Such as the youth, who came to Clymene

To certify himself of that reproach,

Which had been fasten'd on him, (he whose end

Still makes the fathers chary to their sons),

E'en such was I; nor unobserv'd was such

Of Beatrice, and that saintly lamp,

Who had erewhile for me his station mov'd;

When thus by lady: "Give thy wish free vent,

That it may issue, bearing true report

Of the mind's impress; not that aught thy words

May to our knowledge add, but to the end,

That thou mayst use thyself to own thy thirst

And men may mingle for thee when they hear."

"O plant! from whence I spring! rever'd and lov'd!

Who soar'st so high a pitch, thou seest as clear,

As earthly thought determines two obtuse

In one triangle not contain'd, so clear

Dost see contingencies, ere in themselves

Existent, looking at the point whereto

All times are present, I, the whilst I scal'd

With Virgil the soul purifying mount,

And visited the nether world of woe,

Touching my future destiny have heard

Words grievous, though I feel me on all sides

Well squar'd to fortune's blows. Therefore my will

Were satisfied to know the lot awaits me,

The arrow, seen beforehand, slacks its flight."

So said I to the brightness, which erewhile

To me had spoken, and my will declar'd,

As Beatrice will'd, explicitly.

Nor with oracular response obscure,

Such, as or ere the Lamb of God was slain,

Beguil'd the credulous nations; but, in terms

Precise and unambiguous lore, replied

The spirit of paternal love, enshrin'd,

Yet in his smile apparent; and thus spake:

"Contingency, unfolded not to view

Upon the tablet of your mortal mold,

Is all depictur'd in the' eternal sight;

But hence deriveth not necessity,

More then the tall ship, hurried down the flood,

Doth from the vision, that reflects the scene.

From thence, as to the ear sweet harmony

From organ comes, so comes before mine eye

The time prepar'd for thee. Such as driv'n out

From Athens, by his cruel stepdame's wiles,

Hippolytus departed, such must thou

Depart from Florence. This they wish, and this

Contrive, and will ere long effectuate, there,

Where gainful merchandize is made of Christ,

Throughout the livelong day. The common cry,

Will, as 't is ever wont, affix the blame

Unto the party injur'd: but the truth

Shall, in the vengeance it dispenseth, find

A faithful witness. Thou shall leave each thing

Belov'd most dearly: this is the first shaft

Shot from the bow of exile. Thou shalt prove

How salt the savour is of other's bread,

How hard the passage to descend and climb

By other's stairs, But that shall gall thee most

Will be the worthless and vile company,

With whom thou must be thrown into these straits.

For all ungrateful, impious all and mad,

Shall turn 'gainst thee: but in a little while

Theirs and not thine shall be the crimson'd brow

Their course shall so evince their brutishness

T' have ta'en thy stand apart shall well become thee.

"First refuge thou must find, first place of rest,

In the great Lombard's courtesy, who bears

Upon the ladder perch'd the sacred bird.

He shall behold thee with such kind regard,

That 'twixt ye two, the contrary to that

Which falls 'twixt other men, the granting shall

Forerun the asking. With him shalt thou see

That mortal, who was at his birth impress

So strongly from this star, that of his deeds

The nations shall take note. His unripe age

Yet holds him from observance; for these wheels

Only nine years have compass him about.

But, ere the Gascon practice on great Harry,

Sparkles of virtue shall shoot forth in him,

In equal scorn of labours and of gold.

His bounty shall be spread abroad so widely,

As not to let the tongues e'en of his foes

Be idle in its praise. Look thou to him

And his beneficence: for he shall cause

Reversal of their lot to many people,

Rich men and beggars interchanging fortunes.

And thou shalt bear this written in thy soul

Of him, but tell it not;" and things he told

Incredible to those who witness them;

Then added: "So interpret thou, my son,

What hath been told thee.—Lo! the ambushment

That a few circling seasons hide for thee!

Yet envy not thy neighbours: time extends

Thy span beyond their treason's chastisement."

Soon, as the saintly spirit, by his silence,

Had shown the web, which I had streteh'd for him

Upon the warp, was woven, I began,

As one, who in perplexity desires

Counsel of other, wise, benign and friendly:

"My father! well I mark how time spurs on

Toward me, ready to inflict the blow,

Which falls most heavily on him, who most

Abandoned himself. Therefore 't is good

I should forecast, that driven from the place

Most dear to me, I may not lose myself

All others by my song. Down through the world

Of infinite mourning, and along the mount

From whose fair height my lady's eyes did lift me,

And after through this heav'n from light to light,

Have I learnt that, which if I tell again,

It may with many woefully disrelish;

And, if I am a timid friend to truth,

I fear my life may perish among those,

To whom these days shall be of ancient date."

The brightness, where enclos'd the treasure smil'd,

Which I had found there, first shone glisteningly,

Like to a golden mirror in the sun;

Next answer'd: "Conscience, dimm'd or by its own

Or other's shame, will feel thy saying sharp.

Thou, notwithstanding, all deceit remov'd,

See the whole vision be made manifest.

And let them wince who have their withers wrung.

What though, when tasted first, thy voice shall prove

Unwelcome, on digestion it will turn

To vital nourishment. The cry thou raisest,

Shall, as the wind doth, smite the proudest summits;

Which is of honour no light argument,

For this there only have been shown to thee,

Throughout these orbs, the mountain, and the deep,

Spirits, whom fame hath note of. For the mind

Of him, who hears, is loth to acquiesce

And fix its faith, unless the instance brought

Be palpable, and proof apparent urge." 

O slight respect of man's nobility!

I never shall account it marvelous,

That our infirm affection here below

Thou mov'st to boasting, when I could not choose,

E'en in that region of unwarp'd desire,

In heav'n itself, but make my vaunt in thee!

Yet cloak thou art soon shorten'd, for that time,

Unless thou be eked out from day to day,

Goes round thee with his shears. Resuming then

With greeting such, as Rome, was first to bear,

But since hath disaccustom'd I began;

And Beatrice, that a little space

Was sever'd, smil'd reminding me of her,

Whose cough embolden'd (as the story holds)

To first offence the doubting Guenever.

"You are my sire," said I, "you give me heart

Freely to speak my thought: above myself

You raise me. Through so many streams with joy

My soul is fill'd, that gladness wells from it;

So that it bears the mighty tide, and bursts not

Say then, my honour'd stem! what ancestors

Where those you sprang from, and what years were mark'd

In your first childhood? Tell me of the fold,

That hath Saint John for guardian, what was then

Its state, and who in it were highest seated?"

As embers, at the breathing of the wind,

Their flame enliven, so that light I saw

Shine at my blandishments; and, as it grew

More fair to look on, so with voice more sweet,

Yet not in this our modern phrase, forthwith

It answer'd: "From the day, when it was said

'Hail Virgin!' to the throes, by which my mother,

Who now is sainted, lighten'd her of me

Whom she was heavy with, this fire had come,

Five hundred fifty times and thrice, its beams

To reilumine underneath the foot

Of its own lion. They, of whom I sprang,

And I, had there our birth-place, where the last

Partition of our city first is reach'd

By him, that runs her annual game. Thus much

Suffice of my forefathers: who they were,

And whence they hither came, more honourable

It is to pass in silence than to tell.

