours, ere the sun have yoked           55   
Beneath another star his flamy steeds;      
Thus putting forth a hue more faint than rose,      
And deeper than the violet, was renew’d      
The plant, erewhile in all its branches bare.      
Unearthly was the hymn, which then arose.           60   
I understood it not, nor to the end      
Endured the harmony. Had I the skill      
To pencil forth how closed the unpitying eyes      
Slumbering, when Syrinx warbled, (eyes that paid      
So dearly for their watching), then, like painter,           65   
That with a model paints, I might design      
The manner of my falling into sleep.      
But feign who will the slumber cunningly,      
I pass it by to when I waked; and tell,      
How suddenly a flash of splendour rent           70   
The curtain of my sleep, and one cries out,      
“Arise; what dost thou?” As the chosen three,      
On Tabor’s mount, admitted to behold      
The blossoming of that fair tree, 3 whose fruit      
Is coveted of Angels, and doth make           75   
Perpetual feast in Heaven; to themselves      
Returning, at the word whence deeper sleeps 4      
Were broken, they their tribe diminish’d saw;      
Both Moses and Elias gone, and changed      
The stole their Master wore; thus to myself           80   
Returning, over me beheld I stand      
The piteous one, 5 who, cross the stream, had brought      
My steps. “And where,” all doubting, I exclaim’d,      
“Is Beatrice?”—“See her,” she replied,      
“Beneath the fresh leaf, seated on its root.           85   
Behold the associate choir that circles her.      
The others, with a melody more sweet      
And more profound, journeying to higher realms,      
Upon the Gryphon tend.” If there her words      
Were closed, I know not; but mine eyes had now           90   
Ta’en view of her, by whom all other thoughts      
Were barr’d admittance. On the very ground      
Alone she sat, as she had there been left      
A guard upon the wain, which I beheld      
Bound to the twyform beast. The seven nymphs           95   
Did make themselves a cloister round about her;      
And, in their hands, upheld those lights 6 secure      
From blast septentrion and the gusty south.      
  “A little while thou shalt be forester here;      
And citizen shalt be, forever with me,           100   
Of that true Rome, 7 wherein Christ dwells a Roman,      
To profit the misguided world, keep now      
Thine eyes upon the car; and what thou seest,      
Take heed thou write, returning to that place.” 8      
  Thus Beatrice: at whose feet inclined           105   
Devout, at her behest, my thought and eyes      
I, as she bade, directed. Never fire,      
With so swift motion, forth a stormy cloud      
Leap’d downward from the welkin’s farthest bound,      
As I beheld the bird of Jove, 9 descend           110   
Down through the tree; and, as he rush’d, the rind      
Disparting crush beneath him; buds much more,      
And leaflets. On the car, with all his might      
He struck; whence, staggering, like a ship it reel’d,      
At random driven, to starboard now, o’ercome,           115   
And now to larboard, by the vaulting waves.      
  Next, springing up into the chariot’s womb,      
A fox 10 I saw, with hunger seeming pined      
Of all good food. But, for his ugly sins      
The saintly maid rebuking him, away           120   
Scampering he turn’d, fast as his hide-bound corpse      
Would bear him. Next, from whence before he came,      
I saw the eagle dart into the hull      
O’ the car, and leave it with his feathers lined: 11      
And then a voice, like that which issues forth           125   
From heart with sorrow rived, did issue forth      
From Heaven, 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 12 issue thence,           130   
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’d      
Part of the bottom forth; and went his way,      
Exulting. What remain’d, as lively turf           135   
With green herb, so did clothe itself with plumes, 13      
Which haply had, with purpose chaste and kind,      
Been offer’d; and therewith were clothed the wheels,      
Both one and other, and the beam, so quickly,      
A sigh were not breathed sooner. Thus transform’d,           140   
The holy structure, through its several parts,      
Did put forth heads; 14 three on the beam, and one      
On every side: the first like oxen horn’d;      
But with a single horn upon their front,      
The four. Like monster, sight hath never seen.           145   
O’er it 15 methought there sat, secure as rock      
On mountain’s lofty top, a shameless whore,      
Whose ken roved loosely round her. At her side,      
As ’t were that none might bear her off, I saw      
A giant stand; and ever and anon           150   
They mingled kisses. But, her lustful eyes      
Chancing on me to wander, that fell minion      
Scourged her from head to foot all o’er; then full      
Of jealousy, and fierce with rage, unloosed      
The monster, and dragg’d on, 16 so far across           155   
The forest, that from me its shades alone      
Shielded the harlot and the new-form’d brute.      
    
