| |
| ASTOUNDED, to the guardian of my steps | |
| I turn’d me, like the child, who always runs | |
| Thither for succour, where he trusteth most: | |
| And she was like the mother, who her son | |
| Beholding pale and breathless, with her voice | 5 |
| Soothes him, and he is cheer’d; for thus she spake, | |
| Soothing me: “Know’st not thou, thou art in Heaven? | |
| And know’st not thou, whatever is in Heaven, | |
| Is holy; and that nothing there is done, | |
| But is done zealously and well? Deem now, | 10 |
| What change in thee the song, and what my smile | |
| Had wrought, since thus the shout had power to move thee; | |
| In which, couldst thou have understood their prayers, | |
| The vengeance 1 were already known to thee, | |
| Which thou must witness ere thy mortal hour. | 15 |
| The sword of Heaven is not in haste to smite, | |
| Nor yet doth linger; save unto his seeming, | |
| Who, in desire or fear, doth look for it. | |
| But elsewhere now I bid thee turn thy view; | |
| So shalt thou many a famous spirit behold.” | 20 |
| Mine eyes directing, as she will’d, I saw | |
| A hundred little spheres, that fairer grew | |
| By interchange of splendour. I remain’d, | |
| As one, who fearful of o’er-much presuming, | |
| Abates in him the keenness of desire, | 25 |
| Nor dares to question; when, amid those pearls, | |
| One largest and most lustrous onward drew, | |
| That it might yield contentment to my wish; | |
| And, from within it, these the sounds I heard. | |
| “If thou, like me, beheld’st the charity | 30 |
| That burns amongst us; what thy mind conceives | |
| Were utter’d. But that, ere the lofty bound | |
| Thou reach, expectance may not weary thee; | |
| I will make answer even to the thought, | |
| Which thou hast such respect of. In old days, | 35 |
| That mountain, at whose side Cassino 2 rests, | |
| Was, on its height, frequented by a race | |
| Deceived and ill-disposed: and I it was, 3 | |
| Who thither carried first the name of Him, | |
| Who brought the soul-subliming truth to man. | 40 |
| And such a speeding grace shone over me, | |
| That from their impious worship I reclaim’d | |
| The dwellers round about, who with the world | |
| Were in delusion lost. These other flames, | |
| The spirits of men contemplative, were all | 45 |
| Enliven’d by that warmth, whose kindly force | |
| Gives birth to flowers and fruits of holiness. | |
| Here is Macarius; 4 Romoaldo 5 here; | |
| And here my brethren, who their steps refrain’d | |
| Within the cloisters, and held firm their heart.” | 50 |
| I answering thus: “Thy gentle words and kind, | |
| And this the cheerful semblance I behold, | |
| Not unobservant, beaming in ye all, | |
| Have raised assurance in me; wakening it | |
| Full-blossom’d in my bosom, as a rose | 55 |
| Before the sun, when the consummate flower | |
| Has spread to utmost amplitude. Of thee | |
| Therefore intreat I, father, to declare | |
| If I may gain such favour, as to gaze | |
| Upon thine image by no covering veil’d.” | 60 |
| “Brother!” he thus rejoin’d, “in the last sphere 6 | |
| Expect completion of thy lofty aim: | |
| For there on each desire completion waits, | |
| And there on mine; where every aim is found | |
| Perfect, entire, and for fulfillment ripe. | 65 |
| There all things are as they have ever been: | |
| For space is none to bound; nor pole divides. | |
| Our ladder reaches even to that clime; | |
| And so, at giddy distance, mocks thy view. | |
| Thither the patriarch Jacob 7 saw it stretch | 70 |
| Its topmost round; when it appear’d to him | |
| With Angels laden. But to mount it now | |
| None lifts his foot from earth: and hence my rule | |
| Is left a profitless stain upon the leaves; | |
| The walls, for abbey rear’d, turn’d into dens; | 75 |