All those, who in that time were there from Mars

Until the Baptist, fit to carry arms,

Were but the fifth of them this day alive.

But then the citizen's blood, that now is mix'd

From Campi and Certaldo and Fighine,

Ran purely through the last mechanic's veins.

O how much better were it, that these people

Were neighbours to you, and that at Galluzzo

And at Trespiano, ye should have your bound'ry,

Than to have them within, and bear the stench

Of Aguglione's hind, and Signa's, him,

That hath his eye already keen for bart'ring!

Had not the people, which of all the world

Degenerates most, been stepdame unto Caesar,

But, as a mother, gracious to her son;

Such one, as hath become a Florentine,

And trades and traffics, had been turn'd adrift

To Simifonte, where his grandsire ply'd

The beggar's craft. The Conti were possess'd

Of Montemurlo still: the Cerchi still

Were in Acone's parish; nor had haply

From Valdigrieve past the Buondelmonte.

The city's malady hath ever source

In the confusion of its persons, as

The body's, in variety of food:

And the blind bull falls with a steeper plunge,

Than the blind lamb; and oftentimes one sword

Doth more and better execution,

Than five. Mark Luni, Urbisaglia mark,

How they are gone, and after them how go

Chiusi and Sinigaglia; and 't will seem

No longer new or strange to thee to hear,

That families fail, when cities have their end.

All things, that appertain t' ye, like yourselves,

Are mortal: but mortality in some

Ye mark not, they endure so long, and you

Pass by so suddenly. And as the moon

Doth, by the rolling of her heav'nly sphere,

Hide and reveal the strand unceasingly;

So fortune deals with Florence. Hence admire not

At what of them I tell thee, whose renown

Time covers, the first Florentines. I saw

The Ughi, Catilini and Filippi,

The Alberichi, Greci and Ormanni,

Now in their wane, illustrious citizens:

And great as ancient, of Sannella him,

With him of Arca saw, and Soldanieri

And Ardinghi, and Bostichi. At the poop,

That now is laden with new felony,

So cumb'rous it may speedily sink the bark,

The Ravignani sat, of whom is sprung

The County Guido, and whoso hath since

His title from the fam'd Bellincione ta'en.

Fair governance was yet an art well priz'd

By him of Pressa: Galigaio show'd

The gilded hilt and pommel, in his house.

The column, cloth'd with verrey, still was seen

Unshaken: the Sacchetti still were great,

Giouchi, Sifanti, Galli and Barucci,

With them who blush to hear the bushel nam'd.

Of the Calfucci still the branchy trunk

Was in its strength: and to the curule chairs

Sizii and Arigucci yet were drawn.

How mighty them I saw, whom since their pride

Hath undone! and in all her goodly deeds

Florence was by the bullets of bright gold

O'erflourish'd. Such the sires of those, who now,

As surely as your church is vacant, flock

Into her consistory, and at leisure

There stall them and grow fat. The o'erweening brood,

That plays the dragon after him that flees,

But unto such, as turn and show the tooth,

Ay or the purse, is gentle as a lamb,

Was on its rise, but yet so slight esteem'd,

That Ubertino of Donati grudg'd

His father-in-law should yoke him to its tribe.

Already Caponsacco had descended

Into the mart from Fesole: and Giuda

And Infangato were good citizens.

A thing incredible I tell, tho' true:

The gateway, named from those of Pera, led

Into the narrow circuit of your walls.

Each one, who bears the sightly quarterings

Of the great Baron (he whose name and worth

The festival of Thomas still revives)

His knighthood and his privilege retain'd;

Albeit one, who borders them With gold,

This day is mingled with the common herd.

In Borgo yet the Gualterotti dwelt,

And Importuni: well for its repose

Had it still lack'd of newer neighbourhood.

The house, from whence your tears have had their spring,

Through the just anger that hath murder'd ye

And put a period to your gladsome days,

Was honour'd, it, and those consorted with it.

O Buondelmonte! what ill counseling

Prevail'd on thee to break the plighted bond

Many, who now are weeping, would rejoice,

Had God to Ema giv'n thee, the first time

Thou near our city cam'st. But so was doom'd:

On that maim'd stone set up to guard the bridge,

At thy last peace, the victim, Florence! fell.

With these and others like to them, I saw

Florence in such assur'd tranquility,

She had no cause at which to grieve: with these

Saw her so glorious and so just, that ne'er

The lily from the lance had hung reverse,

Or through division been with vermeil dyed." 

True love, that ever shows itself as clear

In kindness, as loose appetite in wrong,

Silenced that lyre harmonious, and still'd

The sacred chords, that are by heav'n's right hand

Unwound and tighten'd, flow to righteous prayers

Should they not hearken, who, to give me will

For praying, in accordance thus were mute?

He hath in sooth good cause for endless grief,

Who, for the love of thing that lasteth not,

Despoils himself forever of that love.

As oft along the still and pure serene,

At nightfall, glides a sudden trail of fire,

Attracting with involuntary heed

The eye to follow it, erewhile at rest,

And seems some star that shifted place in heav'n,

Only that, whence it kindles, none is lost,

And it is soon extinct; thus from the horn,

That on the dexter of the cross extends,

Down to its foot, one luminary ran

From mid the cluster shone there; yet no gem

Dropp'd from its foil; and through the beamy list

Like flame in alabaster, glow'd its course.

So forward stretch'd him (if of credence aught

Our greater muse may claim) the pious ghost

Of old Anchises, in the' Elysian bower,

When he perceiv'd his son. "O thou, my blood!

O most exceeding grace divine! to whom,

As now to thee, hath twice the heav'nly gate

Been e'er unclos'd?" so spake the light; whence I

Turn'd me toward him; then unto my dame

My sight directed, and on either side

Amazement waited me; for in her eyes

Was lighted such a smile, I thought that mine

Had div'd unto the bottom of my grace

And of my bliss in Paradise. Forthwith

To hearing and to sight grateful alike,

The spirit to his proem added things

I understood not, so profound he spake;

Yet not of choice but through necessity

Mysterious; for his high conception scar'd

Beyond the mark of mortals. When the flight

Of holy transport had so spent its rage,

That nearer to the level of our thought

The speech descended, the first sounds I heard

Were, "Best he thou, Triunal Deity!

That hast such favour in my seed vouchsaf'd!"

Then follow'd: "No unpleasant thirst, tho' long,

Which took me reading in the sacred book,

Whose leaves or white or dusky never change,

Thou hast allay'd, my son, within this light,

From whence my voice thou hear'st; more thanks to her.

Who for such lofty mounting has with plumes

Begirt thee. Thou dost deem thy thoughts to me

From him transmitted, who is first of all,

E'en as all numbers ray from unity;

And therefore dost not ask me who I am,

Or why to thee more joyous I appear,

Than any other in this gladsome throng.

The truth is as thou deem'st; for in this hue

Both less and greater in that mirror look,

In which thy thoughts, or ere thou think'st, are shown.

