The sun, that flar’d behind, with ruddy beam

Before my form was broken; for in me

His rays resistance met. I turn’d aside

With fear of being left, when I beheld

Only before myself the ground obscur’d.

When thus my solace, turning him around,

Bespake me kindly: “Why distrustest thou?

Believ’st not I am with thee, thy sure guide?

It now is evening there, where buried lies

The body, in which I cast a shade, remov’d

To Naples from Brundusium’s wall. Nor thou

Marvel, if before me no shadow fall,

More than that in the sky element

One ray obstructs not other. To endure

Torments of heat and cold extreme, like frames

That virtue hath dispos’d, which how it works

Wills not to us should be reveal’d. Insane

Who hopes, our reason may that space explore,

Which holds three persons in one substance knit.

Seek not the wherefore, race of human kind;

Could ye have seen the whole, no need had been

For Mary to bring forth. Moreover ye

Have seen such men desiring fruitlessly;

To whose desires repose would have been giv’n,

That now but serve them for eternal grief.

I speak of Plato, and the Stagyrite,

And others many more.” And then he bent

Downwards his forehead, and in troubled mood

Broke off his speech. Meanwhile we had arriv’d

Far as the mountain’s foot, and there the rock

Found of so steep ascent, that nimblest steps

To climb it had been vain. The most remote

Most wild untrodden path, in all the tract

’Twixt Lerice and Turbia were to this

A ladder easy’ and open of access.

“Who knows on which hand now the steep declines?”

My master said and paus’d, “so that he may

Ascend, who journeys without aid of wine,?”

And while with looks directed to the ground

The meaning of the pathway he explor’d,

And I gaz’d upward round the stony height,

Of spirits, that toward us mov’d their steps,

Yet moving seem’d not, they so slow approach’d.

I thus my guide address’d: “Upraise thine eyes,

Lo that way some, of whom thou may’st obtain

Counsel, if of thyself thou find’st it not!”

Straightway he look’d, and with free speech replied:

“Let us tend thither: they but softly come.

And thou be firm in hope, my son belov’d.”

Now was that people distant far in space

A thousand paces behind ours, as much

As at a throw the nervous arm could fling,

When all drew backward on the messy crags

Of the steep bank, and firmly stood unmov’d

As one who walks in doubt might stand to look.

“O spirits perfect! O already chosen!”

Virgil to them began, “by that blest peace,

Which, as I deem, is for you all prepar’d,

Instruct us where the mountain low declines,

So that attempt to mount it be not vain.

For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves.”

As sheep, that step from forth their fold, by one,

Or pairs, or three at once; meanwhile the rest

Stand fearfully, bending the eye and nose

To ground, and what the foremost does, that do

The others, gath’ring round her, if she stops,

Simple and quiet, nor the cause discern;

So saw I moving to advance the first,

Who of that fortunate crew were at the head,

Of modest mien and graceful in their gait.

When they before me had beheld the light

From my right side fall broken on the ground,

So that the shadow reach’d the cave, they stopp’d

And somewhat back retir’d: the same did all,

Who follow’d, though unweeting of the cause

“Unask’d of you, yet freely I confess,

This is a human body which ye see.

That the sun’s light is broken on the ground,

Marvel not: but believe, that not without

Virtue deriv’d from Heaven, we to climb

Over this wall aspire.” So them bespake

My master; and that virtuous tribe rejoin’d;

“ Turn, and before you there the entrance lies,”

Making a signal to us with bent hands.

Then of them one began. “Whoe’er thou art,

Who journey’st thus this way, thy visage turn,

Think if me elsewhere thou hast ever seen.”

I tow’rds him turn’d, and with fix’d eye beheld.

Comely, and fair, and gentle of aspect,

He seem’d, but on one brow a gash was mark’d.

When humbly I disclaim’d to have beheld

Him ever: “Now behold!” he said, and show’d

High on his breast a wound: then smiling spake.

“I am Manfredi, grandson to the Queen

Costanza: whence I pray thee, when return’d,

To my fair daughter go, the parent glad

Of Aragonia and Sicilia’s pride;

And of the truth inform her, if of me

Aught else be told. When by two mortal blows

My frame was shatter’d, I betook myself

Weeping to him, who of free will forgives.

My sins were horrible; but so wide arms

Hath goodness infinite, that it receives

All who turn to it. Had this text divine

Been of Cosenza’s shepherd better scann’d,

Who then by Clement on my hunt was set,

Yet at the bridge’s head my bones had lain,

Near Benevento, by the heavy mole

Protected; but the rain now drenches them,

And the wind drives, out of the kingdom’s bounds,

Far as the stream of Verde, where, with lights

Extinguish’d, he remov’d them from their bed.

Yet by their curse we are not so destroy’d,

But that the eternal love may turn, while hope

Retains her verdant blossoms. True it is,

That such one as in contumacy dies

Against the holy church, though he repent,

Must wander thirty-fold for all the time

In his presumption past; if such decree

Be not by prayers of good men shorter made

Look therefore if thou canst advance my bliss;

Revealing to my good Costanza, how

Thou hast beheld me, and beside the terms

Laid on me of that interdict; for here

By means of those below much profit comes.”

CANTO IV

When by sensations of delight or pain,

That any of our faculties hath seiz’d,

Entire the soul collects herself, it seems

She is intent upon that power alone,

And thus the error is disprov’d which holds

The soul not singly lighted in the breast.

And therefore when as aught is heard or seen,

That firmly keeps the soul toward it turn’d,

Time passes, and a man perceives it not.

For that, whereby he hearken, is one power,

Another that, which the whole spirit hash;

This is as it were bound, while that is free.

This found I true by proof, hearing that spirit

And wond’ring; for full fifty steps aloft

The sun had measur’d unobserv’d of me,

When we arriv’d where all with one accord

The spirits shouted, “Here is what ye ask.”

A larger aperture ofttimes is stopp’d

With forked stake of thorn by villager,

When the ripe grape imbrowns, than was the path,

By which my guide, and I behind him close,

Ascended solitary, when that troop

Departing left us. On Sanleo’s road

Who journeys, or to Noli low descends,

Or mounts Bismantua’s height, must use his feet;

But here a man had need to fly, I mean

With the swift wing and plumes of high desire,

Conducted by his aid, who gave me hope,

And with light furnish’d to direct my way.

We through the broken rock ascended, close

Pent on each side, while underneath the ground

Ask’d help of hands and feet. When we arriv’d

Near on the highest ridge of the steep bank,

Where the plain level open’d I exclaim’d,

“O master! say which way can we proceed?”

He answer’d, “Let no step of thine recede.

Behind me gain the mountain, till to us

Some practis’d guide appear.” That eminence

Was lofty that no eye might reach its point,

And the side proudly rising, more than line

From the mid quadrant to the centre drawn.

I wearied thus began: “Parent belov’d!

Turn, and behold how I remain alone,

If thou stay not.”—” My son!” He straight reply’d,

“Thus far put forth thy strength; “and to a track

Pointed, that, on this side projecting, round

Circles the hill. His words so spurr’d me on,

That I behind him clamb’ring, forc’d myself,

Till my feet press’d the circuit plain beneath.

There both together seated, turn’d we round

To eastward, whence was our ascent: and oft

Many beside have with delight look’d back.

First on the nether shores I turn’d my eyes,

Then rais’d them to the sun, and wond’ring mark’d

That from the left it smote us. Soon perceiv’d

That Poet sage how at the car of light

Amaz’d I stood, where ’twixt us and the north

Its course it enter’d. Whence he thus to me:

“Were Leda’s offspring now in company

Of that broad mirror, that high up and low

Imparts his light beneath, thou might’st behold

The ruddy zodiac nearer to the bears

Wheel, if its ancient course it not forsook.

How that may be if thou would’st think; within

Pond’ring, imagine Sion with this mount

Plac’d on the earth, so that to both be one

Horizon, and two hemispheres apart,

Where lies the path that Phaeton ill knew

To guide his erring chariot: thou wilt see

How of necessity by this on one

He passes, while by that on the’ other side,

If with clear view shine intellect attend.”

“Of truth, kind teacher!” I exclaim’d, “so clear

Aught saw I never, as I now discern

Where seem’d my ken to fail, that the mid orb

Of the supernal motion (which in terms

Of art is called the Equator, and remains

Ever between the sun and winter) for the cause

Thou hast assign’d, from hence toward the north

Departs, when those who in the Hebrew land

Inhabit, see it tow’rds the warmer part.

But if it please thee, I would gladly know,

How far we have to journey: for the hill

Mounts higher, than this sight of mine can mount.”

He thus to me: “Such is this steep ascent,

That it is ever difficult at first,

But, more a man proceeds, less evil grows.

When pleasant it shall seem to thee, so much

That upward going shall be easy to thee.

As in a vessel to go down the tide,

Then of this path thou wilt have reach’d the end.

There hope to rest thee from thy toil. No more

I answer, and thus far for certain know.”

As he his words had spoken, near to us

A voice there sounded: “Yet ye first perchance

May to repose you by constraint be led.”

At sound thereof each turn’d, and on the left

A huge stone we beheld, of which nor I

Nor he before was ware. Thither we drew,

find there were some, who in the shady place

Behind the rock were standing, as a man

Thru’ idleness might stand. Among them one,

Who seem’d to me much wearied, sat him down,

And with his arms did fold his knees about,

Holding his face between them downward bent.

“Sweet Sir!” I cry’d, “behold that man, who shows

Himself more idle, than if laziness

Were sister to him.” Straight he turn’d to us,

And, o’er the thigh lifting his face, observ’d,

Then in these accents spake: “Up then, proceed

Thou valiant one.” Straight who it was I knew;

Nor could the pain I felt (for want of breath

Still somewhat urg’d me) hinder my approach.

And when I came to him, he scarce his head

Uplifted, saying “Well hast thou discern’d,

How from the left the sun his chariot leads.”

His lazy acts and broken words my lips

To laughter somewhat mov’d; when I began:

“Belacqua, now for thee I grieve no more.

But tell, why thou art seated upright there?

Waitest thou escort to conduct thee hence?

Or blame I only shine accustom’d ways?”

Then he: “My brother, of what use to mount,

When to my suffering would not let me pass

The bird of God, who at the portal sits?

Behooves so long that heav’n first bear me round

Without its limits, as in life it bore,

Because I to the end repentant Sighs

Delay’d, if prayer do not aid me first,

That riseth up from heart which lives in grace.

What other kind avails, not heard in heaven?”

Before me now the Poet up the mount

Ascending, cried: “Haste thee, for see the sun

Has touch’d the point meridian, and the night

Now covers with her foot Marocco’s shore.”

CANTO V

Now had I left those spirits, and pursued

The steps of my Conductor, when beheld

Pointing the finger at me one exclaim’d:

“See how it seems as if the light not shone

From the left hand of him beneath, and he,

As living, seems to be led on.” Mine eyes

I at that sound reverting, saw them gaze

Through wonder first at me, and then at me

And the light broken underneath, by turns.

“Why are thy thoughts thus riveted?” my guide

Exclaim’d, “that thou hast slack’d thy pace? or how

Imports it thee, what thing is whisper’d here?

Come after me, and to their babblings leave

The crowd. Be as a tower, that, firmly set,

Shakes not its top for any blast that blows!

He, in whose bosom thought on thought shoots out,

Still of his aim is wide, in that the one

Sicklies and wastes to nought the other’s strength.”

What other could I answer save “I come?”

I said it, somewhat with that colour ting’d

Which ofttimes pardon meriteth for man.

Meanwhile traverse along the hill there came,

A little way before us, some who sang

The “Miserere” in responsive Strains.

When they perceiv’d that through my body I

Gave way not for the rays to pass, their song

Straight to a long and hoarse exclaim they chang’d;

And two of them, in guise of messengers,

Ran on to meet us, and inquiring ask’d:

Of your condition we would gladly learn.”

To them my guide. “Ye may return, and bear

Tidings to them who sent you, that his frame

Is real flesh. If, as I deem, to view

His shade they paus’d, enough is answer’d them.

Him let them honour, they may prize him well.”

Ne’er saw I fiery vapours with such speed

Cut through the serene air at fall of night,

Nor August’s clouds athwart the setting sun,

That upward these did not in shorter space

Return; and, there arriving, with the rest

Wheel back on us, as with loose rein a troop.

“Many,” exclaim’d the bard, “are these, who throng

Around us: to petition thee they come.

Go therefore on, and listen as thou go’st.”

“O spirit! who go’st on to blessedness

With the same limbs, that clad thee at thy birth.”

Shouting they came, “a little rest thy step.

Look if thou any one amongst our tribe

Hast e’er beheld, that tidings of him there

Thou mayst report. Ah, wherefore go’st thou on?

Ah wherefore tarriest thou not? We all

By violence died, and to our latest hour

Were sinners, but then warn’d by light from heav’n,

So that, repenting and forgiving, we

Did issue out of life at peace with God,

Who with desire to see him fills our heart.”