Note 1. “Their ten years’ thirst.” Beatrice had been dead ten years. [back]   
Note 2. “Gryphon.” Our Saviour’s submission to the Roman Empire appears to be intended, and particularly his injunction to “render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s.” [back]   
Note 3. “The blossoming of that fair tree.” Our Saviour’s transfiguration. “As the apple-tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons.”—Solomon’s Song, ii. 3. [back]   
Note 4. “Deeper sleeps.” The sleep of death, in the instance of the ruler of the synagogue’s daughter and of Lazarus.” [back]   
Note 5. “The piteous one.” Matilda. [back]   
Note 6. “Those lights.” The tapers of gold. [back]   
Note 7. “Of that true Rome.” Of Heaven. [back]   
Note 8. “To that place.” To the earth. [back]   
Note 9. “The bird of Jove.” This, which is imitated from Ezekiel, xvii. 3, 4, is typical of the persecutions which the Church sustained from the Roman emperors. [back]   
Note 10. “A fox.” By the fox probably is represented the treachery of the heretics. [back]   
Note 11. “With his feathers lined.” In allusion to the donations made by Constantine to the Church. [back]   
Note 12. “A dragon.” Probably Mohammed; for what Lombardi offers to the contrary is far from satisfactory. [back]   
Note 13. “With plumes.” The increase of wealth and temporal dominion, which followed the supposed gift of Constantine. [back]   
Note 14. “Heads.” By the seven heads, it is supposed with sufficient probability, are meant the seven capital sins: by the three with two horns, pride, anger, and avarice, injurious both to man himself and to his neighbor: by the four with one horn, gluttony, gloominess, concupiscence, and envy, hurtful, at least in their primary effects, chiefly to him who is guilty of them. [back]   
Note 15. “O’er it.” The harlot is thought to represent the state of the Church under Boniface VIII, and the giant to figure Philip IV of France. [back]   
Note 16. “Dragg’d on.” The removal of the Pope’s residence from Rome to Avignon is pointed at.

Canto XXXIII   
    
    
ARGUMENT.—After a hymn sung, Beatrice leaves the tree, and takes with her the seven virgins, Matilda, Statius, and Dante. She then darkly predicts to our Poet some future events. Lastly, the whole band arrive at the fountain, from whence the two streams, Lethe and Eunoe, separating, flow different ways; and Matilda, at the desire of Beatrice, causes our Poet to drink of the latter stream.   
    