But, that the love, which keeps me wakeful ever,

Urging with sacred thirst of sweet desire,

May be contended fully, let thy voice,

Fearless, and frank and jocund, utter forth

Thy will distinctly, utter forth the wish,

Whereto my ready answer stands decreed."

I turn'd me to Beatrice; and she heard

Ere I had spoken, smiling, an assent,

That to my will gave wings; and I began

"To each among your tribe, what time ye kenn'd

The nature, in whom naught unequal dwells,

Wisdom and love were in one measure dealt;

For that they are so equal in the sun,

From whence ye drew your radiance and your heat,

As makes all likeness scant. But will and means,

In mortals, for the cause ye well discern,

With unlike wings are fledge. A mortal I

Experience inequality like this,

And therefore give no thanks, but in the heart,

For thy paternal greeting. This howe'er

I pray thee, living topaz! that ingemm'st

This precious jewel, let me hear thy name."

"I am thy root, O leaf! whom to expect

Even, hath pleas'd me:" thus the prompt reply

Prefacing, next it added: "he, of whom

Thy kindred appellation comes, and who,

These hundred years and more, on its first ledge

Hath circuited the mountain, was my son

And thy great grandsire. Well befits, his long

Endurance should be shorten'd by thy deeds.

"Florence, within her ancient limit-mark,

Which calls her still to matin prayers and noon,

Was chaste and sober, and abode in peace.

She had no armlets and no head-tires then,

No purfled dames, no zone, that caught the eye

More than the person did. Time was not yet,

When at his daughter's birth the sire grew pale.

For fear the age and dowry should exceed

On each side just proportion. House was none

Void of its family; nor yet had come

Hardanapalus, to exhibit feats

Of chamber prowess. Montemalo yet

O'er our suburban turret rose; as much

To be surpass in fall, as in its rising.

I saw Bellincione Berti walk abroad

In leathern girdle and a clasp of bone;

And, with no artful colouring on her cheeks,

His lady leave the glass. The sons I saw

Of Nerli and of Vecchio well content

With unrob'd jerkin; and their good dames handling

The spindle and the flax; O happy they!

Each sure of burial in her native land,

And none left desolate a-bed for France!

One wak'd to tend the cradle, hushing it

With sounds that lull'd the parent's infancy:

Another, with her maidens, drawing off

The tresses from the distaff, lectur'd them

Old tales of Troy and Fesole and Rome.

A Salterello and Cianghella we

Had held as strange a marvel, as ye would

A Cincinnatus or Cornelia now.

"In such compos'd and seemly fellowship,

Such faithful and such fair equality,

In so sweet household, Mary at my birth

Bestow'd me, call'd on with loud cries; and there

In your old baptistery, I was made

Christian at once and Cacciaguida; as were

My brethren, Eliseo and Moronto.

"From Valdipado came to me my spouse,

And hence thy surname grew. I follow'd then

The Emperor Conrad; and his knighthood he

Did gird on me; in such good part he took

My valiant service. After him I went

To testify against that evil law,

Whose people, by the shepherd's fault, possess

Your right, usurping. There, by that foul crew

Was I releas'd from the deceitful world,

Whose base affection many a spirit soils,

And from the martyrdom came to this peace." 

From centre to the circle, and so back

From circle to the centre, water moves

In the round chalice, even as the blow

Impels it, inwardly, or from without.

Such was the image glanc'd into my mind,

As the great spirit of Aquinum ceas'd;

And Beatrice after him her words

Resum'd alternate: "Need there is (tho' yet

He tells it to you not in words, nor e'en

In thought) that he should fathom to its depth

Another mystery. Tell him, if the light,

Wherewith your substance blooms, shall stay with you

Eternally, as now: and, if it doth,

How, when ye shall regain your visible forms,

The sight may without harm endure the change,

That also tell." As those, who in a ring

Tread the light measure, in their fitful mirth

Raise loud the voice, and spring with gladder bound;

Thus, at the hearing of that pious suit,

The saintly circles in their tourneying

And wond'rous note attested new delight.

Whoso laments, that we must doff this garb

Of frail mortality, thenceforth to live

Immortally above, he hath not seen

The sweet refreshing, of that heav'nly shower.

Him, who lives ever, and for ever reigns

In mystic union of the Three in One,

Unbounded, bounding all, each spirit thrice

Sang, with such melody, as but to hear

For highest merit were an ample meed.

And from the lesser orb the goodliest light,

With gentle voice and mild, such as perhaps

The angel's once to Mary, thus replied:

"Long as the joy of Paradise shall last,

Our love shall shine around that raiment, bright,

As fervent; fervent, as in vision blest;

And that as far in blessedness exceeding,

As it hath grave beyond its virtue great.

Our shape, regarmented with glorious weeds

Of saintly flesh, must, being thus entire,

Show yet more gracious. Therefore shall increase,

Whate'er of light, gratuitous, imparts

The Supreme Good; light, ministering aid,

The better disclose his glory: whence

The vision needs increasing, much increase

The fervour, which it kindles; and that too

The ray, that comes from it. But as the greed

Which gives out flame, yet it its whiteness shines

More lively than that, and so preserves

Its proper semblance; thus this circling sphere

Of splendour, shall to view less radiant seem,

Than shall our fleshly robe, which yonder earth

Now covers. Nor will such excess of light

O'erpower us, in corporeal organs made

Firm, and susceptible of all delight."

So ready and so cordial an "Amen,"

Followed from either choir, as plainly spoke

Desire of their dead bodies; yet perchance

Not for themselves, but for their kindred dear,

Mothers and sires, and those whom best they lov'd,

Ere they were made imperishable flame.

And lo! forthwith there rose up round about

A lustre over that already there,

Of equal clearness, like the brightening up

Of the horizon. As at an evening hour

Of twilight, new appearances through heav'n

Peer with faint glimmer, doubtfully descried;

So there new substances, methought began

To rise in view; and round the other twain

Enwheeling, sweep their ampler circuit wide.

O gentle glitter of eternal beam!

With what a such whiteness did it flow,

O'erpowering vision in me! But so fair,

So passing lovely, Beatrice show'd,

Mind cannot follow it, nor words express

Her infinite sweetness. Thence mine eyes regain'd

Power to look up, and I beheld myself,

Sole with my lady, to more lofty bliss

Translated: for the star, with warmer smile

Impurpled, well denoted our ascent.

With all the heart, and with that tongue which speaks

The same in all, an holocaust I made

To God, befitting the new grace vouchsaf'd.

And from my bosom had not yet upsteam'd

The fuming of that incense, when I knew

The rite accepted. With such mighty sheen

And mantling crimson, in two listed rays

The splendours shot before me, that I cried,

"God of Sabaoth! that does prank them thus!"

As leads the galaxy from pole to pole,

Distinguish'd into greater lights and less,

Its pathway, which the wisest fail to spell;

So thickly studded, in the depth of Mars,

Those rays describ'd the venerable sign,

That quadrants in the round conjoining frame.

Here memory mocks the toil of genius. Christ

Beam'd on that cross; and pattern fails me now.