Then I: “The visages of all I scan

Yet none of ye remember. But if aught,

That I can do, may please you, gentle spirits!

Speak; and I will perform it, by that peace,

Which on the steps of guide so excellent

Following from world to world intent I seek.”

In answer he began: “None here distrusts

Thy kindness, though not promis’d with an oath;

So as the will fail not for want of power.

Whence I, who sole before the others speak,

Entreat thee, if thou ever see that land,

Which lies between Romagna and the realm

Of Charles, that of thy courtesy thou pray

Those who inhabit Fano, that for me

Their adorations duly be put up,

By which I may purge off my grievous sins.

From thence I came. But the deep passages,

Whence issued out the blood wherein I dwelt,

Upon my bosom in Antenor’s land

Were made, where to be more secure I thought.

The author of the deed was Este’s prince,

Who, more than right could warrant, with his wrath

Pursued me. Had I towards Mira fled,

When overta’en at Oriaco, still

Might I have breath’d. But to the marsh I sped,

And in the mire and rushes tangled there

Fell, and beheld my life-blood float the plain.”

Then said another: “Ah! so may the wish,

That takes thee o’er the mountain, be fulfill’d,

As thou shalt graciously give aid to mine.

Of Montefeltro I; Buonconte I:

Giovanna nor none else have care for me,

Sorrowing with these I therefore go.” I thus:

“From Campaldino’s field what force or chance

Drew thee, that ne’er thy sepulture was known?”

“Oh!” answer’d he, “at Casentino’s foot

A stream there courseth, nam’d Archiano, sprung

In Apennine above the Hermit’s seat.

E’en where its name is cancel’d, there came I,

Pierc’d in the heart, fleeing away on foot,

And bloodying the plain. Here sight and speech

Fail’d me, and finishing with Mary’s name

I fell, and tenantless my flesh remain’d.

I will report the truth; which thou again0

Tell to the living. Me God’s angel took,

Whilst he of hell exclaim’d: “O thou from heav’n!

Say wherefore hast thou robb’d me? Thou of him

Th’ eternal portion bear’st with thee away

For one poor tear that he deprives me of.

But of the other, other rule I make.”

“Thou knowest how in the atmosphere collects

That vapour dank, returning into water,

Soon as it mounts where cold condenses it.

That evil will, which in his intellect

Still follows evil, came, and rais’d the wind

And smoky mist, by virtue of the power

Given by his nature. Thence the valley, soon

As day was spent, he cover’d o’er with cloud

From Pratomagno to the mountain range,

And stretch’d the sky above, so that the air

Impregnate chang’d to water. Fell the rain,

And to the fosses came all that the land

Contain’d not; and, as mightiest streams are wont,

To the great river with such headlong sweep

Rush’d, that nought stay’d its course. My stiffen’d frame

Laid at his mouth the fell Archiano found,

And dash’d it into Arno, from my breast

Loos’ning the cross, that of myself I made

When overcome with pain. He hurl’d me on,

Along the banks and bottom of his course;

Then in his muddy spoils encircling wrapt.”

“Ah! when thou to the world shalt be return’d,

And rested after thy long road,” so spake

Next the third spirit; “then remember me.

I once was Pia. Sienna gave me life,

Maremma took it from me. That he knows,

Who me with jewell’d ring had first espous’d.”

CANTO VI

When from their game of dice men separate,

He, who hath lost, remains in sadness fix’d,

Revolving in his mind, what luckless throws

He cast: but meanwhile all the company

Go with the other; one before him runs,

And one behind his mantle twitches, one

Fast by his side bids him remember him.

He stops not; and each one, to whom his hand

Is stretch’d, well knows he bids him stand aside;

And thus he from the press defends himself.

E’en such was I in that close-crowding throng;

And turning so my face around to all,

And promising, I ’scap’d from it with pains.

Here of Arezzo him I saw, who fell

By Ghino’s cruel arm; and him beside,

Who in his chase was swallow’d by the stream.

Here Frederic Novello, with his hand

Stretch’d forth, entreated; and of Pisa he,

Who put the good Marzuco to such proof

Of constancy. Count Orso I beheld;

And from its frame a soul dismiss’d for spite

And envy, as it said, but for no crime:

I speak of Peter de la Brosse; and here,

While she yet lives, that Lady of Brabant

Let her beware; lest for so false a deed

She herd with worse than these. When I was freed

From all those spirits, who pray’d for others’ prayers

To hasten on their state of blessedness;

Straight I began: “O thou, my luminary!

It seems expressly in thy text denied,

That heaven’s supreme decree can never bend

To supplication; yet with this design

Do these entreat. Can then their hope be vain,

Or is thy saying not to me reveal’d?”

He thus to me: “Both what I write is plain,

And these deceiv’d not in their hope, if well

Thy mind consider, that the sacred height

Of judgment doth not stoop, because love’s flame

In a short moment all fulfils, which he

Who sojourns here, in right should satisfy.

Besides, when I this point concluded thus,

By praying no defect could be supplied;

Because the pray’r had none access to God.

Yet in this deep suspicion rest thou not

Contented unless she assure thee so,

Who betwixt truth and mind infuses light.

I know not if thou take me right; I mean

Beatrice. Her thou shalt behold above,

Upon this mountain’s crown, fair seat of joy.”

Then I: “Sir! let us mend our speed; for now

I tire not as before; and lo! the hill

Stretches its shadow far.” He answer’d thus:

“Our progress with this day shall be as much

As we may now dispatch; but otherwise

Than thou supposest is the truth. For there

Thou canst not be, ere thou once more behold

Him back returning, who behind the steep

Is now so hidden, that as erst his beam

Thou dost not break. But lo! a spirit there

Stands solitary, and toward us looks:

It will instruct us in the speediest way.”

We soon approach’d it. O thou Lombard spirit!

How didst thou stand, in high abstracted mood,

Scarce moving with slow dignity thine eyes!

It spoke not aught, but let us onward pass,

Eyeing us as a lion on his watch.

I3ut Virgil with entreaty mild advanc’d,

Requesting it to show the best ascent.

It answer to his question none return’d,

But of our country and our kind of life

Demanded. When my courteous guide began,

“Mantua,” the solitary shadow quick

Rose towards us from the place in which it stood,

And cry’d, “Mantuan! I am thy countryman

Sordello.” Each the other then embrac’d.

Ah slavish Italy! thou inn of grief,

Vessel without a pilot in loud storm,

Lady no longer of fair provinces,

But brothel-house impure! this gentle spirit,

Ev’n from the Pleasant sound of his dear land

Was prompt to greet a fellow citizen

With such glad cheer; while now thy living ones

In thee abide not without war; and one

Malicious gnaws another, ay of those

Whom the same wall and the same moat contains,

Seek, wretched one! around thy sea-coasts wide;

Then homeward to thy bosom turn, and mark

If any part of the sweet peace enjoy.

What boots it, that thy reins Justinian’s hand

Befitted, if thy saddle be unpress’d?

Nought doth he now but aggravate thy shame.

Ah people! thou obedient still shouldst live,

And in the saddle let thy Caesar sit,

If well thou marked’st that which God commands

Look how that beast to felness hath relaps’d

From having lost correction of the spur,

Since to the bridle thou hast set thine hand,

O German Albert! who abandon’st her,

That is grown savage and unmanageable,

When thou should’st clasp her flanks with forked heels.

Just judgment from the stars fall on thy blood!

And be it strange and manifest to all!

Such as may strike thy successor with dread!

For that thy sire and thou have suffer’d thus,

Through greediness of yonder realms detain’d,

The garden of the empire to run waste.

Come see the Capulets and Montagues,

The Philippeschi and Monaldi! man

Who car’st for nought! those sunk in grief, and these

With dire suspicion rack’d. Come, cruel one!

Come and behold the’ oppression of the nobles,

And mark their injuries: and thou mayst see.

What safety Santafiore can supply.

Come and behold thy Rome, who calls on thee,

Desolate widow! day and night with moans:

“My Caesar, why dost thou desert my side?”

Come and behold what love among thy people:

And if no pity touches thee for us,

Come and blush for thine own report. For me,

If it be lawful, O Almighty Power,

Who wast in earth for our sakes crucified!

Are thy just eyes turn’d elsewhere? or is this

A preparation in the wond’rous depth

Of thy sage counsel made, for some good end,

Entirely from our reach of thought cut off?

So are the’ Italian cities all o’erthrong’d

With tyrants, and a great Marcellus made

Of every petty factious villager.

My Florence! thou mayst well remain unmov’d

At this digression, which affects not thee:

Thanks to thy people, who so wisely speed.

Many have justice in their heart, that long

Waiteth for counsel to direct the bow,

Or ere it dart unto its aim: but shine

Have it on their lip’s edge. Many refuse

To bear the common burdens: readier thine

Answer uneall’d, and cry, “Behold I stoop!”

Make thyself glad, for thou hast reason now,

Thou wealthy! thou at peace! thou wisdom-fraught!

Facts best witness if I speak the truth.

Athens and Lacedaemon, who of old

Enacted laws, for civil arts renown’d,

Made little progress in improving life

Tow’rds thee, who usest such nice subtlety,

That to the middle of November scarce

Reaches the thread thou in October weav’st.

How many times, within thy memory,

Customs, and laws, and coins, and offices

Have been by thee renew’d, and people chang’d!

If thou remember’st well and can’st see clear,

Thou wilt perceive thyself like a sick wretch,

Who finds no rest upon her down, hut oft

Shifting her side, short respite seeks from pain.

CANTO VII

After their courteous greetings joyfully

Sev’n times exchang’d, Sordello backward drew

Exclaiming, “Who are ye?” “Before this mount

By spirits worthy of ascent to God

Was sought, my bones had by Octavius’ care

Been buried. I am Virgil, for no sin

Depriv’d of heav’n, except for lack of faith.”

So answer’d him in few my gentle guide.

As one, who aught before him suddenly

Beholding, whence his wonder riseth, cries

“It is yet is not,” wav’ring in belief;

Such he appear’d; then downward bent his eyes,

And drawing near with reverential step,

Caught him, where of mean estate might clasp

His lord. “Glory of Latium!” he exclaim’d,

“In whom our tongue its utmost power display’d!

Boast of my honor’d birth-place! what desert

Of mine, what favour rather undeserv’d,

Shows thee to me? If I to hear that voice

Am worthy, say if from below thou com’st

And from what cloister’s pale?”—“Through every orb

Of that sad region,” he reply’d, “thus far

Am I arriv’d, by heav’nly influence led

And with such aid I come. There is a place

There underneath, not made by torments sad,

But by dun shades alone; where mourning’s voice

Sounds not of anguish sharp, but breathes in sighs.

There I with little innocents abide,

Who by death’s fangs were bitten, ere exempt

From human taint. There I with those abide,

Who the three holy virtues put not on,

But understood the rest, and without blame

Follow’d them all. But if thou know’st and canst,

Direct us, how we soonest may arrive,

Where Purgatory its true beginning takes.”

He answer’d thus: “We have no certain place

Assign’d us: upwards I may go or round,

Far as I can, I join thee for thy guide.

But thou beholdest now how day declines:

And upwards to proceed by night, our power

Excels: therefore it may be well to choose

A place of pleasant sojourn. To the right

Some spirits sit apart retir’d. If thou

Consentest, I to these will lead thy steps:

And thou wilt know them, not without delight.”

“How chances this?” was answer’d; “who so wish’d

To ascend by night, would he be thence debarr’d

By other, or through his own weakness fail?”

The good Sordello then, along the ground

Trailing his finger, spoke: “Only this line

Thou shalt not overpass, soon as the sun

Hath disappear’d; not that aught else impedes

Thy going upwards, save the shades of night.

These with the wont of power perplex the will.

With them thou haply mightst return beneath,

Or to and fro around the mountain’s side

Wander, while day is in the horizon shut.”

My master straight, as wond’ring at his speech,

Exclaim’d: “Then lead us quickly, where thou sayst,

That, while we stay, we may enjoy delight.”

A little space we were remov’d from thence,

When I perceiv’d the mountain hollow’d out.

Ev’n as large valleys hollow’d out on earth,

“That way,” the’ escorting spirit cried, “we go,

Where in a bosom the high bank recedes:

And thou await renewal of the day.”

Betwixt the steep and plain a crooked path

Led us traverse into the ridge’s side,

Where more than half the sloping edge expires.

Refulgent gold, and silver thrice refin’d,

And scarlet grain and ceruse, Indian wood

Of lucid dye serene, fresh emeralds

But newly broken, by the herbs and flowers

Plac’d in that fair recess, in color all

Had been surpass’d, as great surpasses less.

Nor nature only there lavish’d her hues,

But of the sweetness of a thousand smells

A rare and undistinguish’d fragrance made.

“Salve Regina,” on the grass and flowers

Here chanting I beheld those spirits sit

Who not beyond the valley could be seen.