    
“THE HEATHEN, 1 Lord! are come:” responsive thus,      
The trinal now, and now the virgin band      
Quaternion, their sweet psalmody began,      
Weeping; and Beatrice listen’d, sad      
And sighing, to the song, in such a mood,           5   
That Mary, as she stood beside the Cross,      
Was scarce more changed. But when they gave her place      
To speak, then, risen upright on her feet,      
She, with a colour glowing bright as fire,      
Did answer: “Yet a little while, 2 and ye           10   
Shall see me not; and, my beloved sisters!      
Again a little while, and ye shall see me.”      
  Before her then she marshal’d all the seven;      
And, beckoning only, motion’d me, the dame,      
And that remaining sage, 3 to follow her.           15   
  So on she pass’d; and had not set, I ween,      
Her tenth step to the ground, when, with mine eyes      
Her eyes encountered; and, with visage mild,      
“So mend thy pace,” she cried, “that if my words      
Address thee, thou mayst still be aptly placed           20   
To hear them.” Soon as duly to her side      
I now had hasten’d: “Brother!” she began,      
“Why makest thou no attempt at questioning,      
As thus we walk together?” Like to those      
Who, speaking with too reverent an awe           25   
Before their betters, draw not forth the voice      
Alive unto their lips, befell me then      
That 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:           30   
“Of fearfulness and shame, I will that thou      
Henceforth 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: 4 let him, who hath the blame,           35   
Hope not to scare God’s vengeance with a sop. 5      
Without an heir forever shall not be      
That eagle, 6 he, who left the chariot plumed,      
Which monster made it first and next a prey.      
Plainly I view, and therefore speak, the stars           40   
E’en now approaching, whose conjunction, free      
From all impediment and bar, brings on      
A season, in the which, one sent from God,      
(Five hundred, five, and ten, do mark him out,)      
That foul one, and the accomplice of her guilt,           45   
The giant, both, shall slay. And if perchance      
My saying, dark as Themis or as Sphinx,      
Fail to persuade thee, (since like them it foils      
The intellect with blindness), yet ere long      
Events shall be the Naiads, that will solve           50   
This knotty riddle; and no damage light      
On flock or field. Take heed; and as these words      
By me are utter’d, teach them even so      
To those who live that life, which is a race      
To death: and when thou writest them, keep in mind           55   
Not to conceal how thou hast seen the plant,      
That twice 7 hath now been spoil’d. This whoso robs,      
This whoso plucks, with blasphemy of deed      
Sins against God, who for His use alone      
Creating hallow’d it. For taste of this,           60   
In pain and in desire, five thousand years      
And upward, the first soul did yearn for him      
Who punish’d in himself the fatal gust.      
  “Thy reason slumbers, if it deem this height,      
And summit thus inverted, of the plant,           65   
Without due cause: and were not vainer thoughts,      
As Elsa’s numbing waters, 8 to thy soul,      
And their fond pleasures had not dyed it dark      
As Pyramus the mulberry; thou hadst seen,      
In such momentous circumstance alone,           70   
God’s equal justice morally implied      
In the forbidden tree. But since I mark thee,      
In understanding, harden’d into stone,      
And, to that hardness, spotted too and stain’d,      
So that thine eye is dazzled at my word;           75   
I will, that, if not written, yet at least      
Painted thou take it in thee, for the cause,      
That one brings home his staff inwreathed with palm.”      
  I thus: “As wax by seal, that changeth not      
Its impress, now is stamp’d my brain by thee.           80   
But wherefore soars thy wish’d-for speech so high      
Beyond my sight, that loses it the more,      
The more it strains to reach it?”—“To the end      
That thou mayst know,” she answer’d straight, “the school,      
That thou hast follow’d; and how far behind,           85   
When following my discourse, its learning halts:      
And mayst behold your art, from the divine      
As distant, as the disagreement is      
’Twixt earth and Heaven’s most high and rapturous orb.”      
  “I not remember,” I replied, “that e’er           90   
I was estranged from thee; nor for such fault      
Doth conscience chide me.” Smiling she return’d:      
“If thou canst not remember, call to mind      
How lately thou hast drunk of Lethe’s wave;      
And, sure as smoke doth indicate a flame,           95   
In that forgetfulness itself conclude      
Blame from thy alienated will incurr’d.      
From henceforth, verily, my words shall be      
As naked, as will suit them to appear      
In thy unpractised view.” More sparkling now,           100   
And with retarded course, the sun possess’d      
The circle of mid-day, that varies still      
As the aspect varies of each several clime;      
When, as one, sent in vaward of a troop      
For escort, pauses, if perchance he spy           105   
Vestige of somewhat strange and rare; so paused      
The sevenfold band, arriving at the verge      
Of a dun umbrage hoar, such as is seen,      
Beneath green leaves and gloomy branches, oft      
To overbrow a bleak and alpine cliff.           110   
And, where they stood, before them, as it seem’d,      
I, Tigris and Euphrates both, beheld      
Forth from one fountain issue; and, like friends,      
Linger at parting. “O enlightening beam!      
O glory of our kind! beseech thee say           115   
What water this, which, from one source derived,      
Itself 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 blame           120   
Imputed, the fair dame return’d: “Of me      
He this and more hath learnt; and I am safe      
That Lethe’s water hath not hid it from him.”      
  And Beatrice: “Some more pressing care,      
That oft the memory ’reaves, perchance hath made           125   
His mind’s eye dark. But lo, where Eunoe flows!      
Lead thither; and, as thou art wont, revive      
His fainting virtue.” As a courteous spirit,      
That proffers no excuses, but as soon      
As he hath token of another’s will,           130   
Makes it his own; when she had ta’en me, thus      
The lovely maiden moved her on, and call’d      
To 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,           135   
That beverage, with whose sweetness I had ne’er      
Been sated. But, since all the leaves are full,      
Appointed for this second strain, mine art      
With warning bridle checks me. I return’d      
From the most holy wave, regenerate,           140   
E’en as new plants renew’d with foliage new,      
Pure and made apt for mounting to the stars.      
    