But whoso takes his cross, and follows Christ

Will pardon me for that I leave untold,

When in the flecker'd dawning he shall spy

The glitterance of Christ. From horn to horn,

And 'tween the summit and the base did move

Lights, scintillating, as they met and pass'd.

Thus oft are seen, with ever-changeful glance,

Straight or athwart, now rapid and now slow,

The atomies of bodies, long or short,

To move along the sunbeam, whose slant line

Checkers the shadow, interpos'd by art

Against the noontide heat. And as the chime

Of minstrel music, dulcimer, and help

With many strings, a pleasant dining makes

To him, who heareth not distinct the note;

So from the lights, which there appear'd to me,

Gather'd along the cross a melody,

That, indistinctly heard, with ravishment

Possess'd me. Yet I mark'd it was a hymn

Of lofty praises; for there came to me

"Arise and conquer," as to one who hears

And comprehends not. Me such ecstasy

O'ercame, that never till that hour was thing

That held me in so sweet imprisonment.

Perhaps my saying over bold appears,

Accounting less the pleasure of those eyes,

Whereon to look fulfilleth all desire.

But he, who is aware those living seals

Of every beauty work with quicker force,

The higher they are ris'n; and that there

I had not turn'd me to them; he may well

Excuse me that, whereof in my excuse

I do accuse me, and may own my truth;

That holy pleasure here not yet reveal'd,

Which grows in transport as we mount aloof. 

Let him, who would conceive what now I saw,

Imagine (and retain the image firm,

As mountain rock, the whilst he hears me speak),

Of stars fifteen, from midst the ethereal host

Selected, that, with lively ray serene,

O'ercome the massiest air: thereto imagine

The wain, that, in the bosom of our sky,

Spins ever on its axle night and day,

With the bright summit of that horn which swells

Due from the pole, round which the first wheel rolls,

T' have rang'd themselves in fashion of two signs

In heav'n, such as Ariadne made,

When death's chill seized her; and that one of them

Did compass in the other's beam; and both

In such sort whirl around, that each should tend

With opposite motion and, conceiving thus,

Of that true constellation, and the dance

Twofold, that circled me, he shall attain

As 't were the shadow; for things there as much

Surpass our usage, as the swiftest heav'n

Is swifter than the Chiana. There was sung

No Bacchus, and no Io Paean, but

Three Persons in the Godhead, and in one

Substance that nature and the human join'd.

The song fulfill'd its measure; and to us

Those saintly lights attended, happier made

At each new minist'ring. Then silence brake,

Amid th' accordant sons of Deity,

That luminary, in which the wondrous life

Of the meek man of God was told to me;

And thus it spake: "One ear o' th' harvest thresh'd,

And its grain safely stor'd, sweet charity

Invites me with the other to like toil.

"Thou know'st, that in the bosom, whence the rib

Was ta'en to fashion that fair cheek, whose taste

All the world pays for, and in that, which pierc'd

By the keen lance, both after and before

Such satisfaction offer'd, as outweighs

Each evil in the scale, whate'er of light

To human nature is allow'd, must all

Have by his virtue been infus'd, who form'd

Both one and other: and thou thence admir'st

In that I told thee, of beatitudes

A second, there is none, to his enclos'd

In the fifth radiance. Open now thine eyes

To what I answer thee; and thou shalt see

Thy deeming and my saying meet in truth,

As centre in the round. That which dies not,

And that which can die, are but each the beam

Of that idea, which our Soverign Sire

Engendereth loving; for that lively light,

Which passeth from his brightness; not disjoin'd

From him, nor from his love triune with them,

Doth, through his bounty, congregate itself,

Mirror'd, as 't were in new existences,

Itself unalterable and ever one.

"Descending hence unto the lowest powers,

Its energy so sinks, at last it makes

But brief contingencies: for so I name

Things generated, which the heav'nly orbs

Moving, with seed or without seed, produce.

Their wax, and that which molds it, differ much:

And thence with lustre, more or less, it shows

Th' ideal stamp impress: so that one tree

According to his kind, hath better fruit,

And worse: and, at your birth, ye, mortal men,

Are in your talents various. Were the wax

Molded with nice exactness, and the heav'n

In its disposing influence supreme,

The lustre of the seal should be complete:

But nature renders it imperfect ever,

Resembling thus the artist in her work,

Whose faultering hand is faithless to his skill.

Howe'er, if love itself dispose, and mark

The primal virtue, kindling with bright view,

There all perfection is vouchsafed; and such

The clay was made, accomplish'd with each gift,

That life can teem with; such the burden fill'd

The virgin's bosom: so that I commend

Thy judgment, that the human nature ne'er

Was or can be, such as in them it was.

"Did I advance no further than this point,

'How then had he no peer?' thou might'st reply.

But, that what now appears not, may appear

Right plainly, ponder, who he was, and what

(When he was bidden 'Ask' ), the motive sway'd

To his requesting. I have spoken thus,

That thou mayst see, he was a king, who ask'd

For wisdom, to the end he might be king

Sufficient: not the number to search out

Of the celestial movers; or to know,

If necessary with contingent e'er

Have made necessity; or whether that

Be granted, that first motion is; or if

Of the mid circle can, by art, be made

Triangle with each corner, blunt or sharp.

"Whence, noting that, which I have said, and this,

Thou kingly prudence and that ken mayst learn,

At which the dart of my intention aims.

And, marking clearly, that I told thee, 'Risen,'

Thou shalt discern it only hath respect

To kings, of whom are many, and the good

Are rare. With this distinction take my words;

And they may well consist with that which thou

Of the first human father dost believe,

And of our well-beloved. And let this

Henceforth be led unto thy feet, to make

Thee slow in motion, as a weary man,

Both to the 'yea' and to the 'nay' thou seest not.

For he among the fools is down full low,

Whose affirmation, or denial, is

Without distinction, in each case alike

Since it befalls, that in most instances

Current opinion leads to false: and then

Affection bends the judgment to her ply.

"Much more than vainly doth he loose from shore,

Since he returns not such as he set forth,

Who fishes for the truth and wanteth skill.

And open proofs of this unto the world

Have been afforded in Parmenides,

Melissus, Bryso, and the crowd beside,

Who journey'd on, and knew not whither: so did

Sabellius, Arius, and the other fools,

Who, like to scymitars, reflected back

The scripture-image, by distortion marr'd.

"Let not the people be too swift to judge,

As one who reckons on the blades in field,

Or ere the crop be ripe. For I have seen

The thorn frown rudely all the winter long

And after bear the rose upon its top;

And bark, that all the way across the sea

Ran straight and speedy, perish at the last,

E'en in the haven's mouth seeing one steal,

Another brine, his offering to the priest,

Let not Dame Birtha and Sir Martin thence

Into heav'n's counsels deem that they can pry:

For one of these may rise, the other fall." 

Soon as its final word the blessed flame

Had rais'd for utterance, straight the holy mill

Began to wheel, nor yet had once revolv'd,

Or ere another, circling, compass'd it,

Motion to motion, song to song, conjoining,

Song, that as much our muses doth excel,

Our Sirens with their tuneful pipes, as ray

Of primal splendour doth its faint reflex.