“Before the west’ring sun sink to his bed,”

Began the Mantuan, who our steps had turn’d,

“’Mid those desires not that I lead ye on.

For from this eminence ye shall discern

Better the acts and visages of all,

Than in the nether vale among them mix’d.

He, who sits high above the rest, and seems

To have neglected that he should have done,

And to the others’ song moves not his lip,

The Emperor Rodolph call, who might have heal’d

The wounds whereof fair Italy hath died,

So that by others she revives but slowly,

He, who with kindly visage comforts him,

Sway’d in that country, where the water springs,

That Moldaw’s river to the Elbe, and Elbe

Rolls to the ocean: Ottocar his name:

Who in his swaddling clothes was of more worth

Than Winceslaus his son, a bearded man,

Pamper’d with rank luxuriousness and ease.

And that one with the nose depress, who close

In counsel seems with him of gentle look,

Flying expir’d, with’ring the lily’s flower.

Look there how he doth knock against his breast!

The other ye behold, who for his cheek

Makes of one hand a couch, with frequent sighs.

They are the father and the father-in-law

Of Gallia’s bane: his vicious life they know

And foul; thence comes the grief that rends them thus.

“He, so robust of limb, who measure keeps

In song, with him of feature prominent,

With ev’ry virtue bore his girdle brac’d.

And if that stripling who behinds him sits,

King after him had liv’d, his virtue then

From vessel to like vessel had been pour’d;

Which may not of the other heirs be said.

By James and Frederick his realms are held;

Neither the better heritage obtains.

Rarely into the branches of the tree

Doth human worth mount up; and so ordains

He who bestows it, that as his free gift

It may be call’d. To Charles my words apply

No less than to his brother in the song;

Which Pouille and Provence now with grief confess.

So much that plant degenerates from its seed,

As more than Beatrice and Margaret

Costanza still boasts of her valorous spouse.

“Behold the king of simple life and plain,

Harry of England, sitting there alone:

He through his branches better issue spreads.

“That one, who on the ground beneath the rest

Sits lowest, yet his gaze directs aloft,

Us William, that brave Marquis, for whose cause

The deed of Alexandria and his war

Makes Conferrat and Canavese weep.”

CANTO VIII

Now was the hour that wakens fond desire

In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart,

Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell,

And pilgrim newly on his road with love

Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far,

That seems to mourn for the expiring day:

When I, no longer taking heed to hear

Began, with wonder, from those spirits to mark

One risen from its seat, which with its hand

Audience implor’d. Both palms it join’d and rais’d,

Fixing its steadfast gaze towards the east,

As telling God, “I care for naught beside.”

“Te Lucis Ante,” so devoutly then

Came from its lip, and in so soft a strain,

That all my sense in ravishment was lost.

And the rest after, softly and devout,

Follow’d through all the hymn, with upward gaze

Directed to the bright supernal wheels.

Here, reader! for the truth makes thine eyes keen:

For of so subtle texture is this veil,

That thou with ease mayst pass it through unmark’d.

I saw that gentle band silently next

Look up, as if in expectation held,

Pale and in lowly guise; and from on high

I saw forth issuing descend beneath

Two angels with two flame-illumin’d swords,

Broken and mutilated at their points.

Green as the tender leaves but newly born,

Their vesture was, the which by wings as green

Beaten, they drew behind them, fann’d in air.

A little over us one took his stand,

The other lighted on the’ Opposing hill,

So that the troop were in the midst contain’d.

Well I descried the whiteness on their heads;

But in their visages the dazzled eye

Was lost, as faculty that by too much

Is overpower’d. “From Mary’s bosom both

Are come,” exclaim’d Sordello, “as a guard

Over the vale, ganst him, who hither tends,

The serpent.” Whence, not knowing by which path

He came, I turn’d me round, and closely press’d,

All frozen, to my leader’s trusted side.

Sordello paus’d not: “To the valley now

(For it is time) let us descend; and hold

Converse with those great shadows: haply much

Their sight may please ye.” Only three steps down

Methinks I measur’d, ere I was beneath,

And noted one who look’d as with desire

To know me. Time was now that air arrow dim;

Yet not so dim, that ’twixt his eyes and mine

It clear’d not up what was conceal’d before.

Mutually tow’rds each other we advanc’d.

Nino, thou courteous judge! what joy I felt,

When I perceiv’d thou wert not with the bad!

No salutation kind on either part

Was left unsaid. He then inquir’d: “How long

Since thou arrived’st at the mountain’s foot,

Over the distant waves?”—“O!” answer’d I,

“Through the sad seats of woe this morn I came,

And still in my first life, thus journeying on,

The other strive to gain.” Soon as they heard

My words, he and Sordello backward drew,

As suddenly amaz’d. To Virgil one,

The other to a spirit turn’d, who near

Was seated, crying: “Conrad! up with speed:

Come, see what of his grace high God hath will’d.”

Then turning round to me: “By that rare mark

Of honour which thou ow’st to him, who hides

So deeply his first cause, it hath no ford,

When thou shalt he beyond the vast of waves.

Tell my Giovanna, that for me she call

There, where reply to innocence is made.

Her mother, I believe, loves me no more;

Since she has chang’d the white and wimpled folds,

Which she is doom’d once more with grief to wish.

By her it easily may be perceiv’d,

How long in women lasts the flame of love,

If sight and touch do not relume it oft.

For her so fair a burial will not make

The viper which calls Milan to the field,

As had been made by shrill Gallura’s bird.”

He spoke, and in his visage took the stamp

Of that right seal, which with due temperature

Glows in the bosom. My insatiate eyes

Meanwhile to heav’n had travel’d, even there

Where the bright stars are slowest, as a wheel

Nearest the axle; when my guide inquir’d:

“What there aloft, my son, has caught thy gaze?”

I answer’d: “The three torches, with which here

The pole is all on fire. “He then to me:

“The four resplendent stars, thou saw’st this morn

Are there beneath, and these ris’n in their stead.”

While yet he spoke. Sordello to himself

Drew him, and cry’d: “Lo there our enemy!”

And with his hand pointed that way to look.

Along the side, where barrier none arose

Around the little vale, a serpent lay,

Such haply as gave Eve the bitter food.

Between the grass and flowers, the evil snake

Came on, reverting oft his lifted head;

And, as a beast that smoothes its polish’d coat,

Licking his hack. I saw not, nor can tell,

How those celestial falcons from their seat

Mov’d, but in motion each one well descried,

Hearing the air cut by their verdant plumes.

The serpent fled; and to their stations back

The angels up return’d with equal flight.

The Spirit (who to Nino, when he call’d,

Had come), from viewing me with fixed ken,

Through all that conflict, loosen’d not his sight.

“So may the lamp, which leads thee up on high,

Find, in thy destin’d lot, of wax so much,

As may suffice thee to the enamel’s height.”

It thus began: “If any certain news

Of Valdimagra and the neighbour part

Thou know’st, tell me, who once was mighty there

They call’d me Conrad Malaspina, not

That old one, but from him I sprang. The love

I bore my people is now here refin’d.”

“In your dominions,” I answer’d, “ne’er was I.

But through all Europe where do those men dwell,

To whom their glory is not manifest?

The fame, that honours your illustrious house,

Proclaims the nobles and proclaims the land;

So that he knows it who was never there.

I swear to you, so may my upward route

Prosper! your honour’d nation not impairs

The value of her coffer and her sword.

Nature and use give her such privilege,

That while the world is twisted from his course

By a bad head, she only walks aright,

And has the evil way in scorn.” He then:

“Now pass thee on: sev’n times the tired sun

Revisits not the couch, which with four feet

The forked Aries covers, ere that kind

Opinion shall be nail’d into thy brain

With stronger nails than other’s speech can drive,

If the sure course of judgment be not stay’d.”

CANTO IX

Now the fair consort of Tithonus old,

Arisen from her mate’s beloved arms,

Look’d palely o’er the eastern cliff: her brow,

Lucent with jewels, glitter’d, set in sign

Of that chill animal, who with his train

Smites fearful nations: and where then we were,

Two steps of her ascent the night had past,

And now the third was closing up its wing,

When I, who had so much of Adam with me,

Sank down upon the grass, o’ercome with sleep,

There where all five were seated. In that hour,

When near the dawn the swallow her sad lay,

Rememb’ring haply ancient grief, renews,

And with our minds more wand’rers from the flesh,

And less by thought restrain’d are, as ’twere, full

Of holy divination in their dreams,

Then in a vision did I seem to view

A golden-feather’d eagle in the sky,

With open wings, and hov’ring for descent,

And I was in that place, methought, from whence

Young Ganymede, from his associates ’reft,

Was snatch’d aloft to the high consistory.

“Perhaps,” thought I within me, “here alone

He strikes his quarry, and elsewhere disdains

To pounce upon the prey.” Therewith, it seem’d,

A little wheeling in his airy tour

Terrible as the lightning rush’d he down,

And snatch’d me upward even to the fire.

There both, I thought, the eagle and myself

Did burn; and so intense th’ imagin’d flames,

That needs my sleep was broken off. As erst

Achilles shook himself, and round him roll’d

His waken’d eyeballs wond’ring where he was,

Whenas his mother had from Chiron fled

To Scyros, with him sleeping in her arms;

E’en thus I shook me, soon as from my face

The slumber parted, turning deadly pale,

Like one ice-struck with dread. Solo at my side

My comfort stood: and the bright sun was now

More than two hours aloft: and to the sea

My looks were turn’d. “Fear not,” my master cried,

“Assur’d we are at happy point. Thy strength

Shrink not, but rise dilated. Thou art come

To Purgatory now. Lo! there the cliff

That circling bounds it! Lo! the entrance there,

Where it doth seem disparted! Ere the dawn

Usher’d the daylight, when thy wearied soul

Slept in thee, o’er the flowery vale beneath

A lady came, and thus bespake me: “I

Am Lucia. Suffer me to take this man,

Who slumbers. Easier so his way shall speed.”

Sordello and the other gentle shapes

Tarrying, she bare thee up: and, as day shone,

This summit reach’d: and I pursued her steps.

Here did she place thee. First her lovely eyes

That open entrance show’d me; then at once

She vanish’d with thy sleep.” Like one, whose doubts

Are chas’d by certainty, and terror turn’d

To comfort on discovery of the truth,

Such was the change in me: and as my guide

Beheld me fearless, up along the cliff

He mov’d, and I behind him, towards the height.

Reader! thou markest how my theme doth rise,

Nor wonder therefore, if more artfully

I prop the structure! Nearer now we drew,

Arriv’d’ whence in that part, where first a breach

As of a wall appear’d, I could descry

A portal, and three steps beneath, that led

For inlet there, of different colour each,

And one who watch’d, but spake not yet a word.

As more and more mine eye did stretch its view,

I mark’d him seated on the highest step,

In visage such, as past my power to bear.

Grasp’d in his hand a naked sword, glanc’d back

The rays so toward me, that I oft in vain

My sight directed. “Speak from whence ye stand:”

He cried: “What would ye? Where is your escort?

Take heed your coming upward harm ye not.”

“A heavenly dame, not skilless of these things,”

Replied the’ instructor, “told us, even now,

Pass that way: here the gate is.”—“And may she

Befriending prosper your ascent,” resum’d

The courteous keeper of the gate: “Come then

Before our steps.” We straightway thither came.

The lowest stair was marble white so smooth

And polish’d, that therein my mirror’d form

Distinct I saw. The next of hue more dark

Than sablest grain, a rough and singed block,

Crack’d lengthwise and across. The third, that lay

Massy above, seem’d porphyry, that flam’d

Red as the life-blood spouting from a vein.

On this God’s angel either foot sustain’d,

Upon the threshold seated, which appear’d

A rock of diamond. Up the trinal steps

My leader cheerily drew me. “Ask,” said he,

“With humble heart, that he unbar the bolt.”

Piously at his holy feet devolv’d

I cast me, praying him for pity’s sake

That he would open to me: but first fell

Thrice on my bosom prostrate. Seven times0

The letter, that denotes the inward stain,

He on my forehead with the blunted point

Of his drawn sword inscrib’d. And “Look,” he cried,

“When enter’d, that thou wash these scars away.”

Ashes, or earth ta’en dry out of the ground,

Were of one colour with the robe he wore.

From underneath that vestment forth he drew

Two keys of metal twain: the one was gold,

Its fellow silver. With the pallid first,

And next the burnish’d, he so ply’d the gate,

As to content me well. “Whenever one

Faileth of these, that in the keyhole straight

It turn not, to this alley then expect

Access in vain.” Such were the words he spake.

“One is more precious: but the other needs

Skill and sagacity, large share of each,

Ere its good task to disengage the knot

Be worthily perform’d. From Peter these

I hold, of him instructed, that I err

Rather in opening than in keeping fast;

So but the suppliant at my feet implore.”

Then of that hallow’d gate he thrust the door,

Exclaiming, “Enter, but this warning hear:

He forth again departs who looks behind.”