| The cowls, to sacks choak’d up with musty meal. | |
| Foul usury doth not more lift itself | |
| Against God’s pleasure, than that fruit, which makes, | |
| The hearts of monks so wanton: for whate’er | |
| Is in the Church’s keeping, all pertains | 80 |
| To such, as sue for Heaven’s sweet sake; and not | |
| To those, who in respect of kindred claim, | |
| Or on more vile allowance. Mortal flesh | |
| Is grown so dainty, good beginnings last not | |
| From the oak’s birth unto the acorn’s setting. | 85 |
| His convent Peter founded without gold | |
| Or silver; I, with prayers and fasting, mine; | |
| And Francis, his in meek humility. | |
| And if thou note the point, whence each proceeds, | |
| Then look what it hath err’d to; thou shalt find | 90 |
| The white grown murky. Jordan was turn’d back: | |
| And a less wonder, than the refluent sea, | |
| May, at God’s pleasure, work amendment here.” | |
| So saying, to his assembly back he drew: | |
| And they together cluster’d into one; | 95 |
| Then all roll’d upward, like an eddying wind. | |
| The sweet dame beckon’d me to follow them: | |
| And, by that influence only, so prevail’d | |
| Over my nature, that no natural motion, | |
| Ascending or descending here below, | 100 |
| Had, as I mounted, with my pennon vied. | |
| So, reader, as my hope is to return | |
| Unto the holy triumph, for the which | |
| I oft-times wail my sins, and smite my breast; | |
| Thou hadst been longer drawing out and thrusting | 105 |
| Thy finger in the fire, than I was, ere | |
| The sign, 8 that followeth Taurus, I beheld, | |
| And enter’d its precinct. O glorious stars! | |
| O light impregnate with exceeding virtue! | |
| To whom whate’er of genius lifteth me | 110 |
| Above the vulgar, grateful I refer; | |
| With ye the parent 9 of all mortal life | |
| Arose and set, when I did first inhale | |
| The Tuscan air; and afterward, when grace | |
| Vouchsafed me entrance to the lofty wheel 10 | 115 |
| That in its orb impels ye, fate decreed | |
| My passage at your clime. To you my soul | |
| Devoutly sighs, for virtue, even now, | |
| To meet the hard emprise that draws me on. | |
| “Thou art so near the sum of blessedness,” | 120 |
| Said Beatrice, “that behoves thy ken | |
| Be vigilant and clear. And, to this end, | |
| Or ever thou advance thee further, hence | |
| Look downward, and contemplate, what a world | |
| Already stretch’d under our feet there lies: | 125 |
| So as thy heart may, in its blithest mood, | |
| Present itself to the triumphal throng, | |
| Which, through the ethereal concave, comes rejoicing.” | |
| I straight obey’d; and with mine eye return’d | |
| Through all the seven spheres; and saw this globe | 130 |
| So pitiful of semblance, that perforce | |
| It moved my smiles: and him in truth I hold | |
| For wisest, who esteems it least; whose thoughts | |
| Elsewhere are fix’d, him worthiest call and best. | |
| I saw the daughter of Latona shine | 135 |
| Without the shadow, 11 whereof late I deem’d | |
| That dense and rare were cause. Here I sustain’d | |
| The visage, Hyperion, of thy son; 12 | |
| And mark’d, how near him with their circles, round | |
| Move Maia and Dione; 13 here discern’d | 140 |
| Jove’s tempering ’twixt his sire and son; 14 and hence, | |
| Their changes and their various aspects, | |
| Distinctly scann’d. Nor might I not descry | |
| Of all the seven, how bulky each, how swift; | |
| Nor, of their several distances, not learn. | 145 |
| This petty area, (o’er the which we stride | |
| So fiercely), as along the eternal Twins | |
| I wound my way, appear’d before me all, | |
| Forth from the havens stretch’d unto the hills. | |
| Then, to the beauteous eyes, mine eyes return’d. | 150 |