 As when, if Juno bid her handmaid forth,

Two arches parallel, and trick'd alike,

Span the thin cloud, the outer taking birth

From that within (in manner of that voice

Whom love did melt away, as sun the mist),

And they who gaze, presageful call to mind

The compact, made with Noah, of the world

No more to be o'erflow'd; about us thus

Of sempiternal roses, bending, wreath'd

Those garlands twain, and to the innermost

E'en thus th' external answered. When the footing,

And other great festivity, of song,

And radiance, light with light accordant, each

Jocund and blythe, had at their pleasure still'd

(E'en as the eyes by quick volition mov'd,

Are shut and rais'd together), from the heart

Of one amongst the new lights mov'd a voice,

That made me seem like needle to the star,

In turning to its whereabout, and thus

Began: "The love, that makes me beautiful,

Prompts me to tell of th' other guide, for whom

Such good of mine is spoken. Where one is,

The other worthily should also be;

That as their warfare was alike, alike

Should be their glory. Slow, and full of doubt,

And with thin ranks, after its banner mov'd

The army of Christ (which it so clearly cost

To reappoint), when its imperial Head,

Who reigneth ever, for the drooping host

Did make provision, thorough grace alone,

And not through its deserving. As thou heard'st,

Two champions to the succour of his spouse

He sent, who by their deeds and words might join

Again his scatter'd people. In that clime,

Where springs the pleasant west-wind to unfold

The fresh leaves, with which Europe sees herself

New-garmented; nor from those billows far,

Beyond whose chiding, after weary course,

The sun doth sometimes hide him, safe abides

The happy Callaroga, under guard

Of the great shield, wherein the lion lies

Subjected and supreme. And there was born

The loving million of the Christian faith,

The hollow'd wrestler, gentle to his own,

And to his enemies terrible. So replete

His soul with lively virtue, that when first

Created, even in the mother's womb,

It prophesied. When, at the sacred font,

The spousals were complete 'twixt faith and him,

Where pledge of mutual safety was exchang'd,

The dame, who was his surety, in her sleep

Beheld the wondrous fruit, that was from him

And from his heirs to issue. And that such

He might be construed, as indeed he was,

She was inspir'd to name him of his owner,

Whose he was wholly, and so call'd him Dominic.

And I speak of him, as the labourer,

Whom Christ in his own garden chose to be

His help-mate. Messenger he seem'd, and friend

Fast-knit to Christ; and the first love he show'd,

Was after the first counsel that Christ gave.

Many a time his nurse, at entering found

That he had ris'n in silence, and was prostrate,

As who should say, "My errand was for this."

O happy father! Felix rightly nam'd!

O favour'd mother! rightly nam'd Joanna!

If that do mean, as men interpret it.

Not for the world's sake, for which now they pore

Upon Ostiense and Taddeo's page,

But for the real manna, soon he grew

Mighty in learning, and did set himself

To go about the vineyard, that soon turns

To wan and wither'd, if not tended well:

And from the see (whose bounty to the just

And needy is gone by, not through its fault,

But his who fills it basely, he besought,

No dispensation for commuted wrong,

Nor the first vacant fortune, nor the tenth),

That to God's paupers rightly appertain,

But, 'gainst an erring and degenerate world,

Licence to fight, in favour of that seed,

From which the twice twelve cions gird thee round.

Then, with sage doctrine and good will to help,

Forth on his great apostleship he far'd,

Like torrent bursting from a lofty vein;

And, dashing 'gainst the stocks of heresy,

Smote fiercest, where resistance was most stout.

Thence many rivulets have since been turn'd,

Over the garden Catholic to lead

Their living waters, and have fed its plants.

"If such one wheel of that two-yoked car,

Wherein the holy church defended her,

And rode triumphant through the civil broil.

Thou canst not doubt its fellow's excellence,

Which Thomas, ere my coming, hath declar'd

So courteously unto thee. But the track,

Which its smooth fellies made, is now deserted:

That mouldy mother is where late were lees.

His family, that wont to trace his path,

Turn backward, and invert their steps; erelong

To rue the gathering in of their ill crop,

When the rejected tares in vain shall ask

Admittance to the barn. I question not

But he, who search'd our volume, leaf by leaf,

Might still find page with this inscription on't,

'I am as I was wont.' Yet such were not

From Acquasparta nor Casale, whence

Of those, who come to meddle with the text,

One stretches and another cramps its rule.

Bonaventura's life in me behold,

From Bagnororegio, one, who in discharge

Of my great offices still laid aside

All sinister aim. Illuminato here,

And Agostino join me: two they were,

Among the first of those barefooted meek ones,

Who sought God's friendship in the cord: with them

Hugues of Saint Victor, Pietro Mangiadore,

And he of Spain in his twelve volumes shining,

Nathan the prophet, Metropolitan

Chrysostom, and Anselmo, and, who deign'd

To put his hand to the first art, Donatus.

Raban is here: and at my side there shines

Calabria's abbot, Joachim, endow'd

With soul prophetic. The bright courtesy

Of friar Thomas, and his goodly lore,

Have mov'd me to the blazon of a peer

So worthy, and with me have mov'd this throng." 

O fond anxiety of mortal men!

How vain and inconclusive arguments

Are those, which make thee beat thy wings below

For statues one, and one for aphorisms

Was hunting; this the priesthood follow'd, that

By force or sophistry aspir'd to rule;

To rob another, and another sought

By civil business wealth; one moiling lay

Tangled in net of sensual delight,

And one to witless indolence resign'd;

What time from all these empty things escap'd,

With Beatrice, I thus gloriously

Was rais'd aloft, and made the guest of heav'n.

They of the circle to that point, each one.

Where erst it was, had turn'd; and steady glow'd,

As candle in his socket. Then within

The lustre, that erewhile bespake me, smiling

With merer gladness, heard I thus begin:

"E'en as his beam illumes me, so I look

Into the eternal light, and clearly mark

Thy thoughts, from whence they rise. Thou art in doubt,

And wouldst, that I should bolt my words afresh

In such plain open phrase, as may be smooth

To thy perception, where I told thee late

That 'well they thrive;' and that 'no second such

Hath risen,' which no small distinction needs.

"The providence, that governeth the world,

In depth of counsel by created ken

Unfathomable, to the end that she,

Who with loud cries was 'spous'd in precious blood,

Might keep her footing towards her well-belov'd,

Safe in herself and constant unto him,

Hath two ordain'd, who should on either hand

In chief escort her: one seraphic all

In fervency; for wisdom upon earth,

The other splendour of cherubic light.

I but of one will tell: he tells of both,

Who one commendeth which of them so'er

Be taken: for their deeds were to one end.

"Between Tupino, and the wave, that falls

From blest Ubaldo's chosen hill, there hangs

Rich slope of mountain high, whence heat and cold

Are wafted through Perugia's eastern gate:

And Norcera with Gualdo, in its rear

Mourn for their heavy yoke. Upon that side,

Where it doth break its steepness most, arose

A sun upon the world, as duly this

From Ganges doth: therefore let none, who speak

Of that place, say Ascesi; for its name

Were lamely so deliver'd; but the East,

To call things rightly, be it henceforth styl'd.