As in the hinges of that sacred ward

The swivels turn’d, sonorous metal strong,

Harsh was the grating; nor so surlily

Roar’d the Tarpeian, when by force bereft

Of good Metellus, thenceforth from his loss

To leanness doom’d. Attentively I turn’d,

List’ning the thunder, that first issued forth;

And “We praise thee, O God,” methought I heard

In accents blended with sweet melody.

The strains came o’er mine ear, e’en as the sound

Of choral voices, that in solemn chant

With organ mingle, and, now high and clear,

Come swelling, now float indistinct away.

CANTO X

When we had passed the threshold of the gate

(Which the soul’s ill affection doth disuse,

Making the crooked seem the straighter path),

I heard its closing sound. Had mine eyes turn’d,

For that offence what plea might have avail’d?

We mounted up the riven rock, that wound

On either side alternate, as the wave

Flies and advances. “Here some little art

Behooves us,” said my leader, “that our steps

Observe the varying flexure of the path.”

Thus we so slowly sped, that with cleft orb

The moon once more o’erhangs her wat’ry couch,

Ere we that strait have threaded. But when free

We came and open, where the mount above

One solid mass retires, I spent, with toil,

And both, uncertain of the way, we stood,

Upon a plain more lonesome, than the roads

That traverse desert wilds. From whence the brink

Borders upon vacuity, to foot

Of the steep bank, that rises still, the space

Had measur’d thrice the stature of a man:

And, distant as mine eye could wing its flight,

To leftward now and now to right dispatch’d,

That cornice equal in extent appear’d.

Not yet our feet had on that summit mov’d,

When I discover’d that the bank around,

Whose proud uprising all ascent denied,

Was marble white, and so exactly wrought

With quaintest sculpture, that not there alone

Had Polycletus, but e’en nature’s self

Been sham’d. The angel who came down to earth

With tidings of the peace so many years

Wept for in vain, that op’d the heavenly gates

From their long interdict) before us seem’d,

In a sweet act, so sculptur’d to the life,

He look’d no silent image. One had sworn

He had said, “Hail!” for she was imag’d there,

By whom the key did open to God’s love,

And in her act as sensibly impress

That word, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord,”

As figure seal’d on wax. “Fix not thy mind

On one place only,” said the guide belov’d,

Who had me near him on that part where lies

The heart of man. My sight forthwith I turn’d

And mark’d, behind the virgin mother’s form,

Upon that side, where he, that mov’d me, stood,

Another story graven on the rock.

I passed athwart the bard, and drew me near,

That it might stand more aptly for my view.

There in the self-same marble were engrav’d

The cart and kine, drawing the sacred ark,

That from unbidden office awes mankind.

Before it came much people; and the whole

Parted in seven quires. One sense cried, “Nay,”

Another, “Yes, they sing.” Like doubt arose

Betwixt the eye and smell, from the curl’d fume

Of incense breathing up the well-wrought toil.

Preceding the blest vessel, onward came

With light dance leaping, girt in humble guise,

Sweet Israel’s harper: in that hap he seem’d

Less and yet more than kingly. Opposite,

At a great palace, from the lattice forth

Look’d Michol, like a lady full of scorn

And sorrow. To behold the tablet next,

Which at the hack of Michol whitely shone,

I mov’d me. There was storied on the rock

The’ exalted glory of the Roman prince,

Whose mighty worth mov’d Gregory to earn

His mighty conquest, Trajan th’ Emperor.

A widow at his bridle stood, attir’d

In tears and mourning. Round about them troop’d

Full throng of knights, and overhead in gold

The eagles floated, struggling with the wind.

The wretch appear’d amid all these to say:

“Grant vengeance, sire! for, woe beshrew this heart

My son is murder’d.” He replying seem’d;

“Wait now till I return.” And she, as one

Made hasty by her grief; “O sire, if thou

Dost not return?”—“Where I am, who then is,

May right thee.”—” What to thee is other’s good,

If thou neglect thy own?”—“Now comfort thee,”

At length he answers. “It beseemeth well

My duty be perform’d, ere I move hence:

So justice wills; and pity bids me stay.”

He, whose ken nothing new surveys, produc’d

That visible speaking, new to us and strange

The like not found on earth. Fondly I gaz’d

Upon those patterns of meek humbleness,

Shapes yet more precious for their artist’s sake,

When “Lo,” the poet whisper’d, “where this way

(But slack their pace), a multitude advance.

These to the lofty steps shall guide us on.”

Mine eyes, though bent on view of novel sights

Their lov’d allurement, were not slow to turn.

Reader! I would not that amaz’d thou miss

Of thy good purpose, hearing how just God

Decrees our debts be cancel’d. Ponder not

The form of suff’ring. Think on what succeeds,

Think that at worst beyond the mighty doom

It cannot pass. “Instructor,” I began,

“What I see hither tending, bears no trace

Of human semblance, nor of aught beside

That my foil’d sight can guess.” He answering thus:

“So courb’d to earth, beneath their heavy teems

Of torment stoop they, that mine eye at first

Struggled as thine. But look intently thither,

An disentangle with thy lab’ring view,

What underneath those stones approacheth: now,

E’en now, mayst thou discern the pangs of each.”

Christians and proud! O poor and wretched ones!

That feeble in the mind’s eye, lean your trust

Upon unstaid perverseness! Know ye not

That we are worms, yet made at last to form

The winged insect, imp’d with angel plumes

That to heaven’s justice unobstructed soars?

Why buoy ye up aloft your unfleg’d souls?

Abortive then and shapeless ye remain,

Like the untimely embryon of a worm!

As, to support incumbent floor or roof,

For corbel is a figure sometimes seen,

That crumples up its knees unto its breast,

With the feign’d posture stirring ruth unfeign’d

In the beholder’s fancy; so I saw

These fashion’d, when I noted well their guise.

Each, as his back was laden, came indeed

Or more or less contract; but it appear’d

As he, who show’d most patience in his look,

Wailing exclaim’d: “I can endure no more.”

CANTO XI

O thou Almighty Father, who dost make

The heavens thy dwelling, not in bounds confin’d,

But that with love intenser there thou view’st

Thy primal effluence, hallow’d be thy name:

Join each created being to extol

Thy might, for worthy humblest thanks and praise

Is thy blest Spirit. May thy kingdom’s peace

Come unto us; for we, unless it come,

With all our striving thither tend in vain.

As of their will the angels unto thee

Tender meet sacrifice, circling thy throne

With loud hosannas, so of theirs be done

By saintly men on earth. Grant us this day

Our daily manna, without which he roams

Through this rough desert retrograde, who most

Toils to advance his steps. As we to each

Pardon the evil done us, pardon thou

Benign, and of our merit take no count.

’Gainst the old adversary prove thou not

Our virtue easily subdu’d; but free

From his incitements and defeat his wiles.

This last petition, dearest Lord! is made

Not for ourselves, since that were needless now,

But for their sakes who after us remain.”

Thus for themselves and us good speed imploring,

Those spirits went beneath a weight like that

We sometimes feel in dreams, all, sore beset,

But with unequal anguish, wearied all,

Round the first circuit, purging as they go,

The world’s gross darkness off: In our behalf

If there vows still be offer’d, what can here

For them be vow’d and done by such, whose wills

Have root of goodness in them? Well beseems

That we should help them wash away the stains

They carried hence, that so made pure and light,

They may spring upward to the starry spheres.

“Ah! so may mercy-temper’d justice rid

Your burdens speedily, that ye have power

To stretch your wing, which e’en to your desire

Shall lift you, as ye show us on which hand

Toward the ladder leads the shortest way.

And if there be more passages than one,

Instruct us of that easiest to ascend;

For this man who comes with me, and bears yet

The charge of fleshly raiment Adam left him,

Despite his better will but slowly mounts.”

From whom the answer came unto these words,

Which my guide spake, appear’d not; but ’twas said

“Along the bank to rightward come with us,

And ye shall find a pass that mocks not toil

Of living man to climb: and were it not

That I am hinder’d by the rock, wherewith

This arrogant neck is tam’d, whence needs I stoop

My visage to the ground, him, who yet lives,

Whose name thou speak’st not him I fain would view.

To mark if e’er I knew him? and to crave

His pity for the fardel that I bear.

I was of Latiun, of a Tuscan horn

A mighty one: Aldobranlesco’s name

My sire’s, I know not if ye e’er have heard.

My old blood and forefathers’ gallant deeds

Made me so haughty, that I clean forgot

The common mother, and to such excess,

Wax’d in my scorn of all men, that I fell,

Fell therefore; by what fate Sienna’s sons,

Each child in Campagnatico, can tell.

I am Omberto; not me only pride

Hath injur’d, but my kindred all involv’d

In mischief with her. Here my lot ordains

Under this weight to groan, till I appease

God’s angry justice, since I did it not

Amongst the living, here amongst the dead.”

List’ning I bent my visage down: and one

(Not he who spake) twisted beneath the weight

That urg’d him, saw me, knew me straight, and call’d,

Holding his eyes With difficulty fix’d

Intent upon me, stooping as I went

Companion of their way. “O!” I exclaim’d,

“Art thou not Oderigi, art not thou

Agobbio’s glory, glory of that art

Which they of Paris call the limmer’s skill?”

“Brother!” said he, “with tints that gayer smile,

Bolognian Franco’s pencil lines the leaves.

His all the honour now; mine borrow’d light.

In truth I had not been thus courteous to him,

The whilst I liv’d, through eagerness of zeal

For that pre-eminence my heart was bent on.

Here of such pride the forfeiture is paid.

Nor were I even here; if, able still

To sin, I had not turn’d me unto God.

O powers of man! how vain your glory, nipp’d

E’en in its height of verdure, if an age

Less bright succeed not! Cimabue thought

To lord it over painting’s field; and now

The cry is Giotto’s, and his name eclips’d.

Thus hath one Guido from the other snatch’d

The letter’d prize: and he perhaps is born,

Who shall drive either from their nest. The noise

Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind,

That blows from divers points, and shifts its name

Shifting the point it blows from. Shalt thou more

Live in the mouths of mankind, if thy flesh

Part shrivel’d from thee, than if thou hadst died,

Before the coral and the pap were left,

Or ere some thousand years have passed? and that

Is, to eternity compar’d, a space,

Briefer than is the twinkling of an eye

To the heaven’s slowest orb. He there who treads

So leisurely before me, far and wide

Through Tuscany resounded once; and now

Is in Sienna scarce with whispers nam’d:

There was he sov’reign, when destruction caught

The madd’ning rage of Florence, in that day

Proud as she now is loathsome. Your renown

Is as the herb, whose hue doth come and go,

And his might withers it, by whom it sprang

Crude from the lap of earth.” I thus to him:

“True are thy sayings: to my heart they breathe

The kindly spirit of meekness, and allay

What tumours rankle there. But who is he

Of whom thou spak’st but now?”—“This,” he replied,

“Is Provenzano. He is here, because

He reach’d, with grasp presumptuous, at the sway

Of all Sienna. Thus he still hath gone,

Thus goeth never-resting, since he died.

Such is th’ acquittance render’d back of him,

Who, beyond measure, dar’d on earth.” I then:

“If soul that to the verge of life delays

Repentance, linger in that lower space,

Nor hither mount, unless good prayers befriend,

How chanc’d admittance was vouchsaf’d to him?”

“When at his glory’s topmost height,” said he,

“Respect of dignity all cast aside,

Freely He fix’d him on Sienna’s plain,

A suitor to redeem his suff’ring friend,

Who languish’d in the prison-house of Charles,

Nor for his sake refus’d through every vein

To tremble. More I will not say; and dark,

I know, my words are, but thy neighbours soon

Shall help thee to a comment on the text.

This is the work, that from these limits freed him.”

CANTO XII

With equal pace as oxen in the yoke,

I with that laden spirit journey’d on

Long as the mild instructor suffer’d me;

But when he bade me quit him, and proceed

(For “here,” said he, “behooves with sail and oars

Each man, as best he may, push on his bark”),

Upright, as one dispos’d for speed, I rais’d

My body, still in thought submissive bow’d.

I now my leader’s track not loth pursued;

And each had shown how light we far’d along

When thus he warn’d me: “Bend thine eyesight down:

For thou to ease the way shall find it good

To ruminate the bed beneath thy feet.”

As in memorial of the buried, drawn

Upon earth-level tombs, the sculptur’d form

Of what was once, appears (at sight whereof

Tears often stream forth by remembrance wak’d,

Whose sacred stings the piteous only feel),

So saw I there, but with more curious skill

Of portraiture o’erwrought, whate’er of space

From forth the mountain stretches. On one part

Him I beheld, above all creatures erst

Created noblest, light’ning fall from heaven:

On th’ other side with bolt celestial pierc’d

Briareus: cumb’ring earth he lay through dint

Of mortal ice-stroke. The Thymbraean god

With Mars, I saw, and Pallas, round their sire,

Arm’d still, and gazing on the giant’s limbs

Strewn o’er th’ ethereal field. Nimrod I saw:

At foot of the stupendous work he stood,

As if bewilder’d, looking on the crowd

Leagued in his proud attempt on Sennaar’s plain.

