| |
| THEN “Glory to the Father, to the Son, | |
| And to the Holy Spirit,” rang aloud | |
| Throughout all Paradise; that with the song | |
| My spirit reel’d, so passing sweet the strain. | |
| And what I saw was equal ecstasy: | 5 |
| One universal smile it seem’d of all things; | |
| Joy past compare; gladness unutterable; | |
| Imperishable life of peace and love; | |
| Exhaustless riches, and unmeasured bliss. | |
| Before mine eyes stood the four torches 1 lit: | 10 |
| And that, 2 which first had come, began to wax | |
| In brightness; and, in semblance, such became, | |
| As Jove might be, if he and Mars were birds, | |
| And interchanged their plumes. Silence ensued, | |
| Through the blest quire; by Him, who here appoints | 15 |
| Vicissitude of ministry, enjoin’d; | |
| When thus I heard: “Wonder not, if my hue | |
| Be changed; for, while I speak, these shalt thou see | |
| All in like manner change with me. My place | |
| He 3 who usurps on earth, (my place, ay, mine, | 20 |
| Which in the presence of the Son of God | |
| Is void,) the same hath made my cemetery | |
| A common sewer of puddle and of blood: | |
| The more below his triumph, who from hence | |
| Malignant fell.” Such colour, as the sun, | 25 |
| At eve or morning, paints an adverse cloud, | |
| Then saw I sprinkled over all the sky. | |
| And as the unblemish’d dame, who, in herself | |
| Secure of censure, yet at bare report | |
| Of other’s failing, shrinks with maiden fear; | 30 |
| So Beatrice, in her semblance, changed: | |
| And such eclipse in Heaven, methinks, was seen, | |
| When the Most Holy suffer’d. Then the words | |
| Proceeded, with voice, alter’d from itself | |
| So clean, the semblance did not alter more. | 35 |
| “Not to this end was Christ’s spouse with my blood, | |
| With that of Linus, and of Cletus, 4 fed; | |
| That she might serve for purchase of base gold: | |
| But for the purchase of this happy life, | |
| Did Sextus, Pius, and Callixtus bleed, | 40 |
| And Urban; 5 they, whose doom was not without | |
| Much weeping seal’d. No purpose was of ours, 6 | |
| That on the right hand of our successors, | |
| Part of the Christian people should be set, | |
| And part upon their left; nor that the keys, | 45 |
| Which were vouchsafed me, should for ensign serve | |
| Unto the banners, that do levy war | |
| On the baptized; nor I, for sigil-mark, | |
| Set upon sold and lying privileges: | |
| Which makes me oft to bicker and turn red. | 50 |
| In shepherd’s clothing, greedy wolves 7 below | |
| Range wide o’er all the pastures. Arm of God! | |
| Why longer sleep’st thou? Cahorsines and Gascons 8 | |
| Prepare to quaff our blood. O good beginning! | |
| To what a vile conclusion must thou stoop. | 55 |
| But the high Providence, which did defend, | |
| Through Scipio, the world’s empery for Rome, | |
| Will not delay its succour: and thou, son, | |
| Who through thy mortal weight shalt yet again | |
| Return below, open thy lips, nor hide | 60 |
| What is by me not hidden.” As a flood | |
| Of frozen vapours streams adown the air, | |
| What time the she-goat 9 with her skiey horn | |
| Touches the sun; so saw I there stream wide | |
| The vapours, who with us had linger’d late, | 65 |
| And with glad triumph deck the ethereal cope. | |
| Onward my sight their semblances pursued; | |
| So far pursued, as till the space between | |
| From its reach sever’d them: whereat the guide | |
| Celestial, marking me no more intent | 70 |
| On upward gazing, said, “Look down, and see | |
| What circuit thou hast compast.” From the hour 10 | |
| When I before had cast my view beneath, | |
| All the first region overpast I saw, | |
| Which from the midmost to the boundary winds; | 75 |
| That onward, thence, from Gades, 11 I beheld | |
| The unwise passage of Laertes’ son; | |
| And hitherward the shore, 12 where thou Europa, | |
| Madest thee a joyful burden; and yet more | |
| Of this dim spot had seen, but that the sun, 13 | 80 |
| A constellation off and more, had ta’en | |
| His progress in the zodiac underneath. | |
| Then by the spirit, that doth never leave | |
| Its amorous dalliance with my lady’s looks, | |
| Back with redoubled ardour were mine eyes | 85 |
| Led unto her: and from her radiant smiles, | |
| Whenas I turn’d me, pleasure so divine | |
| Did lighten on me, that whatever bait | |
| Or art or nature in the human flesh, | |
| Or in its limn’d resemblance, can combine | 90 |
| Through greedy eyes to take the soul withal, | |
| Were, to her beauty, nothing. Its boon influence | |
| From the fair nest of Leda 14 rapt me forth, | |
| And wafted on into the swiftest Heaven. | |
| What place for entrance Beatrice chose, | 95 |
| I may not say; so uniform was all, | |
| Liveliest and loftiest. She my secret wish | |
| Divined; and, with such gladness, that God’s love | |
| Seem’d from her visage shining, thus began: | |
| “Here is the goal, whence motion on his race | 100 |
| Starts: motionless the centre, and the rest | |
| All moved around. Except the soul divine. | |
| Place in this Heaven is none; the soul divine, | |
| Wherein the love, which ruleth o’er its orb, | |
| Is kindled, and the virtue, that it sheds: | 105 |
| One circle, light and love, enclasping it, | |
| As this doth clasp the others; and to Him, | |
| Who draws the bound, its limit only known. | |
| Measured itself by none, it doth divide | |
| Motion to all, counted unto them forth, | 110 |
| As by the fifth or half ye count forth ten. | |
| The vase, wherein time’s roots are plunged, thou seest: | |
| Look elsewhere for the leaves. O mortal lust! | |
| That canst not lift thy head above the waves | |
| Which whelm and sink thee down. The will in man | 115 |
| Bears goodly blossoms; but its ruddy promise | |
| Is, by the dripping of perpetual rain, | |
| Made mere abortion: faith and innocence | |
| Are met with but in babes; each taking leave, | |
| Ere cheeks with down are sprinkled: he, that fasts | 120 |
| While yet a stammerer, with his tongue let loose | |
| Gluts every food alike in every moon: | |
| One, yet a babbler, loves and listens to | |
| His mother; but no sooner hath free use | |
| Of speech, than he doth wish her in her grave. | 125 |
| So suddenly doth the fair child of him, | |
| Whose welcome is the morn and eve his parting, | |
| To negro blackness change her virgin white. | |
| “Thou, to abate thy wonder, note, that none | |
| Bears rule in earth; and its frail family | 130 |
| Are therefore wanderers. Yet before the date, | |
| When through the hundredth in his reckoning dropt, | |
| Pale January must be shoved aside | |
| From winter’s calendar, these heavenly spheres | |
| Shall roar so loud, that fortune shall be fain 15 | 135 |
| To turn the poop, where she hath now the prow; | |
| So that the fleet run onward: and true fruit, | |
| Expected long, shall crown at last the bloom.” | |
