| |
| 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? | 5 |
| We mounted up the riven rock, that wound | |
| On either side alternate, as the wave | |
| Flies and advances. “Here some little art | |
| Behoves us,” said my leader, “that our steps | |
| Observe the varying flexure of the path.” | 10 |
| Thus we so slowly sped, that with cleft orb | |
| The moon once more o’erhangs her watery 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, | 15 |
| 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 | 20 |
| Had measured thrice the stature of a man: | |
| And, distant as mine eye could wing its flight, | |
| To leftward now and now to right despatch’d, | |
| That cornice equal in extent appear’d. | |
| Not yet our feet had on that summit moved, | 25 |
| 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 | 30 |
| Been shamed. The Angel (who came down to earth | |
| With tidings of the peace so many years | |
| Wept for in vain, that oped the heavenly gates | |
| From their long interdict) before us seem’d, | |
| In a sweet act, so sculptured to the life, | 35 |
| He look’d no silent image. One had sworn | |
| He had said “Hail!” for she was imaged there, | |
| By whom the key did open to God’s love; | |
| And in her act as sensibly imprest | |
| That word, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord,” | 40 |
| As figure seal’d on wax. “Fix not thy mind | |
| On one place only,” said the guide beloved, | |
| 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, | 45 |
| Upon that side where he that moved me stood, | |
| Another story graven on the rock. | |
| I past athwart the bard, and drew me near, | |
| That it might stand more aptly for my view. | |
| There, in the self-same marble, were engraved | 50 |
| 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 | 55 |
| 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, | |
| Israel’s sweet harper: in that hap he seem’d | 60 |
| 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 back of Michol, whitely shone, | 65 |
| I moved me. There, was storied on the rock | |
| The exalted glory of the Roman prince, | |
| Whose mighty worth moved Gregory 1 to earn | |
| His mighty conquest, Trajan the Emperor. | |
| A widow at his bridle stood, attired | 70 |
| 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, | 75 |
| 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, | 80 |
| 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, produced | 85 |
| That visible speaking, new to us and strange, | |
| The like not found on earth. Fondly I gazed | |
| Upon those patterns of meek humbleness, | |
| Shapes yet more precious for their artist’s sake; | |
| When “Lo!” the poet whisper’d, “where this way | 90 |
| (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 loved allurement, were not slow to turn. | |
| Reader! I would not that amazed thou miss | 95 |
| Of thy good purpose, hearing how just God | |
| Decrees our debts be cancel’d. Ponder not | |
| The form of suffering. Think on what succeeds: | |
| Think that, at worst, beyond the mighty doom | |
| It cannot pass. “Instructor!” I began, | 100 |
| “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 curb’d to earth, beneath their heavy terms | |
| Of torment stoop they, that mine eye at first | 105 |
| Struggled as thine. But look intently thither; | |
| And disentangle with thy laboring 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! | 110 |
| 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, 2 imp’d with angel plumes, | |
| That to Heaven’s justice unobstructed soars? | 115 |
| Why buoy ye up aloft your unfledged 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, | 120 |
| 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 | 125 |
| Or more or less contracted; and it seem’d | |
| As he, who show’d most patience in his look, | |
| Wailing exclaim’d: “I can endure no more.” | |