Note 1. “The heathen.” “O God, the heathen are come into thine inheritance.”—Psalm lxxix. 1. [back]   
Note 2. “Yet a little while.” “A little while, and ye shall not see me; and again a little while, and ye shall see me.”—John xvi. 16. [back]   
Note 3. “That remaining sage.” Statius. [back]   
Note 4. “Was, and is not.” “The beast that was, and is not.”—Rev. xvii. 11. [back]   
Note 5. “Hope not to scare God’s vengeance with a sop.” “Let not him who hath occasioned the destruction of the Church, that vessel which the serpent brake, hope to appease the anger of the Deity by any outward acts of religious, or rather superstitious, ceremony; such as was that, in our Poet’s time, performed by a murderer at Florence, who imagined himself secure from vengeance, if he ate a sop of bread in wine upon the grave of the person murdered, within the space of nine days.” [back]   
Note 6. “That eagle.” He prognosticates that the Emperor of Germany will not always continue to submit to the usurpations of the Pope, and foretells the coming of Henry VII, Duke of Luxemburg, signified by the numerical figures DVX; or, as Lombardi supposes, of Can Grande della Scala, appointed the leader of the Ghibelline forces. [back]   
Note 7. “Twice.” First by the eagle and next by the giant. [back]   
Note 8. “Elsa’s numbing waters.” The Elsa, a little stream, which flows into the Arno about twenty miles below Florence, is said to possess a petrifying quality.

Paradise   
    
Canto I   
    
    
ARGUMENT.—The Poet ascends with Beatrice toward the first heaven; and is, by her, resolved of certain doubts which arise in his mind.   
    
