| |
| THE NATURAL thirst, ne’er quench’d but from the well 1 | |
| Whereof the woman of Samaria craved, | |
| Excited; haste, along the cumber’d path, | |
| After my guide, impell’d; and pity moved | |
| My bosom for the ’vengeful doom though just. | 5 |
| When lo! even as Luke 2 relates, that Christ | |
| Appear’d unto the two upon their way, | |
| New-risen from His vaulted grave; to us | |
| A shade appear’d, and after us approach’d, | |
| Contemplating the crowd beneath its feet. | 10 |
| We were not ware of it; so first it spake, | |
| Saying, “God give you peace, my brethren!” then | |
| Sudden we turn’d: and Virgil such salute, | |
| As fitted that kind greeting, gave; and cried: | |
| “Peace in the blessed council be thy lot, | 15 |
| Awarded by that righteous court which me | |
| To everlasting banishment exiles.” | |
| “How!” he exclaim’d, nor from his speed meanwhile | |
| Desisting; “If that ye be spirits whom God | |
| Vouchsafes not room above; who up the height | 20 |
| Has been thus far your guide?” To whom the bard: | |
| “If thou observe the tokens, 3 which this man, | |
| Traced by the finger of the Angel, bears; | |
| ’Tis plain that in the kingdom of the just | |
| He needs must share. But sithence she, 4 whose wheel | 25 |
| Spins day and night, for him not yet had drawn | |
| That yarn, which on the fatal distaff piled, | |
| Clotho apportions to each wight that breathes; | |
| His soul, that sister is to mine and thine, | |
| Not of herself could mount; for not like ours | 30 |
| Her ken: whence I, from forth the ample gulf | |
| Of Hell, was ta’en, to lead him, and will lead | |
| Far as my lore avails. But, if thou know, | |
| Instruct us for what cause, the mount erewhile | |
| Thus shook, and trembled: wherefore all at once | 35 |
| Seem’d shouting, even from his wave-wash’d foot.” | |
| That questioning so tallied with my wish, | |
| The thirst did feel abatement of its edge | |
| E’en from expectance. He forthwith replied: | |
| “In its devotion, nought irregular | 40 |
| This mount can witness, or by punctual rule | |
| Unsanction’d; here from every change exempt, | |
| Other than that, which Heaven in itself | |
| Doth of itself receive, no influence | |
| Can reach us. Tempest none, shower, hail, or snow, | 45 |
| Hoar frost, or dewy moistness, higher falls | |
| Than that brief scale of threefold steps: thick clouds, | |
| Nor scudding rack, are ever seen: swift glance | |
| Ne’er lightens; nor Thaumantian Iris gleams, | |
| That yonder often shifts on each side Heaven. | 50 |
| Vapour adust doth never mount above | |
| The highest of the trinal stairs, whereon | |
| Peter’s vicegerent stands. Lower perchance, | |
| With various motion rock’d, trembles the soil: | |
| But here, through wind in earth’s deep hollow pent, | 55 |
| I know not how, yet never trembled: then | |
| Trembles, when any spirit feels itself | |
| So purified, that it may rise, or move | |
| For rising; and such loud acclaim ensues. | |
| Purification, by the will alone, | 60 |
| Is proved, that free to change society | |
| Seizes the soul rejoicing in her will. | |
| Desire of bliss is present from the first; | |
| But strong propension hinders, to that wish | |
| By the just ordinance of Heaven opposed; | 65 |
| Propension now as eager to fulfill | |
| The allotted torment, as erewhile to sin. | |
| And I, who in this punishment had lain | |
| Five hundred years and more, but now have felt | |
| Free wish for happier clime. Therefore thou felt’st | 70 |
| The mountain tremble; and the spirits devout | |
| Heard’st, over all his limits, utter praise | |
| To that liege Lord, whom I entreat their joy | |
| To hasten.” Thus he spake: and, since the draught | |
| Is grateful ever as the thirst is keen, | 75 |
| No words may speak my fullness of content. | |
| “Now,” said the instructor sage, “I see the net | |
| That takes ye here; and how the toils are loosed; | |
| Why rocks the mountain, and why ye rejoice. | |
| Vouchsafe, that from thy lips I next may learn | 80 |
| Who on the earth thou wast; and wherefore here, | |
| So many an age, wert prostrate.”—“In that time, | |
| When the good Titus, 5 with Heaven’s King to help, | |
| Avenged those piteous gashes, whence the blood | |
| By Judas sold did issue; with the name 6 | 85 |
| Most lasting and most honor’d, there, was I | |
| Abundantly renown’d,” the shade replied, | |
| “Nor yet with faith endued. So passing sweet | |
| My vocal spirit; from Tolosa, Rome | |
| To herself drew me, where I merited | 90 |
| A myrtle garland to inwreathe my brow. | |
| Statius they name me still. Of Thebes I sang, | |
| And next of great Achilles; but i’ the way | |
| Fell with the second burden. Of my flame | |
| Those sparkles were the seeds, which I derived | 95 |
| From the bright fountain of celestial fire | |
| That feeds unnumber’d lamps; the song I mean | |
| Which sounds Æneas’ wanderings: that the breast | |
| I hung at; that the nurse, from whom my veins | |
| Drank inspiration: whose authority | 100 |
| Was ever sacred with me. To have lived | |
| Coeval with the Mantuan, I would bide | |
| The revolution of another sun | |
| Beyond my stated years in banishment.” | |
| The Mantuan, when he heard him, turn’d to me; | 105 |
| And holding silence, by his countenance | |
| Enjoin’d me silence: but the power, which wills, | |
| Bears not supreme control: laughter and tears | |
| Follow so closely on the passion prompts them, | |
| They wait not for the motions of the will | 110 |
| In natures most sincere. I did but smile, | |
| As one who winks; and thereupon the shade | |
| Broke off, and peer’d into mine eyes, where best | |
| Our looks interpret. “So to good event | |
| Mayst thou conduct such great emprise,” he cried, | 115 |
| “Say, why across thy visage beam’d, but now, | |
| The lightning of a smile.” On either part | |
| Now am I straiten’d; one conjures me speak, | |
| The other to silence binds me: whence a sigh | |
| I utter, and the sigh is heard. “Speak on,” | 120 |
| The teacher cried: “and do not fear to speak; | |
| But tell him what so earnestly he asks.” | |
| Whereon I thus: “Perchance, O ancient spirit! | |
| Thou marvel’st at my smiling. There is room | |
| For yet more wonder. He, who guides my ken | 125 |
| On high, he is that Mantuan, led by whom | |
| Thou didst presume of men and gods to sing. | |
| If other cause thou deem’dst for which I smiled, | |
| Leave it as not the true one: and believe | |
| Those words, thou spakest of him, indeed the cause.” | 130 |
| Now down he bent to embrace my teacher’s feet; | |
| But he forbade him: “Brother! do it not: | |
| Thou art a shadow, and behold’st a shade.” | |
| He, rising, answer’d thus: “Now hast thou proved | |
| The force and ardour of the love I bear thee, | 135 |
| When I forget we are but things of air, | |
| And, as a substance, treat an empty shade.” | |