O Niobe! in what a trance of woe

Thee I beheld, upon that highway drawn,

Sev’n sons on either side thee slain! O Saul!

How ghastly didst thou look! on thine own sword

Expiring in Gilboa, from that hour

Ne’er visited with rain from heav’n or dew!

O fond Arachne! thee I also saw

Half spider now in anguish crawling up

Th’ unfinish’d web thou weaved’st to thy bane!

O Rehoboam! here thy shape doth seem

Louring no more defiance! but fear-smote

With none to chase him in his chariot whirl’d.

Was shown beside upon the solid floor

How dear Alcmaeon forc’d his mother rate

That ornament in evil hour receiv’d:

How in the temple on Sennacherib fell

His sons, and how a corpse they left him there.

Was shown the scath and cruel mangling made

By Tomyris on Cyrus, when she cried:

“Blood thou didst thirst for, take thy fill of blood!”

Was shown how routed in the battle fled

Th’ Assyrians, Holofernes slain, and e’en

The relics of the carnage. Troy I mark’d

In ashes and in caverns. Oh! how fall’n,

How abject, Ilion, was thy semblance there!

What master of the pencil or the style

Had trac’d the shades and lines, that might have made

The subtlest workman wonder? Dead the dead,

The living seem’d alive; with clearer view

His eye beheld not who beheld the truth,

Than mine what I did tread on, while I went

Low bending. Now swell out; and with stiff necks

Pass on, ye sons of Eve! veil not your looks,

Lest they descry the evil of your path!

I noted not (so busied was my thought)

How much we now had circled of the mount,

And of his course yet more the sun had spent,

When he, who with still wakeful caution went,

Admonish’d: “Raise thou up thy head: for know

Time is not now for slow suspense. Behold

That way an angel hasting towards us! Lo

Where duly the sixth handmaid doth return

From service on the day. Wear thou in look

And gesture seemly grace of reverent awe,

That gladly he may forward us aloft.

Consider that this day ne’er dawns again.”

Time’s loss he had so often warn’d me ’gainst,

I could not miss the scope at which he aim’d.

The goodly shape approach’d us, snowy white

In vesture, and with visage casting streams

Of tremulous lustre like the matin star.

His arms he open’d, then his wings; and spake:

“Onward: the steps, behold! are near; and now

Th’ ascent is without difficulty gain’d.”

A scanty few are they, who when they hear

Such tidings, hasten. O ye race of men

Though born to soar, why suffer ye a wind

So slight to baffle ye? He led us on

Where the rock parted; here against my front

Did beat his wings, then promis’d I should fare

In safety on my way. As to ascend

That steep, upon whose brow the chapel stands

(O’er Rubaconte, looking lordly down

On the well-guided city,) up the right

Th’ impetuous rise is broken by the steps

Carv’d in that old and simple age, when still

The registry and label rested safe;

Thus is th’ acclivity reliev’d, which here

Precipitous from the other circuit falls:

But on each hand the tall cliff presses close.

As ent’ring there we turn’d, voices, in strain

Ineffable, sang: “Blessed are the poor

In spirit.” Ah how far unlike to these

The straits of hell; here songs to usher us,

There shrieks of woe! We climb the holy stairs:

And lighter to myself by far I seem’d

Than on the plain before, whence thus I spake:

“Say, master, of what heavy thing have I

Been lighten’d, that scarce aught the sense of toil

Affects me journeying?” He in few replied:

“When sin’s broad characters, that yet remain

Upon thy temples, though well nigh effac’d,

Shall be, as one is, all clean razed out,

Then shall thy feet by heartiness of will

Be so o’ercome, they not alone shall feel

No sense of labour, but delight much more

Shall wait them urg’d along their upward way.”

Then like to one, upon whose head is plac’d

Somewhat he deems not of but from the becks

Of others as they pass him by; his hand

Lends therefore help to’ assure him, searches, finds,

And well performs such office as the eye

Wants power to execute: so stretching forth

The fingers of my right hand, did I find

Six only of the letters, which his sword

Who bare the keys had trac’d upon my brow.

The leader, as he mark’d mine action, smil’d.

CANTO XIII

We reach’d the summit of the scale, and stood

Upon the second buttress of that mount

Which healeth him who climbs. A cornice there,

Like to the former, girdles round the hill;

Save that its arch with sweep less ample bends.

Shadow nor image there is seen; all smooth

The rampart and the path, reflecting nought

But the rock’s sullen hue. “If here we wait

For some to question,” said the bard, “I fear

Our choice may haply meet too long delay.”

Then fixedly upon the sun his eyes

He fastn’d, made his right the central point

From whence to move, and turn’d the left aside.

“O pleasant light, my confidence and hope,

Conduct us thou,” he cried, “on this new way,

Where now I venture, leading to the bourn

We seek. The universal world to thee

Owes warmth and lustre. If no other cause

Forbid, thy beams should ever be our guide.”

Far, as is measur’d for a mile on earth,

In brief space had we journey’d; such prompt will

Impell’d; and towards us flying, now were heard

Spirits invisible, who courteously

Unto love’s table bade the welcome guest.

The voice, that first? flew by, call’d forth aloud,

“They have no wine; “ so on behind us past,

Those sounds reiterating, nor yet lost

In the faint distance, when another came

Crying, “I am Orestes,” and alike

Wing’d its fleet way. “Oh father!” I exclaim’d,

“What tongues are these?” and as I question’d, lo!

A third exclaiming, “Love ye those have wrong’d you.”

“This circuit,” said my teacher, “knots the scourge

For envy, and the cords are therefore drawn

By charity’s correcting hand. The curb

Is of a harsher sound, as thou shalt hear

(If I deem rightly), ere thou reach the pass,

Where pardon sets them free. But fix thine eyes

Intently through the air, and thou shalt see

A multitude before thee seated, each

Along the shelving grot.” Then more than erst

I op’d my eyes, before me view’d, and saw

Shadows with garments dark as was the rock;

And when we pass’d a little forth, I heard

A crying, “Blessed Mary! pray for us,

Michael and Peter! all ye saintly host!”

I do not think there walks on earth this day

Man so remorseless, that he hath not yearn’d

With pity at the sight that next I saw.

Mine eyes a load of sorrow teemed, when now

I stood so near them, that their semblances

Came clearly to my view. Of sackcloth vile

Their cov’ring seem’d; and on his shoulder one

Did stay another, leaning, and all lean’d

Against the cliff. E’en thus the blind and poor,

Near the confessionals, to crave an alms,

Stand, each his head upon his fellow’s sunk,

So most to stir compassion, not by sound

Of words alone, but that, which moves not less,

The sight of mis’ry. And as never beam

Of noonday visiteth the eyeless man,

E’en so was heav’n a niggard unto these

Of his fair light; for, through the orbs of all,

A thread of wire, impiercing, knits them up,

As for the taming of a haggard hawk.

It were a wrong, methought, to pass and look

On others, yet myself the while unseen.

To my sage counsel therefore did I turn.

He knew the meaning of the mute appeal,

Nor waited for my questioning, but said:

“Speak; and be brief, be subtle in thy words.”

On that part of the cornice, whence no rim

Engarlands its steep fall, did Virgil come;

On the’ other side me were the spirits, their cheeks

Bathing devout with penitential tears,

That through the dread impalement forc’d a way.

I turn’d me to them, and “O shades!” said I,

“Assur’d that to your eyes unveil’d shall shine

The lofty light, sole object of your wish,

So may heaven’s grace clear whatsoe’er of foam

Floats turbid on the conscience, that thenceforth

The stream of mind roll limpid from its source,

As ye declare (for so shall ye impart

A boon I dearly prize) if any soul

Of Latium dwell among ye; and perchance

That soul may profit, if I learn so much.”

“My brother, we are each one citizens

Of one true city. Any thou wouldst say,

Who lived a stranger in Italia’s land.”

So heard I answering, as appeal’d, a voice

That onward came some space from whence I stood.

A spirit I noted, in whose look was mark’d

Expectance. Ask ye how? The chin was rais’d

As in one reft of sight. “Spirit,” said I,

“Who for thy rise are tutoring (if thou be

That which didst answer to me,) or by place

Or name, disclose thyself, that I may know thee.”

“I was,” it answer’d, “of Sienna: here

I cleanse away with these the evil life,

Soliciting with tears that He, who is,

Vouchsafe him to us. Though Sapia nam’d

In sapience I excell’d not, gladder far

Of others’ hurt, than of the good befell me.

That thou mayst own I now deceive thee not,

Hear, if my folly were not as I speak it.

When now my years slop’d waning down the arch,

It so bechanc’d, my fellow citizens

Near Colle met their enemies in the field,

And I pray’d God to grant what He had will’d.

There were they vanquish’d, and betook themselves

Unto the bitter passages of flight.

I mark’d the hunt, and waxing out of bounds

In gladness, lifted up my shameless brow,

And like the merlin cheated by a gleam,

Cried, “It is over. Heav’n! I fear thee not.”

Upon my verge of life I wish’d for peace

With God; nor repentance had supplied

What I did lack of duty, were it not

The hermit Piero, touch’d with charity,

In his devout orisons thought on me.

But who art thou that question’st of our state,

Who go’st to my belief, with lids unclos’d,

And breathest in thy talk?”—“Mine eyes,” said I,

“May yet be here ta’en from me; but not long;

For they have not offended grievously

With envious glances. But the woe beneath

Urges my soul with more exceeding dread.

That nether load already weighs me down.”

She thus: “Who then amongst us here aloft

Hath brought thee, if thou weenest to return?”

“He,” answer’d I, “who standeth mute beside me.

I live: of me ask therefore, chosen spirit,

If thou desire I yonder yet should move

For thee my mortal feet.”—“Oh!” she replied,

“This is so strange a thing, it is great sign

That God doth love thee. Therefore with thy prayer

Sometime assist me: and by that I crave,

Which most thou covetest, that if thy feet

E’er tread on Tuscan soil, thou save my fame

Amongst my kindred. Them shalt thou behold

With that vain multitude, who set their hope

On Telamone’s haven, there to fail

Confounded, more shall when the fancied stream

They sought of Dian call’d: but they who lead

Their navies, more than ruin’d hopes shall mourn.”

CANTO XIV

“Say who is he around our mountain winds,

Or ever death has prun’d his wing for flight,

That opes his eyes and covers them at will?”

“I know not who he is, but know thus much

He comes not singly. Do thou ask of him,

For thou art nearer to him, and take heed

Accost him gently, so that he may speak.”

Thus on the right two Spirits bending each

Toward the other, talk’d of me, then both

Addressing me, their faces backward lean’d,

And thus the one began: “O soul, who yet

Pent in the body, tendest towards the sky!

For charity, we pray thee’ comfort us,

Recounting whence thou com’st, and who thou art:

For thou dost make us at the favour shown thee

Marvel, as at a thing that ne’er hath been.”

“There stretches through the midst of Tuscany,

I straight began: “a brooklet, whose well-head

Springs up in Falterona, with his race

Not satisfied, when he some hundred miles

Hath measur’d. From his banks bring, I this frame.

To tell you who I am were words misspent:

For yet my name scarce sounds on rumour’s lip.”

“If well I do incorp’rate with my thought

The meaning of thy speech,” said he, who first

Addrest me, “thou dost speak of Arno’s wave.”

To whom the other: “Why hath he conceal’d

The title of that river, as a man

Doth of some horrible thing?” The spirit, who

Thereof was question’d, did acquit him thus:

“I know not: but ’tis fitting well the name

Should perish of that vale; for from the source

Where teems so plenteously the Alpine steep

Maim’d of Pelorus, (that doth scarcely pass

Beyond that limit,) even to the point

Whereunto ocean is restor’d, what heaven

Drains from th’ exhaustless store for all earth’s streams,

Throughout the space is virtue worried down,

As ’twere a snake, by all, for mortal foe,

Or through disastrous influence on the place,

Or else distortion of misguided wills,

That custom goads to evil: whence in those,

The dwellers in that miserable vale,

Nature is so transform’d, it seems as they

Had shar’d of Circe’s feeding. ’Midst brute swine,

Worthier of acorns than of other food

Created for man’s use, he shapeth first

His obscure way; then, sloping onward, finds

Curs, snarlers more in spite than power, from whom

He turns with scorn aside: still journeying down,

By how much more the curst and luckless foss

Swells out to largeness, e’en so much it finds

Dogs turning into wolves. Descending still

Through yet more hollow eddies, next he meets

A race of foxes, so replete with craft,

They do not fear that skill can master it.

Nor will I cease because my words are heard

By other ears than thine. It shall be well

For this man, if he keep in memory

What from no erring Spirit I reveal.

Lo! I behold thy grandson, that becomes

A hunter of those wolves, upon the shore

Of the fierce stream, and cows them all with dread:

Their flesh yet living sets he up to sale,

Then like an aged beast to slaughter dooms.