    
HIS glory, by whose might all things are moved,      
Pierces the universe, and in one part      
Sheds more resplendence, elsewhere less. In      
That largeliest of His light partakes, was I, [Heaven      
Witness of things, which, to relate again,           5   
Surpasseth power of him who comes from thence;      
For that, so near approaching its desire,      
Out intellect is to such depth absorb’d,      
That memory cannot follow. Nathless all,      
That in my thoughts I of that sacred realm           10   
Could store, shall now be matter of my song.      
  Benign Apollo! this last labour aid;      
And make me such a vessel of thy worth,      
As thy own laurel claims, of me beloved.      
Thus far 1 hath one of steep Parnassus’ brows           15   
Sufficed me; henceforth, there is need of both      
For my remaining enterprise. Do thou 2      
Enter into my bosom, and there breathe      
So, as when Marsyas by thy hand was dragg’d      
Forth from his limbs, unsheathed. O power divine!           20   
If thou to me of thine impart so much,      
That of that happy realm the shadow’d form      
Traced in my thoughts I may set forth to view;      
Thou shalt behold me of thy favour’d tree      
Come to the foot, and crown myself with leaves:           25   
For to that honour thou, and my high theme      
Will fit me. If but seldom, mighty Sire!      
To grace his triumph, gathers thence a wreath      
Cæsar, or bard, (more shame for human wills      
Depraved), joy to the Delphic god must spring           30   
From the Peneian foliage, when one breast      
Is with such thirst inspired. From a small spark      
Great flame hath risen: after me, perchance,      
Others with better voice may pray, and gain,      
From the Cyrrhæan city, answer kind.           35   
  Through divers passages, the world’s bright lamp      
Rises to mortals; but through that 3 which joins      
Four circles with the threefold cross, in best      
Course, and in happiest constellation 4 set,      
He comes; and, to the worldly wax, best gives           40   
Its temper and impression. Morning there, 5      
Here eve was well-nigh by such passage made;      
And whiteness had o’erspread that hemisphere,      
Blackness the other part; when to the left 6      
I saw Beatrice turn’d, and on the sun           45   
Gazing, as never eagle fix’d his ken.      
As from the first a second beam is wont      
To issue, and reflected upward rise,      
Even as a pilgrim bent on his return;      
So of her act, that through the eyesight pass’d           50   
Into my fancy, mine was form’d: and straight,      
Beyond our mortal wont, I fix’d mine eyes      
Upon the sun. Much is allow’d us there,      
That here exceeds our power; thanks to the place      
Made for the dwelling of the human kind.           55   
  I suffer’d it not long; and yet so long,      
That I beheld it bickering sparks around,      
As iron that comes boiling from the fire.      
And suddenly upon the day appear’d      
A day new-risen; as he, who hath the power,           60   
Had with another sun bedeck’d the sky.      
  Her eyes fast fix’d on the eternal wheels,      
Beatrice stood unmoved; and I with ken      
Fix’d upon her, from upward gaze removed,      
At her aspect, such inwardly became           65   
As Glaucus, when he tasted of the herb      
That made him peer among the ocean gods:      
Words may not tell of that trans-human change;      
And therefore let the example serve, though weak,      
For those whom grace hath better proof in store.           70   
  If I were only what thou didst create,      
Then newly, Love! by whom the Heaven is ruled;      
Thou know’st, who by Thy light didst bear me up.      
Whenas the wheel which Thou dost ever guide,      
Desired Spirit! with its harmony,           75   
Temper’d of Thee and measured, charm’d mine ear,      
Then seem’d to me so much of Heaven to blaze      
With the sun’s flame, that rain or flood ne’er made      
A lake so broad. The newness of the sound,      
And that great light, inflamed me with desire,           80   
Keener than e’er was felt, to know their cause.      
  Whence she, who saw me, clearly as myself,      
To calm my troubled mind, before I ask’d,      
Open’d her lips, and gracious thus began:      
“With false imagination thou thyself           85   
Makest dull; so that thou seest not the thing,      
Which thou hadst seen, had that been shaken off.      
Thou art not on the earth as thou believest;      
For lightning, scaped from its own proper place,      
Ne’er ran, as thou has hither now return’d.”           90   
  Although divested of my first-raised doubt      
By those brief words accompanied with smiles,      
Yet in new doubt was I entangled more,      
And said: “Already satisfied, I rest      
From admiration deep; but now admire           95   
How I above those lighter bodies rise.”      
  Whence, after utterance of a piteous sigh,      
She toward me bent her eyes, with such a look,      
As on her frenzied child a mother casts;      
Then thus began: “Among themselves all things           100   
Have order; and from hence the form, 7 which makes      
The universe resemble God. In this      
The higher creatures see the printed steps      
Of that eternal worth, which is the end      
Whither the line is drawn. 8 All natures lean,           105   
In this their order, diversely; some more,      
Some less approaching to their primal source.      
Thus they to different havens are moved on      
Through the vast sea of being, and each one      
With instinct given, that bears it in its course:           110   
This to the lunar sphere directs the fire;      
This moves the hearts of mortal animals;      
This the brute earth together knits, and binds.      
Nor only creatures, void of intellect,      
Are aim’d at by this bow; but even those,           115   
That have intelligence and love, are pierced.      
That Providence, who so well orders all,      
With her own light makes ever calm the Heaven, 9      
In which the substance, that hath greatest speed, 10      
Is turn’d: and thither now, as to our seat           120   
Predestined, we are carried by the force      
Of that strong cord, that never looses dart      
But at fair aim and glad. Yet is it true,      
That as, oft-times, but ill accords the form      
To the design of art, through sluggishness           125   
Or unreplying matter; so this course      
Is sometimes quitted by the creature, who      
Hath power, directed thus, to bend elsewhere;      
As from a cloud the fire is seen to fall,      
From its original impulse warp’d, to earth,           130   
By vitious fondness. Thou no more admire      
Thy soaring (if I rightly deem) that lapse      
Of torrent downward from a mountain’s height.      
There would in thee for wonder be more cause,      
If, free of hindrance, thou hadst stay’d below,           135   
As living fire unmoved upon the earth.”      
  So said, she turn’d toward the Heaven her face.      
    
Note 1. “Thus far.” He appears to mean nothing more than that this part of his poem will require a greater exertion of his powers than the former. [back]   
Note 2. “Do thou.” Make me thine instrument; and, through me, utter such sound as when thou didst contend with Marsyas. [back]   
Note 3. “Where the four circles, the horizon, the zodiac, the equator, and the equinoctial colure join; the last three intersecting each other so as to form three crosses, as may be seen in the armillary sphere.” [back]   
Note 4. Aries. Some understand the planet Venus by the “migliore stella.” [back]   
Note 5. “Morning there.” It was morning where he then was, and about eventide on the earth. [back]   
Note 6. “To the left.” Being in the opposite hemisphere to ours, Beatrice, that she may behold the rising sun, turns herself to the left. [back]   
Note 7. This order it is, that gives to the universe the form of unity, and therefore resemblance to God. [back]   
Note 8. All things, as they have their beginning from the Supreme Being, so are they referred to Him  gain. [back]   
Note 9. “The Heaven.” The empyrean, which is always motionless. [back]   
Note 10. “The substance, etc.” The primum mobile.