He was not yet much distant from his rising,

When his good influence 'gan to bless the earth.

A dame to whom none openeth pleasure's gate

More than to death, was, 'gainst his father's will,

His stripling choice: and he did make her his,

Before the Spiritual court, by nuptial bonds,

And in his father's sight: from day to day,

Then lov'd her more devoutly. She, bereav'd

Of her first husband, slighted and obscure,

Thousand and hundred years and more, remain'd

Without a single suitor, till he came.

Nor aught avail'd, that, with Amyclas, she

Was found unmov'd at rumour of his voice,

Who shook the world: nor aught her constant boldness

Whereby with Christ she mounted on the cross,

When Mary stay'd beneath. But not to deal

Thus closely with thee longer, take at large

The rovers' titles—Poverty and Francis.

Their concord and glad looks, wonder and love,

And sweet regard gave birth to holy thoughts,

So much, that venerable Bernard first

Did bare his feet, and, in pursuit of peace

So heavenly, ran, yet deem'd his footing slow.

O hidden riches! O prolific good!

Egidius bares him next, and next Sylvester,

And follow both the bridegroom; so the bride

Can please them. Thenceforth goes he on his way,

The father and the master, with his spouse,

And with that family, whom now the cord

Girt humbly: nor did abjectness of heart

Weigh down his eyelids, for that he was son

Of Pietro Bernardone, and by men

In wond'rous sort despis'd. But royally

His hard intention he to Innocent

Set forth, and from him first receiv'd the seal

On his religion. Then, when numerous flock'd

The tribe of lowly ones, that trac'd HIS steps,

Whose marvellous life deservedly were sung

In heights empyreal, through Honorius' hand

A second crown, to deck their Guardian's virtues,

Was by the eternal Spirit inwreath'd: and when

He had, through thirst of martyrdom, stood up

In the proud Soldan's presence, and there preach'd

Christ and his followers; but found the race

Unripen'd for conversion: back once more

He hasted (not to intermit his toil),

And reap'd Ausonian lands. On the hard rock,

'Twixt Arno and the Tyber, he from Christ

Took the last Signet, which his limbs two years

Did carry. Then the season come, that he,

Who to such good had destin'd him, was pleas'd

T' advance him to the meed, which he had earn'd

By his self-humbling, to his brotherhood,

As their just heritage, he gave in charge

His dearest lady, and enjoin'd their love

And faith to her: and, from her bosom, will'd

His goodly spirit should move forth, returning

To its appointed kingdom, nor would have

His body laid upon another bier.

"Think now of one, who were a fit colleague,

To keep the bark of Peter in deep sea

Helm'd to right point; and such our Patriarch was.

Therefore who follow him, as he enjoins,

Thou mayst be certain, take good lading in.

But hunger of new viands tempts his flock,

So that they needs into strange pastures wide

Must spread them: and the more remote from him

The stragglers wander, so much mole they come

Home to the sheep-fold, destitute of milk.

There are of them, in truth, who fear their harm,

And to the shepherd cleave; but these so few,

A little stuff may furnish out their cloaks.

"Now, if my words be clear, if thou have ta'en

Good heed, if that, which I have told, recall

To mind, thy wish may be in part fulfill'd:

For thou wilt see the point from whence they split,

Nor miss of the reproof, which that implies,

'That well they thrive not sworn with vanity."' 

Looking into his first-born with the love,

Which breathes from both eternal, the first Might

Ineffable, whence eye or mind

Can roam, hath in such order all dispos'd,

As none may see and fail to enjoy. Raise, then,

O reader! to the lofty wheels, with me,

Thy ken directed to the point, whereat

One motion strikes on th' other. There begin

Thy wonder of the mighty Architect,

Who loves his work so inwardly, his eye

Doth ever watch it. See, how thence oblique

Brancheth the circle, where the planets roll

To pour their wished influence on the world;

Whose path not bending thus, in heav'n above

Much virtue would be lost, and here on earth,

All power well nigh extinct: or, from direct

Were its departure distant more or less,

I' th' universal order, great defect

Must, both in heav'n and here beneath, ensue.

Now rest thee, reader! on thy bench, and muse

Anticipative of the feast to come;

So shall delight make thee not feel thy toil.

Lo! I have set before thee, for thyself

Feed now: the matter I indite, henceforth

Demands entire my thought. Join'd with the part,

Which late we told of, the great minister

Of nature, that upon the world imprints

The virtue of the heaven, and doles out

Time for us with his beam, went circling on

Along the spires, where each hour sooner comes;

And I was with him, weetless of ascent,

As one, who till arriv'd, weets not his coming.

For Beatrice, she who passeth on

So suddenly from good to better, time

Counts not the act, oh then how great must needs

Have been her brightness! What she was i' th' sun

(Where I had enter'd), not through change of hue,

But light transparent—did I summon up

Genius, art, practice—I might not so speak,

It should be e'er imagin'd: yet believ'd

It may be, and the sight be justly crav'd.

And if our fantasy fail of such height,

What marvel, since no eye above the sun

Hath ever travel'd? Such are they dwell here,

Fourth family of the Omnipotent Sire,

Who of his spirit and of his offspring shows;

And holds them still enraptur'd with the view.

And thus to me Beatrice: "Thank, oh thank,

The Sun of angels, him, who by his grace

To this perceptible hath lifted thee."

Never was heart in such devotion bound,

And with complacency so absolute

Dispos'd to render up itself to God,

As mine was at those words: and so entire

The love for Him, that held me, it eclips'd

Beatrice in oblivion. Naught displeas'd

Was she, but smil'd thereat so joyously,

That of her laughing eyes the radiance brake

And scatter'd my collected mind abroad.

Then saw I a bright band, in liveliness

Surpassing, who themselves did make the crown,

And us their centre: yet more sweet in voice,

Than in their visage beaming. Cinctur'd thus,

Sometime Latona's daughter we behold,

When the impregnate air retains the thread,

That weaves her zone. In the celestial court,

Whence I return, are many jewels found,

So dear and beautiful, they cannot brook

Transporting from that realm: and of these lights

Such was the song. Who doth not prune his wing

To soar up thither, let him look from thence

For tidings from the dumb. When, singing thus,

Those burning suns that circled round us thrice,

As nearest stars around the fixed pole,

Then seem'd they like to ladies, from the dance

Not ceasing, but suspense, in silent pause,

List'ning, till they have caught the strain anew:

Suspended so they stood: and, from within,

Thus heard I one, who spake: "Since with its beam

The grace, whence true love lighteth first his flame,

That after doth increase by loving, shines

So multiplied in thee, it leads thee up

Along this ladder, down whose hallow'd steps

None e'er descend, and mount them not again,

Who from his phial should refuse thee wine

To slake thy thirst, no less constrained were,

Than water flowing not unto the sea.

Thou fain wouldst hear, what plants are these, that bloom

In the bright garland, which, admiring, girds

This fair dame round, who strengthens thee for heav'n.