Many of life he reaves, himself of worth

And goodly estimation. Smear’d with gore

Mark how he issues from the rueful wood,

Leaving such havoc, that in thousand years

It spreads not to prime lustihood again.”

As one, who tidings hears of woe to come,

Changes his looks perturb’d, from whate’er part

The peril grasp him, so beheld I change

That spirit, who had turn’d to listen, struck

With sadness, soon as he had caught the word.

His visage and the other’s speech did raise

Desire in me to know the names of both,

whereof with meek entreaty I inquir’d.

The shade, who late addrest me, thus resum’d:

“Thy wish imports that I vouchsafe to do

For thy sake what thou wilt not do for mine.

But since God’s will is that so largely shine

His grace in thee, I will be liberal too.

Guido of Duca know then that I am.

Envy so parch’d my blood, that had I seen

A fellow man made joyous, thou hadst mark’d

A livid paleness overspread my cheek.

Such harvest reap I of the seed I sow’d.

O man, why place thy heart where there doth need

Exclusion of participants in good?

This is Rinieri’s spirit, this the boast

And honour of the house of Calboli,

Where of his worth no heritage remains.

Nor his the only blood, that hath been stript

(’twixt Po, the mount, the Reno, and the shore,)

Of all that truth or fancy asks for bliss;

But in those limits such a growth has sprung

Of rank and venom’d roots, as long would mock

Slow culture’s toil. Where is good Lizio? where

Manardi, Traversalo, and Carpigna?

O bastard slips of old Romagna’s line!

When in Bologna the low artisan,

And in Faenza yon Bernardin sprouts,

A gentle cyon from ignoble stem.

Wonder not, Tuscan, if thou see me weep,

When I recall to mind those once lov’d names,

Guido of Prata, and of Azzo him

That dwelt with you; Tignoso and his troop,

With Traversaro’s house and Anastagio s,

(Each race disherited) and beside these,

The ladies and the knights, the toils and ease,

That witch’d us into love and courtesy;

Where now such malice reigns in recreant hearts.

O Brettinoro! wherefore tarriest still,

Since forth of thee thy family hath gone,

And many, hating evil, join’d their steps?

Well doeth he, that bids his lineage cease,

Bagnacavallo; Castracaro ill,

And Conio worse, who care to propagate

A race of Counties from such blood as theirs.

Well shall ye also do, Pagani, then

When from amongst you tries your demon child.

Not so, howe’er, that henceforth there remain

True proof of what ye were. O Hugolin!

Thou sprung of Fantolini’s line! thy name

Is safe, since none is look’d for after thee

To cloud its lustre, warping from thy stock.

But, Tuscan, go thy ways; for now I take

Far more delight in weeping than in words.

Such pity for your sakes hath wrung my heart.”

We knew those gentle spirits at parting heard

Our steps. Their silence therefore of our way

Assur’d us. Soon as we had quitted them,

Advancing onward, lo! a voice that seem’d

Like vollied light’ning, when it rives the air,

Met us, and shouted, “Whosoever finds

Will slay me,” then fled from us, as the bolt

Lanc’d sudden from a downward-rushing cloud.

When it had giv’n short truce unto our hearing,

Behold the other with a crash as loud

As the quick-following thunder: “Mark in me

Aglauros turn’d to rock.” I at the sound

Retreating drew more closely to my guide.

Now in mute stillness rested all the air:

And thus he spake: “There was the galling bit.

But your old enemy so baits his hook,

He drags you eager to him. Hence nor curb

Avails you, nor reclaiming call. Heav’n calls

And round about you wheeling courts your gaze

With everlasting beauties. Yet your eye

Turns with fond doting still upon the earth.

Therefore He smites you who discerneth all.”

CANTO XV

As much as ’twixt the third hour’s close and dawn,

Appeareth of heav’n’s sphere, that ever whirls

As restless as an infant in his play,

So much appear’d remaining to the sun

Of his slope journey towards the western goal.

Evening was there, and here the noon of night;

and full upon our forehead smote the beams.

For round the mountain, circling, so our path

Had led us, that toward the sun-set now

Direct we journey’d: when I felt a weight

Of more exceeding splendour, than before,

Press on my front. The cause unknown, amaze

Possess’d me, and both hands against my brow

Lifting, I interpos’d them, as a screen,

That of its gorgeous superflux of light

Clipp’d the diminish’d orb. As when the ray,

Striking On water or the surface clear

Of mirror, leaps unto the opposite part,

Ascending at a glance, e’en as it fell,

(And so much differs from the stone, that falls

Through equal space, as practice skill hath shown;

Thus with refracted light before me seemed

The ground there smitten; whence in sudden haste

My sight recoil’d. “What is this, sire belov’d!

’Gainst which I strive to shield the sight in vain?”

Cried I, “and which towards us moving seems?”

“Marvel not, if the family of heav’n,”

He answer’d, “yet with dazzling radiance dim

Thy sense it is a messenger who comes,

Inviting man’s ascent. Such sights ere long,

Not grievous, shall impart to thee delight,

As thy perception is by nature wrought

Up to their pitch.” The blessed angel, soon

As we had reach’d him, hail’d us with glad voice:

“Here enter on a ladder far less steep

Than ye have yet encounter’d.” We forthwith

Ascending, heard behind us chanted sweet,

“Blessed the merciful,” and “happy thou!

That conquer’st.” Lonely each, my guide and I

Pursued our upward way; and as we went,

Some profit from his words I hop’d to win,

And thus of him inquiring, fram’d my speech:

“What meant Romagna’s spirit, when he spake

Of bliss exclusive with no partner shar’d?”

He straight replied: “No wonder, since he knows,

What sorrow waits on his own worst defect,

If he chide others, that they less may mourn.

Because ye point your wishes at a mark,

Where, by communion of possessors, part

Is lessen’d, envy bloweth up the sighs of men.

No fear of that might touch ye, if the love

Of higher sphere exalted your desire.

For there, by how much more they call it ours,

So much propriety of each in good

Increases more, and heighten’d charity

Wraps that fair cloister in a brighter flame.”

“Now lack I satisfaction more,” said I,

“Than if thou hadst been silent at the first,

And doubt more gathers on my lab’ring thought.

How can it chance, that good distributed,

The many, that possess it, makes more rich,

Than if ’twere shar’d by few?” He answering thus:

“Thy mind, reverting still to things of earth,

Strikes darkness from true light. The highest good

Unlimited, ineffable, doth so speed

To love, as beam to lucid body darts,

Giving as much of ardour as it finds.

The sempiternal effluence streams abroad

Spreading, wherever charity extends.

So that the more aspirants to that bliss

Are multiplied, more good is there to love,

And more is lov’d; as mirrors, that reflect,

Each unto other, propagated light.

If these my words avail not to allay

Thy thirsting, Beatrice thou shalt see,

Who of this want, and of all else thou hast,

Shall rid thee to the full. Provide but thou

That from thy temples may be soon eras’d,

E’en as the two already, those five scars,

That when they pain thee worst, then kindliest heal,”

“Thou,” I had said, “content’st me,” when I saw

The other round was gain’d, and wond’ring eyes

Did keep me mute. There suddenly I seem’d

By an ecstatic vision wrapt away;

And in a temple saw, methought, a crowd

Of many persons; and at th’ entrance stood

A dame, whose sweet demeanour did express

A mother’s love, who said, “Child! why hast thou

Dealt with us thus? Behold thy sire and I

Sorrowing have sought thee;” and so held her peace,

And straight the vision fled. A female next

Appear’d before me, down whose visage cours’d

Those waters, that grief forces out from one

By deep resentment stung, who seem’d to say:

“If thou, Pisistratus, be lord indeed

Over this city, nam’d with such debate

Of adverse gods, and whence each science sparkles,

Avenge thee of those arms, whose bold embrace

Hath clasp’d our daughter; “and to fuel, meseem’d,

Benign and meek, with visage undisturb’d,

Her sovran spake: “How shall we those requite,

Who wish us evil, if we thus condemn

The man that loves us?” After that I saw

A multitude, in fury burning, slay

With stones a stripling youth, and shout amain

“Destroy, destroy: “and him I saw, who bow’d

Heavy with death unto the ground, yet made

His eyes, unfolded upward, gates to heav’n,

Praying forgiveness of th’ Almighty Sire,

Amidst that cruel conflict, on his foes,

With looks, that With compassion to their aim.

Soon as my spirit, from her airy flight

Returning, sought again the things, whose truth

Depends not on her shaping, I observ’d

How she had rov’d to no unreal scenes

Meanwhile the leader, who might see I mov’d,

As one, who struggles to shake off his sleep,

Exclaim’d: “What ails thee, that thou canst not hold

Thy footing firm, but more than half a league

Hast travel’d with clos’d eyes and tott’ring gait,

Like to a man by wine or sleep o’ercharg’d?”

“Beloved father! so thou deign,” said I,

“To listen, I will tell thee what appear’d

Before me, when so fail’d my sinking steps.”

He thus: “Not if thy Countenance were mask’d

With hundred vizards, could a thought of thine

How small soe’er, elude me. What thou saw’st

Was shown, that freely thou mightst ope thy heart

To the waters of peace, that flow diffus’d

From their eternal fountain. I not ask’d,

What ails thee? for such cause as he doth, who

Looks only with that eye which sees no more,

When spiritless the body lies; but ask’d,

To give fresh vigour to thy foot. Such goads

The slow and loit’ring need; that they be found

Not wanting, when their hour of watch returns.”

So on we journey’d through the evening sky

Gazing intent, far onward, as our eyes

With level view could stretch against the bright

Vespertine ray: and lo! by slow degrees

Gath’ring, a fog made tow’rds us, dark as night.

There was no room for ’scaping; and that mist

Bereft us, both of sight and the pure air.

CANTO XVI

Hell’s dunnest gloom, or night unlustrous, dark,

Of every planes ’reft, and pall’d in clouds,

Did never spread before the sight a veil

In thickness like that fog, nor to the sense

So palpable and gross. Ent’ring its shade,

Mine eye endured not with unclosed lids;

Which marking, near me drew the faithful guide,

Offering me his shoulder for a stay.

As the blind man behind his leader walks,

Lest he should err, or stumble unawares

On what might harm him, or perhaps destroy,

I journey’d through that bitter air and foul,

Still list’ning to my escort’s warning voice,

“Look that from me thou part not.” Straight I heard

Voices, and each one seem’d to pray for peace,

And for compassion, to the Lamb of God

That taketh sins away. Their prelude still

Was “Agnus Dei,” and through all the choir,

One voice, one measure ran, that perfect seem’d

The concord of their song. “Are these I hear

Spirits, O master?” I exclaim’d; and he:

“Thou aim’st aright: these loose the bonds of wrath.”

“Now who art thou, that through our smoke dost cleave?

And speak’st of us, as thou thyself e’en yet

Dividest time by calends?” So one voice

Bespake me; whence my master said: “Reply;

And ask, if upward hence the passage lead.”

“O being! who dost make thee pure, to stand

Beautiful once more in thy Maker’s sight!

Along with me: and thou shalt hear and wonder.”

Thus I, whereto the spirit answering spake:

“Long as ’tis lawful for me, shall my steps

Follow on thine; and since the cloudy smoke

Forbids the seeing, hearing in its stead

Shall keep us join’d.” I then forthwith began

“Yet in my mortal swathing, I ascend

To higher regions, and am hither come

Through the fearful agony of hell.

And, if so largely God hath doled his grace,

That, clean beside all modern precedent,

He wills me to behold his kingly state,

From me conceal not who thou wast, ere death

Had loos’d thee; but instruct me: and instruct

If rightly to the pass I tend; thy words

The way directing as a safe escort.”

“I was of Lombardy, and Marco call’d:

Not inexperienc’d of the world, that worth

I still affected, from which all have turn’d

The nerveless bow aside. Thy course tends right

Unto the summit:” and, replying thus,

He added, “I beseech thee pray for me,

When thou shalt come aloft.” And I to him:

“Accept my faith for pledge I will perform

What thou requirest. Yet one doubt remains,

That wrings me sorely, if I solve it not,

Singly before it urg’d me, doubled now

By thine opinion, when I couple that

With one elsewhere declar’d, each strength’ning other.

The world indeed is even so forlorn

Of all good as thou speak’st it and so swarms

With every evil. Yet, beseech thee, point

The cause out to me, that myself may see,

And unto others show it: for in heaven

One places it, and one on earth below.”

Then heaving forth a deep and audible sigh,

“Brother!” he thus began, “the world is blind;

And thou in truth com’st from it. Ye, who live,

Do so each cause refer to heav’n above,

E’en as its motion of necessity

Drew with it all that moves. If this were so,

Free choice in you were none; nor justice would

There should be joy for virtue, woe for ill.

Your movements have their primal bent from heaven;

Not all; yet said I all; what then ensues?

