| |
| AS much as ’twixt the third hour’s close and dawn, | |
| Appeareth of Heaven’s sphere, that ever whirls | |
| As restless as an infant in his play; | |
| So much appear’d remaining to the sun | |
| Of his slope journey towards the western goal. | 5 |
| Evening was there, and here the noon of night; | |
| And full upon our forehead smote the beams. | |
| For round the mountain, circling, so our path | |
| Had led us, that toward the sunset now | |
| Direct we journey’d; when I felt a weight | 10 |
| Of more exceeding splendour, than before, | |
| Press on my front. The cause unknown, amaze | |
| Possess’d me! and both hands against my brows | |
| Lifting, I interposed them, as a screen, | |
| That of its gorgeous superflux of light | 15 |
| Clips the diminish’d orb. As when the ray, | |
| Striking on water or the surface clear | |
| Of mirror, leaps unto the opposite part, | |
| Ascending at a glance, e’en as it fell, | |
| And as much differs from the stone, that falls | 20 |
| Through equal space, (so practic skill hath shown); | |
| Thus, with refracted light, before me seem’d | |
| The ground there smitten; whence, in sudden haste, | |
| My sight recoil’d. “What is this, sire beloved! | |
| ’Gainst which I strive to shield the sight in vain?” | 25 |
| Cried I, “and which toward us moving seems?” | |
| “Marvel not, if the family of Heaven,” | |
| He answer’d, “yet with dazzling radiance dim | |
| Thy sense. It is a messenger who comes, | |
| Inviting man’s ascent. Such sights ere long, | 30 |
| Not grievous, shall impart to thee delight, | |
| As thy perception is by nature wrought | |
| Up to their pitch.” The blessed Angel, soon | |
| As we had reach’d him, hail’d us with glad voice: | |
| “Here enter on a ladder far less steep | 35 |
| Than ye have yet encounter’d.” We forthwith | |
| Ascending, heard behind us chanted sweet, | |
| “Blessed the merciful,” 1 and “Happy thou, | |
| That conquer’st.” Lonely each, my guide and I, | |
| Pursued our upward way; and as we went, | 40 |
| Some profit from his words I hoped to win, | |
| And thus of him inquiring, framed my speech: | |
| “What meant Romagna’s spirit, 2 when he spake | |
| Of bliss exclusive, with no partner shared?” | |
| He straight replied: “No wonder, since he knows | 45 |
| What sorrow waits on his own worst defect, | |
| If he chide others, that they less may mourn. | |
| Because ye point your wishes at a mark, | |
| Where, by communion of possessors, part | |
| Is lessen’d, envy bloweth up men’s sighs. | 50 |
| No fear of that might touch ye, if the love | |
| Of higher sphere exalted your desire. | |
| For there, by how much more they call it ours, | |
| So much propriety of each in good | |
| Increases more, and heighten’d charity | 55 |
| Wraps that fair cloister in a brighter flame.” | |
| “Now lack I satisfaction more,” said I, | |
| “Than if thou hadst been silent at the first; | |
| And doubt more gathers on my labouring thought. | |
| How can it chance, that good distributed, | 60 |
| The many, that possess it, makes more rich, | |
| Than if ’t were shared by few?” He answering thus: | |
| “Thy mind, reverting still to things of earth, | |
| Strikes darkness from true light. The highest Good | |
| Unlimited, ineffable, doth so speed | 65 |
| To love, as beam to lucid body darts, | |
| Giving as much of ardour as it finds. | |
| The sempiternal effluence streams abroad, | |
| Spreading, wherever charity extends; | |
| So that the more aspirants to that bliss | 70 |
| Are multiplied, more good is there to love, | |
| And more is loved; as mirrors, that reflect, | |
| Each unto other, propagated light. | |
| If these my words avail not to allay | |
| Thy thirsting, Beatrice thou shalt see, | 75 |
| Who of this want, and of all else thou hast, | |
| Shall rid thee to the full. Provide but thou, | |
| That from thy temples may be soon erased, | |
| E’en as the two already, those five scars, | |
| That, when they pain thee worst, then kindliest heal.” | 80 |
| “Thou,” I had said, “content’st me”; when I saw | |
| The other round was gain’d, and wondering eyes | |
| Did keep me mute. There suddenly I seem’d | |
| By an ecstatic vision wrapt away; | |
| And in a temple saw, methought, a crowd | 85 |
| Of many persons; and at the entrance stood | |
| A dame, whose sweet demeanour did express | |
| A mother’s love, who said, “Child! why hast thou | |
| Dealt with us thus? Behold thy sire and I | |
| Sorrowing have sought thee”; and so held her peace; | 90 |
| And straight the vision fled. A female next | |
| Appear’d before me, down whose visage coursed | |
| Those waters, that grief forces out from one | |
| By deep resentment stung, who seem’d to say: | |
| ‘If thou, Pisistratus, be lord indeed | 95 |
| Over this city, 3 named with such debate | |
| Of adverse gods, and whence each science sparkles, | |
| Avenge thee of those arms, whose bold embrace | |
| Hath clasp’d our daughter”; and to her, meseem’d, | |
| Benign and meek, with visage undisturb’d, | 100 |
| Her sovran spake: “How shall we those requite 4 | |
| Who wish us evil, if we thus condemn | |
| The man that loves us?” After that I saw | |
| A multitude, in fury burning, slay | |
| With stones a stripling youth, 5 and shout amain | 105 |
| “Destroy, destroy”; and him I saw, who bow’d | |
| Heavy with death unto the ground, yet made | |
| His eyes, unfolded upward, gates to Heaven, | |
| Praying forgiveness of the Almighty Sire, | |
| Amidst that cruel conflict, on his foes, | 110 |
| With looks that win compassion to their aim. | |
| Soon as my spirit, from her airy flight | |
| Returning, sought again the things whose truth | |
| Depends not on her shaping, I observed | |
| She had not roved to falsehood in her dreams. | 115 |
| Meanwhile the leader, who might see I moved | |
| As one who struggles to shake off his sleep, | |
| Exclaim’d: “What ails thee, that thou canst not hold | |
| Thy footing firm; but more than half a league | |
| Hast travel’d with closed eyes and tottering gait, | 120 |
| Like to a man by wine or sleep o’ercharged?” | |
| “Beloved father! so thou deign,” said I, | |
| “To listen, I will tell thee what appear’d | |
| Before me, when so fail’d my sinking steps.” | |
| He thus: “Not if thy countenance were mask’d | 125 |
| With hundred vizards, could a thought of thine, | |
| How small soe’er, elude me. What thou saw’st | |
| Was shown, that freely thou mightst ope thy heart | |
| To the waters of peace, that flow diffused | |
| From their eternal fountain. I not ask’d, | 130 |
| What ails thee? for such cause as he doth, who | |
| Looks only with that eye, which sees no more, | |
| When spiritless the body lies; but ask’d, | |
| To give fresh vigour to thy foot. Such goads, | |
| The slow and loitering need; that they be found | 135 |
| Not wanting, when their hour of watch returns.” | |
| So on we journey’d, through the evening sky | |
| Gazing intent, far onward as our eyes, | |
| With level view, could stretch against the bright | |
| Vespertine ray: and lo! by slow degrees | 140 |
| Gathering, a fog made towards us, dark as night. | |
| There was no room for ’scaping; and that mist | |
| Bereft us, both of sight and the pure air. | |
