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  • 1308-1321
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Propension now as eager to fulfil
Th’ 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 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,
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 loos’d, Why rocks the mountain and why ye rejoice. Vouchsafe, that from thy lips I next may learn, Who on the earth thou wast, and wherefore here So many an age wert prostrate.” –“In that time, When the good Titus, with Heav’n’s King to help, Aveng’d those piteous gashes, whence the blood By Judas sold did issue, with the name
Most lasting and most honour’d there was I Abundantly renown’d,” the shade reply’d, “Not yet with faith endued. So passing sweet My vocal Spirit, from Tolosa, Rome
To herself drew me, where I merited A myrtle garland to inwreathe my brow.
Statius they name me still. Of Thebes I sang, And next of great Achilles: but i’ th’ way Fell with the second burthen. Of my flame Those sparkles were the seeds, which I deriv’d From the bright fountain of celestial fire That feeds unnumber’d lamps, the song I mean Which sounds Aeneas’ wand’rings: that the breast I hung at, that the nurse, from whom my veins Drank inspiration: whose authority
Was ever sacred with me. To have liv’d 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, 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 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 emprize,” he cried, “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, Th’ other to silence binds me: whence a sigh I utter, and the sigh is heard. “Speak on; ” 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 On high, he is that Mantuan, led by whom Thou didst presume of men arid gods to sing. If other cause thou deem’dst for which I smil’d, Leave it as not the true one; and believe Those words, thou spak’st of him, indeed the cause.” Now down he bent t’ 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 prov’d The force and ardour of the love I bear thee, When I forget we are but things of air,
And as a substance treat an empty shade.”