Light have ye still to follow evil or good,

And of the will free power, which, if it stand

Firm and unwearied in Heav’n’s first assay,

Conquers at last, so it be cherish’d well,

Triumphant over all. To mightier force,

To better nature subject, ye abide

Free, not constrain’d by that, which forms in you

The reasoning mind uninfluenc’d of the stars.

If then the present race of mankind err,

Seek in yourselves the cause, and find it there.

Herein thou shalt confess me no false spy.

“Forth from his plastic hand, who charm’d beholds

Her image ere she yet exist, the soul

Comes like a babe, that wantons sportively

Weeping and laughing in its wayward moods,

As artless and as ignorant of aught,

Save that her Maker being one who dwells

With gladness ever, willingly she turns

To whate’er yields her joy. Of some slight good

The flavour soon she tastes; and, snar’d by that,

With fondness she pursues it, if no guide

Recall, no rein direct her wand’ring course.

Hence it behov’d, the law should be a curb;

A sovereign hence behov’d, whose piercing view

Might mark at least the fortress and main tower

Of the true city. Laws indeed there are:

But who is he observes them? None; not he,

Who goes before, the shepherd of the flock,

Who chews the cud but doth not cleave the hoof.

Therefore the multitude, who see their guide

Strike at the very good they covet most,

Feed there and look no further. Thus the cause

Is not corrupted nature in yourselves,

But ill-conducting, that hath turn’d the world

To evil. Rome, that turn’d it unto good,

Was wont to boast two suns, whose several beams

Cast light on either way, the world’s and God’s.

One since hath quench’d the other; and the sword

Is grafted on the crook; and so conjoin’d

Each must perforce decline to worse, unaw’d

By fear of other. If thou doubt me, mark

The blade: each herb is judg’d of by its seed.

That land, through which Adice and the Po

Their waters roll, was once the residence

Of courtesy and velour, ere the day,

That frown’d on Frederick; now secure may pass

Those limits, whosoe’er hath left, for shame,

To talk with good men, or come near their haunts.

Three aged ones are still found there, in whom

The old time chides the new: these deem it long

Ere God restore them to a better world:

The good Gherardo, of Palazzo he

Conrad, and Guido of Castello, nam’d

In Gallic phrase more fitly the plain Lombard.

On this at last conclude. The church of Rome,

Mixing two governments that ill assort,

Hath miss’d her footing, fall’n into the mire,

And there herself and burden much defil’d.”

“O Marco!” I replied, shine arguments

Convince me: and the cause I now discern

Why of the heritage no portion came

To Levi’s offspring. But resolve me this

Who that Gherardo is, that as thou sayst

Is left a sample of the perish’d race,

And for rebuke to this untoward age?”

“Either thy words,” said he, “deceive; or else

Are meant to try me; that thou, speaking Tuscan,

Appear’st not to have heard of good Gherado;

The sole addition that, by which I know him;

Unless I borrow’d from his daughter Gaia

Another name to grace him. God be with you.

I bear you company no more. Behold

The dawn with white ray glimm’ring through the mist.

I must away—the angel comes—ere he

Appear.” He said, and would not hear me more.

CANTO XVII

Call to remembrance, reader, if thou e’er

Hast, on a mountain top, been ta’en by cloud,

Through which thou saw’st no better, than the mole

Doth through opacous membrane; then, whene’er

The wat’ry vapours dense began to melt

Into thin air, how faintly the sun’s sphere

Seem’d wading through them; so thy nimble thought

May image, how at first I re-beheld

The sun, that bedward now his couch o’erhung.

Thus with my leader’s feet still equaling pace

From forth that cloud I came, when now expir’d

The parting beams from off the nether shores.

O quick and forgetive power! that sometimes dost

So rob us of ourselves, we take no mark

Though round about us thousand trumpets clang!

What moves thee, if the senses stir not? Light

Kindled in heav’n, spontaneous, self-inform’d,

Or likelier gliding down with swift illapse

By will divine. Portray’d before me came

The traces of her dire impiety,

Whose form was chang’d into the bird, that most

Delights itself in song: and here my mind

Was inwardly so wrapt, it gave no place

To aught that ask’d admittance from without.

Next shower’d into my fantasy a shape

As of one crucified, whose visage spake

Fell rancour, malice deep, wherein he died;

And round him Ahasuerus the great king,

Esther his bride, and Mordecai the just,

Blameless in word and deed. As of itself

That unsubstantial coinage of the brain

Burst, like a bubble, Which the water fails

That fed it; in my vision straight uprose

A damsel weeping loud, and cried, “O queen!

O mother! wherefore has intemperate ire

Driv’n thee to loath thy being? Not to lose

Lavinia, desp’rate thou hast slain thyself.

Now hast thou lost me. I am she, whose tears

Mourn, ere I fall, a mother’s timeless end.”

E’en as a sleep breaks off, if suddenly

New radiance strike upon the closed lids,

The broken slumber quivering ere it dies;

Thus from before me sunk that imagery

Vanishing, soon as on my face there struck

The light, outshining far our earthly beam.

As round I turn’d me to survey what place

I had arriv’d at, “Here ye mount,” exclaim’d

A voice, that other purpose left me none,

Save will so eager to behold who spake,

I could not choose but gaze. As ’fore the sun,

That weighs our vision down, and veils his form

In light transcendent, thus my virtue fail’d

Unequal. “This is Spirit from above,

Who marshals us our upward way, unsought;

And in his own light shrouds him;. As a man

Doth for himself, so now is done for us.

For whoso waits imploring, yet sees need

Of his prompt aidance, sets himself prepar’d

For blunt denial, ere the suit be made.

Refuse we not to lend a ready foot

At such inviting: haste we to ascend,

Before it darken: for we may not then,

Till morn again return.” So spake my guide;

And to one ladder both address’d our steps;

And the first stair approaching, I perceiv’d

Near me as ’twere the waving of a wing,

That fann’d my face and whisper’d: “Blessed they

The peacemakers: they know not evil wrath.”

Now to such height above our heads were rais’d

The last beams, follow’d close by hooded night,

That many a star on all sides through the gloom

Shone out. “Why partest from me, O my strength?”

So with myself I commun’d; for I felt

My o’ertoil’d sinews slacken. We had reach’d

The summit, and were fix’d like to a bark

Arriv’d at land. And waiting a short space,

If aught should meet mine ear in that new round,

Then to my guide I turn’d, and said: “Lov’d sire!

Declare what guilt is on this circle purg’d.

If our feet rest, no need thy speech should pause.”

He thus to me: “The love of good, whate’er

Wanted of just proportion, here fulfils.

Here plies afresh the oar, that loiter’d ill.

But that thou mayst yet clearlier understand,

Give ear unto my words, and thou shalt cull

Some fruit may please thee well, from this delay.

“Creator, nor created being, ne’er,

My son,” he thus began, “was without love,

Or natural, or the free spirit’s growth.

Thou hast not that to learn. The natural still

Is without error; but the other swerves,

If on ill object bent, or through excess

Of vigour, or defect. While e’er it seeks

The primal blessings, or with measure due

Th’ inferior, no delight, that flows from it,

Partakes of ill. But let it warp to evil,

Or with more ardour than behooves, or less.

Pursue the good, the thing created then

Works ’gainst its Maker. Hence thou must infer

That love is germin of each virtue in ye,

And of each act no less, that merits pain.

Now since it may not be, but love intend

The welfare mainly of the thing it loves,

All from self-hatred are secure; and since

No being can be thought t’ exist apart

And independent of the first, a bar

Of equal force restrains from hating that.

“Grant the distinction just; and it remains

The’ evil must be another’s, which is lov’d.

Three ways such love is gender’d in your clay.

There is who hopes (his neighbour’s worth deprest,)

Preeminence himself, and coverts hence

For his own greatness that another fall.

There is who so much fears the loss of power,

Fame, favour, glory (should his fellow mount

Above him), and so sickens at the thought,

He loves their opposite: and there is he,

Whom wrong or insult seems to gall and shame

That he doth thirst for vengeance, and such needs

Must doat on other’s evil. Here beneath

This threefold love is mourn’d. Of th’ other sort

Be now instructed, that which follows good

But with disorder’d and irregular course.

“All indistinctly apprehend a bliss

On which the soul may rest, the hearts of all

Yearn after it, and to that wished bourn

All therefore strive to tend. If ye behold

Or seek it with a love remiss and lax,

This cornice after just repenting lays

Its penal torment on ye. Other good

There is, where man finds not his happiness:

It is not true fruition, not that blest

Essence, of every good the branch and root.

The love too lavishly bestow’d on this,

Along three circles over us, is mourn’d.

Account of that division tripartite

Expect not, fitter for thine own research.

CANTO XVIII

The teacher ended, and his high discourse

Concluding, earnest in my looks inquir’d

If I appear’d content; and I, whom still

Unsated thirst to hear him urg’d, was mute,

Mute outwardly, yet inwardly I said:

“Perchance my too much questioning offends

But he, true father, mark’d the secret wish

By diffidence restrain’d, and speaking, gave

Me boldness thus to speak: “Master, my Sight

Gathers so lively virtue from thy beams,

That all, thy words convey, distinct is seen.

Wherefore I pray thee, father, whom this heart

Holds dearest! thou wouldst deign by proof t’ unfold

That love, from which as from their source thou bring’st

All good deeds and their opposite.” He then:

“To what I now disclose be thy clear ken

Directed, and thou plainly shalt behold

How much those blind have err’d, who make themselves

The guides of men. The soul, created apt

To love, moves versatile which way soe’er

Aught pleasing prompts her, soon as she is wak’d

By pleasure into act. Of substance true

Your apprehension forms its counterfeit,

And in you the ideal shape presenting

Attracts the soul’s regard. If she, thus drawn,

incline toward it, love is that inclining,

And a new nature knit by pleasure in ye.

Then as the fire points up, and mounting seeks

His birth-place and his lasting seat, e’en thus

Enters the captive soul into desire,

Which is a spiritual motion, that ne’er rests

Before enjoyment of the thing it loves.

Enough to show thee, how the truth from those

Is hidden, who aver all love a thing

Praise-worthy in itself: although perhaps

Its substance seem still good. Yet if the wax

Be good, it follows not th’ impression must.”

“What love is,” I return’d, “thy words, O guide!

And my own docile mind, reveal. Yet thence

New doubts have sprung. For from without if love

Be offer’d to us, and the spirit knows

No other footing, tend she right or wrong,

Is no desert of hers.” He answering thus:

“What reason here discovers I have power

To show thee: that which lies beyond, expect

From Beatrice, faith not reason’s task.

Spirit, substantial form, with matter join’d

Not in confusion mix’d, hath in itself

Specific virtue of that union born,

Which is not felt except it work, nor prov’d

But through effect, as vegetable life

By the green leaf. From whence his intellect

Deduced its primal notices of things,

Man therefore knows not, or his appetites

Their first affections; such in you, as zeal

In bees to gather honey; at the first,

Volition, meriting nor blame nor praise.

But o’er each lower faculty supreme,

That as she list are summon’d to her bar,

Ye have that virtue in you, whose just voice

Uttereth counsel, and whose word should keep

The threshold of assent. Here is the source,

Whence cause of merit in you is deriv’d,

E’en as the affections good or ill she takes,

Or severs, winnow’d as the chaff. Those men

Who reas’ning went to depth profoundest, mark’d

That innate freedom, and were thence induc’d

To leave their moral teaching to the world.

Grant then, that from necessity arise

All love that glows within you; to dismiss

Or harbour it, the pow’r is in yourselves.

Remember, Beatrice, in her style,

Denominates free choice by eminence

The noble virtue, if in talk with thee

She touch upon that theme.” The moon, well nigh

To midnight hour belated, made the stars

Appear to wink and fade; and her broad disk

Seem’d like a crag on fire, as up the vault

That course she journey’d, which the sun then warms,

When they of Rome behold him at his set.

Betwixt Sardinia and the Corsic isle.

And now the weight, that hung upon my thought,

Was lighten’d by the aid of that clear spirit,

Who raiseth Andes above Mantua’s name.

I therefore, when my questions had obtain’d

Solution plain and ample, stood as one

Musing in dreary slumber; but not long

Slumber’d; for suddenly a multitude,

The steep already turning, from behind,

Rush’d on. With fury and like random rout,

As echoing on their shores at midnight heard

Ismenus and Asopus, for his Thebes

If Bacchus’ help were needed; so came these

Tumultuous, curving each his rapid step,

By eagerness impell’d of holy love.

Soon they o’ertook us; with such swiftness mov’d

The mighty crowd. Two spirits at their head

Cried weeping; “Blessed Mary sought with haste

The hilly region. Caesar to subdue

Ilerda, darted in Marseilles his sting,

And flew to Spain.”—“Oh tarry not: away;”

The others shouted; “let not time be lost

Through slackness of affection. Hearty zeal

To serve reanimates celestial grace.”