I then was of the lambs, that Dominic

Leads, for his saintly flock, along the way,

Where well they thrive, not sworn with vanity.

He, nearest on my right hand, brother was,

And master to me: Albert of Cologne

Is this: and of Aquinum, Thomas I.

If thou of all the rest wouldst be assur'd,

Let thine eye, waiting on the words I speak,

In circuit journey round the blessed wreath.

That next resplendence issues from the smile

Of Gratian, who to either forum lent

Such help, as favour wins in Paradise.

The other, nearest, who adorns our quire,

Was Peter, he that with the widow gave

To holy church his treasure. The fifth light,

Goodliest of all, is by such love inspired,

That all your world craves tidings of its doom:

Within, there is the lofty light, endow'd

With sapience so profound, if truth be truth,

That with a ken of such wide amplitude

No second hath arisen. Next behold

That taper's radiance, to whose view was shown,

Clearliest, the nature and the ministry

Angelical, while yet in flesh it dwelt.

In the other little light serenely smiles

That pleader for the Christian temples, he

Who did provide Augustin of his lore.

Now, if thy mind's eye pass from light to light,

Upon my praises following, of the eighth

Thy thirst is next. The saintly soul, that shows

The world's deceitfulness, to all who hear him,

Is, with the sight of all the good, that is,

Blest there. The limbs, whence it was driven, lie

Down in Cieldauro, and from martyrdom

And exile came it here. Lo! further on,

Where flames the arduous Spirit of Isidore,

Of Bede, and Richard, more than man, erewhile,

In deep discernment. Lastly this, from whom

Thy look on me reverteth, was the beam

Of one, whose spirit, on high musings bent,

Rebuk'd the ling'ring tardiness of death.

It is the eternal light of Sigebert,

Who 'scap'd not envy, when of truth he argued,

Reading in the straw-litter'd street." Forthwith,

As clock, that calleth up the spouse of God

To win her bridegroom's love at matin's hour,

Each part of other fitly drawn and urg'd,

Sends out a tinkling sound, of note so sweet,

Affection springs in well-disposed breast;

Thus saw I move the glorious wheel, thus heard

Voice answ'ring voice, so musical and soft,

It can be known but where day endless shines.

After solution of my doubt, thy Charles,

O fair Clemenza, of the treachery spake

That must befall his seed: but, "Tell it not,"

Said he, "and let the destin'd years come round."

Nor may I tell thee more, save that the meed

Of sorrow well-deserv'd shall quit your wrongs.

And now the visage of that saintly light

Was to the sun, that fills it, turn'd again,

As to the good, whose plenitude of bliss

Sufficeth all. O ye misguided souls!

Infatuate, who from such a good estrange

Your hearts, and bend your gaze on vanity,

Alas for you!—And lo! toward me, next,

Another of those splendent forms approach'd,

That, by its outward bright'ning, testified

The will it had to pleasure me. The eyes

Of Beatrice, resting, as before,

Firmly upon me, manifested forth

Approval of my wish. "And O," I cried,

"Blest spirit! quickly be my will perform'd;

And prove thou to me, that my inmost thoughts

I can reflect on thee." Thereat the light,

That yet was new to me, from the recess,

Where it before was singing, thus began,

As one who joys in kindness: "In that part

Of the deprav'd Italian land, which lies

Between Rialto, and the fountain-springs

Of Brenta and of Piava, there doth rise,

But to no lofty eminence, a hill,

From whence erewhile a firebrand did descend,

That sorely sheet the region. From one root

I and it sprang; my name on earth Cunizza:

And here I glitter, for that by its light

This star o'ercame me. Yet I naught repine,

Nor grudge myself the cause of this my lot,

Which haply vulgar hearts can scarce conceive.

"This jewel, that is next me in our heaven,

Lustrous and costly, great renown hath left,

And not to perish, ere these hundred years

Five times absolve their round. Consider thou,

If to excel be worthy man's endeavour,

When such life may attend the first. Yet they

Care not for this, the crowd that now are girt

By Adice and Tagliamento, still

Impenitent, tho' scourg'd. The hour is near,

When for their stubbornness at Padua's marsh

The water shall be chang'd, that laves Vicena

And where Cagnano meets with Sile, one

Lords it, and bears his head aloft, for whom

The web is now a-warping. Feltro too

Shall sorrow for its godless shepherd's fault,

Of so deep stain, that never, for the like,

Was Malta's bar unclos'd. Too large should be

The skillet, that would hold Ferrara's blood,

And wearied he, who ounce by ounce would weight it,

The which this priest, in show of party-zeal,

Courteous will give; nor will the gift ill suit

The country's custom. We descry above,

Mirrors, ye call them thrones, from which to us

Reflected shine the judgments of our God:

Whence these our sayings we avouch for good."

She ended, and appear'd on other thoughts

Intent, re-ent'ring on the wheel she late

Had left. That other joyance meanwhile wax'd

A thing to marvel at, in splendour glowing,

Like choicest ruby stricken by the sun,

For, in that upper clime, effulgence comes

Of gladness, as here laughter: and below,

As the mind saddens, murkier grows the shade.

"God seeth all: and in him is thy sight,"

Said I, "blest Spirit! Therefore will of his

Cannot to thee be dark. Why then delays

Thy voice to satisfy my wish untold,

That voice which joins the inexpressive song,

Pastime of heav'n, the which those ardours sing,

That cowl them with six shadowing wings outspread?

I would not wait thy asking, wert thou known

To me, as thoroughly I to thee am known."

He forthwith answ'ring, thus his words began:

"The valley' of waters, widest next to that

Which doth the earth engarland, shapes its course,

Between discordant shores, against the sun

Inward so far, it makes meridian there,

Where was before th' horizon. Of that vale

Dwelt I upon the shore, 'twixt Ebro's stream

And Macra's, that divides with passage brief

Genoan bounds from Tuscan. East and west

Are nearly one to Begga and my land,

Whose haven erst was with its own blood warm.

Who knew my name were wont to call me Folco:

And I did bear impression of this heav'n,

That now bears mine: for not with fiercer flame

Glow'd Belus' daughter, injuring alike

Sichaeus and Creusa, than did I,

Long as it suited the unripen'd down

That fledg'd my cheek: nor she of Rhodope,

That was beguiled of Demophoon;

Nor Jove's son, when the charms of Iole

Were shrin'd within his heart. And yet there hides

No sorrowful repentance here, but mirth,

Not for the fault (that doth not come to mind),

But for the virtue, whose o'erruling sway

And providence have wrought thus quaintly. Here

The skill is look'd into, that fashioneth

With such effectual working, and the good

Discern'd, accruing to this upper world

From that below. But fully to content

Thy wishes, all that in this sphere have birth,

Demands my further parle. Inquire thou wouldst,

Who of this light is denizen, that here

Beside me sparkles, as the sun-beam doth

On the clear wave. Know then, the soul of Rahab

Is in that gladsome harbour, to our tribe

United, and the foremost rank assign'd.

