| |
| O’ER better waves to speed her rapid course | |
| The light bark of my genius lifts the sail, | |
| Well pleased to leave so cruel sea behind; | |
| And of that second region will I sing, | |
| In which the human spirit from sinful blot | 5 |
| Is purged, and for ascent to Heaven prepares. | |
| Here, O ye hallow’d Nine! for in your train | |
| I follow, here the deaden’d strain revive; | |
| Nor let Calliope refuse to sound | |
| A somewhat higher song, of that loud tone | 10 |
| Which when the wretched birds of chattering note 1 | |
| Had heard, they of forgiveness lost all hope. | |
| Sweet hue of eastern sapphire, that was spread | |
| O’er the serene aspect of the pure air, | |
| High up as the first circle, 2 to mine eyes | 15 |
| Unwonted joy renew’d, soon as I ’scaped | |
| Forth from the atmosphere of deadly gloom, | |
| That had mine eyes and bosom fill’d with grief. | |
| The radiant planet, 3 that to love invites, | |
| Made all the orient laugh, and veil’d beneath | 20 |
| The Pisces’ light, 4 that in his [her] escort came. | |
| To the right hand I turn’d, and fix’d my mind | |
| On the other pole attentive, where I saw | |
| Four stars 5 ne’er seen before save by the ken | |
| Of our first parents. 6 Heaven of their rays | 25 |
| Seem’d joyous. O thou northern site! bereft | |
| Indeed, and widow’d, since of these deprived. | |
| As from this view I had desisted, straight | |
| Turning a little toward the other pole, | |
| There from whence now the wain 7 had disappear’d, | 30 |
| I saw an old man 8 standing by my side | |
| Alone, so worthy of reverence in his look, | |
| That ne’er from son to father more was owed. | |
| Low down his beard, and mix’d with hoary white, | |
| Descended, like his locks, which, parting, fell | 35 |
| Upon his breast in double fold. The beams | |
| Of those four luminaries on his face | |
| So brightly shone, and with such radiance clear | |
| Deck’d it, that I beheld him as the sun. | |
| “Say who are ye, that stemming the blind stream, | 40 |
| Forth from the eternal prison-house have fled?” | |
| He spoke and moved those venerable plumes. | |
| “Who hath conducted, or with lantern sure | |
| Lights you emerging from the depth of night, | |
| That makes the infernal valley ever black? | 45 |
| Are the firm statutes of the dread abyss | |
| Broken, or in high Heaven new laws ordain’d, | |
| That thus, condemn’d, ye to my caves approach?” | |
| My guide, then laying hold on me, by words | |
| And intimations given with hand and head, | 50 |
| Made my bent knees and eye submissive pay | |
| Due reverence; then thus to him replied: | |
| “Not of myself I come; a Dame from heaven 9 | |
| Descending, him besought me in my charge | |
| To bring. But since thy will implies, that more | 55 |
| Our true condition I unfold at large, | |
| Mine is not to deny thee thy request. | |
| This mortal ne’er hath seen the farthest gloom; | |
| But erring by his folly had approach’d | |
| So near, that little space was left to turn. | 60 |
| Then, as before I told, I was despatch’d | |
| To work his rescue; and no way remain’d | |
| Save this which I have ta’en. I have display’d | |
| Before him all the regions of the bad; | |
| And purpose now those spirits to display, | 65 |
| That under thy command are purged from sin. | |
| How I have brought him would be long to say. | |
| From high descends the virtue, by whose aid | |
| I to thy sight and hearing him have led. | |
| Now may our coming please thee. In the search | 70 |
| Of liberty he journeys: that how dear, | |
| They know who for her sake have life refused. | |
| Thou knowest, to whom death for her was sweet | |
| In Utica, where thou didst leave those weeds, | |
| That in the last great day will shine so bright. | 75 |
| For us the eternal edicts are unmoved; | |
| He breathes, and I of Minos am not bound, | |
| Abiding in that circle, where the eyes | |
| Of thy chaste Marcia beam, who still in look | |
| Prays thee, O hallow’d spirit! to own her thine. | 80 |
| Then by her love we implore thee, let us pass | |
| Through thy seven regions; 10 for which, best thanks | |
| I for thy favour will to her return, | |
| If mention there below thou not disdain.” | |
| “Marcia so pleasing in my sight was found,” | 85 |
| He then to him rejoin’d, “while I was there, | |
| That all she ask’d me I was fain to grant. | |
| Now that beyond the accursed stream she dwells, | |
| She may no longer move me, by that law, 11 | |
| Which was ordain’d me, when I issued thence. | 90 |
| Not so, if Dame from Heaven, as thou sayst, | |
| Moves and directs thee; then no flattery needs. | |
| Enough for me that in her name thou ask. | |
| Go therefore now: and with a slender reed 12 | |
| See that thou duly gird him, and his face | 95 |
| Lave, till all sordid stain thou wipe from thence. | |
| For not with eye, by any cloud obscured, | |
| Would it be seemly before him to come, | |
| Who stands the foremost minister in Heaven. | |
| This islet all around, there far beneath, | 100 |
| Where the wave beats it, on the oozy bed | |
| Produces store of reeds. No other plant, | |
| Cover’d with leaves, or harden’d in its stalk, | |
| There lives, not bending to the water’s sway. | |
| After, this way return not; but the sun | 105 |
| Will show you, that now rises, where to take | |
| The mountain in its easiest ascent.” | |
| He disappear’d; and I myself upraised | |
| Speechless, and to my guide retiring close, | |
| Toward him turn’d mine eyes. He thus began: | 110 |
| “My son! observant thou my steps pursue. | |
| We must retreat to rereward; for that way | |
| The champain to its low extreme declines.” | |
| The dawn had chased the matin hour of prime, | |
| Which fled before it, so that from afar | 115 |
| I spied the trembling of the ocean stream. | |
| We traversed the deserted plain, as one | |
| Who, wander’d from his track, thinks every step | |
| Trodden in vain till he regain the path. | |
| When we had come, where yet the tender dew | 120 |
| Strove with the sun, and in a place where fresh | |
| The wind breathed o’er it, while it slowly dried; | |
| Both hands extended on the watery grass | |
| My master placed, in graceful act and kind. | |
| Whence I of his intent before apprised, | 125 |
| Stretch’d out to him my cheeks suffused with tears. | |
| There to my visage he anew restored | |
| That hue which the dun shades of Hell conceal’d. | |
| Then on the solitary shore arrived, | |
| That never sailing on its waters saw | 130 |
| Man that could after measure back his course, | |
| He girt me in such manner as had pleased | |
| Him who instructed; and, oh strange to tell! | |
| As he selected every humble plant, | |
| Wherever one was pluck’d another there | 135 |
| Resembling, straightway in its place arose. | |
