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