He to that heav'n, at which the shadow ends

Of your sublunar world, was taken up,

First, in Christ's triumph, of all souls redeem'd:

For well behoov'd, that, in some part of heav'n,

She should remain a trophy, to declare

The mighty contest won with either palm;

For that she favour'd first the high exploit

Of Joshua on the holy land, whereof

The Pope recks little now. Thy city, plant

Of him, that on his Maker turn'd the back,

And of whose envying so much woe hath sprung,

Engenders and expands the cursed flower,

That hath made wander both the sheep and lambs,

Turning the shepherd to a wolf. For this,

The gospel and great teachers laid aside,

The decretals, as their stuft margins show,

Are the sole study. Pope and Cardinals,

Intent on these, ne'er journey but in thought

To Nazareth, where Gabriel op'd his wings.

Yet it may chance, erelong, the Vatican,

And other most selected parts of Rome,

That were the grave of Peter's soldiery,

Shall be deliver'd from the adult'rous bond."

The world was in its day of peril dark

Wont to believe the dotage of fond love

From the fair Cyprian deity, who rolls

In her third epicycle, shed on men

By stream of potent radiance: therefore they

Of elder time, in their old error blind,

Not her alone with sacrifice ador'd

And invocation, but like honours paid

To Cupid and Dione, deem'd of them

Her mother, and her son, him whom they feign'd

To sit in Dido's bosom: and from her,

Whom I have sung preluding, borrow'd they

The appellation of that star, which views,

Now obvious and now averse, the sun.

I was not ware that I was wafted up

Into its orb; but the new loveliness

That grac'd my lady, gave me ample proof

That we had entered there. And as in flame

A sparkle is distinct, or voice in voice

Discern'd, when one its even tenour keeps,

The other comes and goes; so in that light

I other luminaries saw, that cours'd

In circling motion rapid more or less,

As their eternal phases each impels.

Never was blast from vapour charged with cold,

Whether invisible to eye or no,

Descended with such speed, it had not seem'd

To linger in dull tardiness, compar'd

To those celestial lights, that tow'rds us came,

Leaving the circuit of their joyous ring,

Conducted by the lofty seraphim.

And after them, who in the van appear'd,

Such an hosanna sounded, as hath left

Desire, ne'er since extinct in me, to hear

Renew'd the strain. Then parting from the rest

One near us drew, and sole began: "We all

Are ready at thy pleasure, well dispos'd

To do thee gentle service. We are they,

To whom thou in the world erewhile didst Sing

'O ye! whose intellectual ministry

Moves the third heaven!' and in one orb we roll,

One motion, one impulse, with those who rule

Princedoms in heaven; yet are of love so full,

That to please thee 't will be as sweet to rest."

After mine eyes had with meek reverence

Sought the celestial guide, and were by her

Assur'd, they turn'd again unto the light

Who had so largely promis'd, and with voice

That bare the lively pressure of my zeal,

"Tell who ye are," I cried. Forthwith it grew

In size and splendour, through augmented joy;

And thus it answer'd: "A short date below

The world possess'd me. Had the time been more,

Much evil, that will come, had never chanc'd.

My gladness hides thee from me, which doth shine

Around, and shroud me, as an animal

In its own silk unswath'd. Thou lov'dst me well,

And had'st good cause; for had my sojourning

Been longer on the earth, the love I bare thee

Had put forth more than blossoms. The left bank,

That Rhone, when he hath mix'd with Sorga, laves."

"In me its lord expected, and that horn

Of fair Ausonia, with its boroughs old,

Bari, and Croton, and Gaeta pil'd,

From where the Trento disembogues his waves,

With Verde mingled, to the salt sea-flood.

Already on my temples beam'd the crown,

Which gave me sov'reignty over the land

By Danube wash'd, whenas he strays beyond

The limits of his German shores. The realm,

Where, on the gulf by stormy Eurus lash'd,

Betwixt Pelorus and Pachynian heights,

The beautiful Trinacria lies in gloom

(Not through Typhaeus, but the vap'ry cloud

Bituminous upsteam'd), THAT too did look

To have its scepter wielded by a race

Of monarchs, sprung through me from Charles and Rodolph;

had not ill lording which doth spirit up

The people ever, in Palermo rais'd

The shout of 'death,' re-echo'd loud and long.

Had but my brother's foresight kenn'd as much,

He had been warier that the greedy want

Of Catalonia might not work his bale.

And truly need there is, that he forecast,

Or other for him, lest more freight be laid

On his already over-laden bark.

Nature in him, from bounty fall'n to thrift,

Would ask the guard of braver arms, than such

As only care to have their coffers fill'd."

"My liege, it doth enhance the joy thy words

Infuse into me, mighty as it is,

To think my gladness manifest to thee,

As to myself, who own it, when thou lookst

Into the source and limit of all good,

There, where thou markest that which thou dost speak,

Thence priz'd of me the more. Glad thou hast made me.

Now make intelligent, clearing the doubt

Thy speech hath raised in me; for much I muse,

How bitter can spring up, when sweet is sown."

I thus inquiring; he forthwith replied:

"If I have power to show one truth, soon that

Shall face thee, which thy questioning declares

Behind thee now conceal'd. The Good, that guides

And blessed makes this realm, which thou dost mount,

Ordains its providence to be the virtue

In these great bodies: nor th' all perfect Mind

Upholds their nature merely, but in them

Their energy to save: for nought, that lies

Within the range of that unerring bow,

But is as level with the destin'd aim,

As ever mark to arrow's point oppos'd.

Were it not thus, these heavens, thou dost visit,

Would their effect so work, it would not be

Art, but destruction; and this may not chance,

If th' intellectual powers, that move these stars,

Fail not, or who, first faulty made them fail.

Wilt thou this truth more clearly evidenc'd?"

To whom I thus: "It is enough: no fear,

I see, lest nature in her part should tire."

He straight rejoin'd: "Say, were it worse for man,

If he liv'd not in fellowship on earth?"

"Yea," answer'd I; "nor here a reason needs."

"And may that be, if different estates

Grow not of different duties in your life?

Consult your teacher, and he tells you 'no."'

Thus did he come, deducing to this point,

And then concluded: "For this cause behooves,

The roots, from whence your operations come,

Must differ. Therefore one is Solon born;

Another, Xerxes; and Melchisidec

A third; and he a fourth, whose airy voyage

Cost him his son. In her circuitous course,

Nature, that is the seal to mortal wax,

Doth well her art, but no distinctions owns

'Twixt one or other household. Hence befalls

That Esau is so wide of Jacob: hence

Quirinus of so base a father springs,

He dates from Mars his lineage. Were it not

That providence celestial overrul'd,

Nature, in generation, must the path

Trac'd by the generator, still pursue

Unswervingly. Thus place I in thy sight

That, which was late behind thee. But, in sign

Of more affection for thee, 't is my will

Thou wear this corollary. Nature ever

Finding discordant fortune, like all seed

Out of its proper climate, thrives but ill.

And were the world below content to mark

And work on the foundation nature lays,

It would not lack supply of excellence.

But ye perversely to religion strain

Him, who was born to gird on him the sword,

And of the fluent phrasemen make your king;

Therefore your steps have wander'd from the paths."