“O ye, in whom intenser fervency

Haply supplies, where lukewarm erst ye fail’d,

Slow or neglectful, to absolve your part

Of good and virtuous, this man, who yet lives,

(Credit my tale, though strange) desires t’ ascend,

So morning rise to light us. Therefore say

Which hand leads nearest to the rifted rock?”

So spake my guide, to whom a shade return’d:

“Come after us, and thou shalt find the cleft.

We may not linger: such resistless will

Speeds our unwearied course. Vouchsafe us then

Thy pardon, if our duty seem to thee

Discourteous rudeness. In Verona I

Was abbot of San Zeno, when the hand

Of Barbarossa grasp’d Imperial sway,

That name, ne’er utter’d without tears in Milan.

And there is he, hath one foot in his grave,

Who for that monastery ere long shall weep,

Ruing his power misus’d: for that his son,

Of body ill compact, and worse in mind,

And born in evil, he hath set in place

Of its true pastor.” Whether more he spake,

Or here was mute, I know not: he had sped

E’en now so far beyond us. Yet thus much

I heard, and in rememb’rance treasur’d it.

He then, who never fail’d me at my need,

Cried, “Hither turn. Lo! two with sharp remorse

Chiding their sin!” In rear of all the troop

These shouted: “First they died, to whom the sea

Open’d, or ever Jordan saw his heirs:

And they, who with Aeneas to the end

Endur’d not suffering, for their portion chose

Life without glory.” Soon as they had fled

Past reach of sight, new thought within me rose

By others follow’d fast, and each unlike

Its fellow: till led on from thought to thought,

And pleasur’d with the fleeting train, mine eye

Was clos’d, and meditation chang’d to dream.

CANTO XIX

It was the hour, when of diurnal heat

No reliques chafe the cold beams of the moon,

O’erpower’d by earth, or planetary sway

Of Saturn; and the geomancer sees

His Greater Fortune up the east ascend,

Where gray dawn checkers first the shadowy cone;

When ’fore me in my dream a woman’s shape

There came, with lips that stammer’d, eyes aslant,

Distorted feet, hands maim’d, and colour pale.

I look’d upon her; and as sunshine cheers

Limbs numb’d by nightly cold, e’en thus my look

Unloos’d her tongue, next in brief space her form

Decrepit rais’d erect, and faded face

With love’s own hue illum’d. Recov’ring speech

She forthwith warbling such a strain began,

That I, how loth soe’er, could scarce have held

Attention from the song. “I,” thus she sang,

“I am the Siren, she, whom mariners

On the wide sea are wilder’d when they hear:

Such fulness of delight the list’ner feels.

I from his course Ulysses by my lay

Enchanted drew. Whoe’er frequents me once

Parts seldom; so I charm him, and his heart

Contented knows no void.” Or ere her mouth

Was clos’d, to shame her at her side appear’d

A dame of semblance holy. With stern voice

She utter’d; “Say, O Virgil, who is this?”

Which hearing, he approach’d, with eyes still bent

Toward that goodly presence: th’ other seiz’d her,

And, her robes tearing, open’d her before,

And show’d the belly to me, whence a smell,

Exhaling loathsome, wak’d me. Round I turn’d

Mine eyes, and thus the teacher: “At the least

Three times my voice hath call’d thee. Rise, begone.

Let us the opening find where thou mayst pass.”

I straightway rose. Now day, pour’d down from high,

Fill’d all the circuits of the sacred mount;

And, as we journey’d, on our shoulder smote

The early ray. I follow’d, stooping low

My forehead, as a man, o’ercharg’d with thought,

Who bends him to the likeness of an arch,

That midway spans the flood; when thus I heard,

“Come, enter here,” in tone so soft and mild,

As never met the ear on mortal strand.

With swan-like wings dispread and pointing up,

Who thus had spoken marshal’d us along,

Where each side of the solid masonry

The sloping, walls retir’d; then mov’d his plumes,

And fanning us, affirm’d that those, who mourn,

Are blessed, for that comfort shall be theirs.

“What aileth thee, that still thou look’st to earth?”

Began my leader; while th’ angelic shape

A little over us his station took.

“New vision,” I replied, “hath rais’d in me

8urmisings strange and anxious doubts, whereon

My soul intent allows no other thought

Or room or entrance.—“Hast thou seen,” said he,

“That old enchantress, her, whose wiles alone

The spirits o’er us weep for? Hast thou seen

How man may free him of her bonds? Enough.

Let thy heels spurn the earth, and thy rais’d ken

Fix on the lure, which heav’n’s eternal King

Whirls in the rolling spheres.” As on his feet

The falcon first looks down, then to the sky

Turns, and forth stretches eager for the food,

That woos him thither; so the call I heard,

So onward, far as the dividing rock

Gave way, I journey’d, till the plain was reach’d.

On the fifth circle when I stood at large,

A race appear’d before me, on the ground

All downward lying prone and weeping sore.

“My soul hath cleaved to the dust,” I heard

With sighs so deep, they well nigh choak’d the words.

“O ye elect of God, whose penal woes

Both hope and justice mitigate, direct

Tow’rds the steep rising our uncertain way.”

“If ye approach secure from this our doom,

Prostration—and would urge your course with speed,

See that ye still to rightward keep the brink.”

So them the bard besought; and such the words,

Beyond us some short space, in answer came.

I noted what remain’d yet hidden from them:

Thence to my liege’s eyes mine eyes I bent,

And he, forthwith interpreting their suit,

Beckon’d his glad assent. Free then to act,

As pleas’d me, I drew near, and took my stand

O`er that shade, whose words I late had mark’d.

And, “Spirit!” I said, “in whom repentant tears

Mature that blessed hour, when thou with God

Shalt find acceptance, for a while suspend

For me that mightier care. Say who thou wast,

Why thus ye grovel on your bellies prone,

And if in aught ye wish my service there,

Whence living I am come.” He answering spake

“The cause why Heav’n our back toward his cope

Reverses, shalt thou know: but me know first

The successor of Peter, and the name

And title of my lineage from that stream,

That’ twixt Chiaveri and Siestri draws

His limpid waters through the lowly glen.

A month and little more by proof I learnt,

With what a weight that robe of sov’reignty

Upon his shoulder rests, who from the mire

Would guard it: that each other fardel seems

But feathers in the balance. Late, alas!

Was my conversion: but when I became

Rome’s pastor, I discern’d at once the dream

And cozenage of life, saw that the heart

Rested not there, and yet no prouder height

Lur’d on the climber: wherefore, of that life

No more enamour’d, in my bosom love

Of purer being kindled. For till then

I was a soul in misery, alienate

From God, and covetous of all earthly things;

Now, as thou seest, here punish’d for my doting.

Such cleansing from the taint of avarice

Do spirits converted need. This mount inflicts

No direr penalty. E’en as our eyes

Fasten’d below, nor e’er to loftier clime

Were lifted, thus hath justice level’d us

Here on the earth. As avarice quench’d our love

Of good, without which is no working, thus

Here justice holds us prison’d, hand and foot

Chain’d down and bound, while heaven’s just Lord shall please.

So long to tarry motionless outstretch’d.”

My knees I stoop’d, and would have spoke; but he,

Ere my beginning, by his ear perceiv’d

I did him reverence; and “What cause,” said he,

“Hath bow’d thee thus!”—” Compunction,” I rejoin’d.

“And inward awe of your high dignity.”

“Up,” he exclaim’d, “brother! upon thy feet

Arise: err not: thy fellow servant I,

(Thine and all others’) of one Sovran Power.

If thou hast ever mark’d those holy sounds

Of gospel truth, ‘nor shall be given ill marriage,’

Thou mayst discern the reasons of my speech.

Go thy ways now; and linger here no more.

Thy tarrying is a let unto the tears,

With which I hasten that whereof thou spak’st.

I have on earth a kinswoman; her name

Alagia, worthy in herself, so ill

Example of our house corrupt her not:

And she is all remaineth of me there.”

CANTO XX

Ill strives the will, ’gainst will more wise that strives

His pleasure therefore to mine own preferr’d,

I drew the sponge yet thirsty from the wave.

Onward I mov’d: he also onward mov’d,

Who led me, coasting still, wherever place

Along the rock was vacant, as a man

Walks near the battlements on narrow wall.

For those on th’ other part, who drop by drop

Wring out their all-infecting malady,

Too closely press the verge. Accurst be thou!

Inveterate wolf! whose gorge ingluts more prey,

Than every beast beside, yet is not fill’d!

So bottomless thy maw!—Ye spheres of heaven!

To whom there are, as seems, who attribute

All change in mortal state, when is the day

Of his appearing, for whom fate reserves

To chase her hence?—With wary steps and slow

We pass’d; and I attentive to the shades,

Whom piteously I heard lament and wail;

And, ’midst the wailing, one before us heard

Cry out “O blessed Virgin!” as a dame

In the sharp pangs of childbed; and “How poor

Thou wast,” it added, “witness that low roof

Where thou didst lay thy sacred burden down.

O good Fabricius! thou didst virtue choose

With poverty, before great wealth with vice.”

The words so pleas’d me, that desire to know

The spirit, from whose lip they seem’d to come,

Did draw me onward. Yet it spake the gift

Of Nicholas, which on the maidens he

Bounteous bestow’d, to save their youthful prime

Unblemish’d. “Spirit! who dost speak of deeds

So worthy, tell me who thou was,” I said,

“And why thou dost with single voice renew

Memorial of such praise. That boon vouchsaf’d

Haply shall meet reward; if I return

To finish the Short pilgrimage of life,

Still speeding to its close on restless wing.”

“I,” answer’d he, “will tell thee, not for hell,

Which thence I look for; but that in thyself

Grace so exceeding shines, before thy time

Of mortal dissolution. I was root

Of that ill plant, whose shade such poison sheds

O’er all the Christian land, that seldom thence

Good fruit is gather’d. Vengeance soon should come,

Had Ghent and Douay, Lille and Bruges power;

And vengeance I of heav’n’s great Judge implore.

Hugh Capet was I high: from me descend

The Philips and the Louis, of whom France

Newly is govern’d; born of one, who ply’d

The slaughterer’s trade at Paris. When the race

Of ancient kings had vanish’d (all save one

Wrapt up in sable weeds) within my gripe

I found the reins of empire, and such powers

Of new acquirement, with full store of friends,

That soon the widow’d circlet of the crown

Was girt upon the temples of my son,

He, from whose bones th’ anointed race begins.

Till the great dower of Provence had remov’d

The stains, that yet obscur’d our lowly blood,

Its sway indeed was narrow, but howe’er

It wrought no evil: there, with force and lies,

Began its rapine; after, for amends,

Poitou it seiz’d, Navarre and Gascony.

To Italy came Charles, and for amends

Young Conradine an innocent victim slew,

And sent th’ angelic teacher back to heav’n,

Still for amends. I see the time at hand,

That forth from France invites another Charles

To make himself and kindred better known.

Unarm’d he issues, saving with that lance,

Which the arch-traitor tilted with; and that

He carries with so home a thrust, as rives

The bowels of poor Florence. No increase

Of territory hence, but sin and shame

Shall be his guerdon, and so much the more

As he more lightly deems of such foul wrong.

I see the other, who a prisoner late

Had steps on shore, exposing to the mart

His daughter, whom he bargains for, as do

The Corsairs for their slaves. O avarice!

What canst thou more, who hast subdued our blood

So wholly to thyself, they feel no care

Of their own flesh? To hide with direr guilt

Past ill and future, lo! the flower-de-luce

Enters Alagna! in his Vicar Christ

Himself a captive, and his mockery

Acted again! Lo! to his holy lip

The vinegar and gall once more applied!

And he ’twixt living robbers doom’d to bleed!

Lo! the new Pilate, of whose cruelty

Such violence cannot fill the measure up,

With no degree to sanction, pushes on

Into the temple his yet eager sails!

“O sovran Master! when shall I rejoice

To see the vengeance, which thy wrath well-pleas’d

In secret silence broods?—While daylight lasts,

So long what thou didst hear of her, sole spouse

Of the Great Spirit, and on which thou turn’dst

To me for comment, is the general theme

Of all our prayers: but when it darkens, then

A different strain we utter, then record

Pygmalion, whom his gluttonous thirst of gold

Made traitor, robber, parricide: the woes

Of Midas, which his greedy wish ensued,

Mark’d for derision to all future times:

And the fond Achan, how he stole the prey,

That yet he seems by Joshua’s ire pursued.

Sapphira with her husband next, we blame;

And praise the forefeet, that with furious ramp

Spurn’d Heliodorus. All the mountain round

Rings with the infamy of Thracia’s king,

Who slew his Phrygian charge: and last a shout

Ascends: “Declare, O Crassus! for thou know’st,

The flavour of thy gold.” The voice of each

Now high now low, as each his impulse prompts,

Is led through many a pitch, acute or grave.

Therefore, not singly, I erewhile rehears’d

That blessedness we tell of in the day:

But near me none beside his accent rais’d.”