CANTO XXII

Now we had left the angel, who had turn’d To the sixth circle our ascending step,
One gash from off my forehead raz’d: while they, Whose wishes tend to justice, shouted forth: “Blessed!” and ended with, “I thirst:” and I, More nimble than along the other straits, So journey’d, that, without the sense of toil, I follow’d upward the swift-footed shades; When Virgil thus began: “Let its pure flame From virtue flow, and love can never fail To warm another’s bosom’ so the light
Shine manifestly forth. Hence from that hour, When ‘mongst us in the purlieus of the deep, Came down the spirit of Aquinum’s hard,
Who told of thine affection, my good will Hath been for thee of quality as strong
As ever link’d itself to one not seen. Therefore these stairs will now seem short to me. But tell me: and if too secure I loose
The rein with a friend’s license, as a friend Forgive me, and speak now as with a friend: How chanc’d it covetous desire could find Place in that bosom, ‘midst such ample store Of wisdom, as thy zeal had treasur’d there?” First somewhat mov’d to laughter by his words, Statius replied: “Each syllable of thine Is a dear pledge of love. Things oft appear That minister false matters to our doubts, When their true causes are remov’d from sight. Thy question doth assure me, thou believ’st I was on earth a covetous man, perhaps
Because thou found’st me in that circle plac’d. Know then I was too wide of avarice:
And e’en for that excess, thousands of moons Have wax’d and wan’d upon my sufferings. And were it not that I with heedful care Noted where thou exclaim’st as if in ire With human nature, ‘Why, thou cursed thirst Of gold! dost not with juster measure guide The appetite of mortals?’ I had met
The fierce encounter of the voluble rock. Then was I ware that with too ample wing The hands may haste to lavishment, and turn’d, As from my other evil, so from this
In penitence. How many from their grave Shall with shorn locks arise, who living, aye And at life’s last extreme, of this offence, Through ignorance, did not repent. And know, The fault which lies direct from any sin In level opposition, here With that
Wastes its green rankness on one common heap. Therefore if I have been with those, who wail Their avarice, to cleanse me, through reverse Of their transgression, such hath been my lot.” To whom the sovran of the pastoral song: “While thou didst sing that cruel warfare wag’d By the twin sorrow of Jocasta’s womb,
From thy discourse with Clio there, it seems As faith had not been shine: without the which Good deeds suffice not. And if so, what sun Rose on thee, or what candle pierc’d the dark That thou didst after see to hoist the sail, And follow, where the fisherman had led?” He answering thus: “By thee conducted first, I enter’d the Parnassian grots, and quaff’d Of the clear spring; illumin’d first by thee Open’d mine eyes to God. Thou didst, as one, Who, journeying through the darkness, hears a light Behind, that profits not himself, but makes His followers wise, when thou exclaimedst, ‘Lo! A renovated world! Justice return’d!
Times of primeval innocence restor’d! And a new race descended from above!’
Poet and Christian both to thee I owed. That thou mayst mark more clearly what I trace, My hand shall stretch forth to inform the lines With livelier colouring. Soon o’er all the world, By messengers from heav’n, the true belief Teem’d now prolific, and that word of thine Accordant, to the new instructors chim’d. Induc’d by which agreement, I was wont
Resort to them; and soon their sanctity So won upon me, that, Domitian’s rage
Pursuing them, I mix’d my tears with theirs, And, while on earth I stay’d, still succour’d them; And their most righteous customs made me scorn All sects besides. Before I led the Greeks In tuneful fiction, to the streams of Thebes, I was baptiz’d; but secretly, through fear, Remain’d a Christian, and conform’d long time To Pagan rites. Five centuries and more, T for that lukewarmness was fain to pace Round the fourth circle. Thou then, who hast rais’d The covering, which did hide such blessing from me, Whilst much of this ascent is yet to climb, Say, if thou know, where our old Terence bides, Caecilius, Plautus, Varro: if condemn’d
They dwell, and in what province of the deep.” “These,” said my guide, “with Persius and myself, And others many more, are with that Greek, Of mortals, the most cherish’d by the Nine, In the first ward of darkness. There ofttimes We of that mount hold converse, on whose top For aye our nurses live. We have the bard Of Pella, and the Teian, Agatho,
Simonides, and many a Grecian else
Ingarlanded with laurel. Of thy train Antigone is there, Deiphile,
Argia, and as sorrowful as erst
Ismene, and who show’d Langia’s wave: Deidamia with her sisters there,
And blind Tiresias’ daughter, and the bride Sea-born of Peleus.” Either poet now
Was silent, and no longer by th’ ascent Or the steep walls obstructed, round them cast Inquiring eyes. Four handmaids of the day Had finish’d now their office, and the fifth Was at the chariot-beam, directing still Its balmy point aloof, when thus my guide: “Methinks, it well behooves us to the brink Bend the right shoulder’ circuiting the mount, As we have ever us’d.” So custom there
Was usher to the road, the which we chose Less doubtful, as that worthy shade complied. They on before me went; I sole pursued, List’ning their speech, that to my thoughts convey’d Mysterious lessons of sweet poesy.
But soon they ceas’d; for midway of the road A tree we found, with goodly fruitage hung, And pleasant to the smell: and as a fir
Upward from bough to bough less ample spreads, So downward this less ample spread, that none. Methinks, aloft may climb. Upon the side, That clos’d our path, a liquid crystal fell From the steep rock, and through the sprays above Stream’d showering. With associate step the bards Drew near the plant; and from amidst the leaves A voice was heard: “Ye shall be chary of me;” And after added: “Mary took more thought For joy and honour of the nuptial feast, Than for herself who answers now for you. The women of old Rome were satisfied
With water for their beverage. Daniel fed On pulse, and wisdom gain’d. The primal age Was beautiful as gold; and hunger then
Made acorns tasteful, thirst each rivulet Run nectar. Honey and locusts were the food, Whereon the Baptist in the wilderness
Fed, and that eminence of glory reach’d And greatness, which the’ Evangelist records.”

CANTO XXIII

On the green leaf mine eyes were fix’d, like his Who throws away his days in idle chase
Of the diminutive, when thus I heard The more than father warn me: “Son! our time Asks thriftier using. Linger not: away.” Thereat my face and steps at once I turn’d Toward the sages, by whose converse cheer’d I journey’d on, and felt no toil: and lo! A sound of weeping and a song: “My lips, O Lord!” and these so mingled, it gave birth To pleasure and to pain. “O Sire, belov’d! Say what is this I hear?” Thus I inquir’d. “Spirits,” said he, “who as they go, perchance, Their debt of duty pay.” As on their road The thoughtful pilgrims, overtaking some Not known unto them, turn to them, and look, But stay not; thus, approaching from behind With speedier motion, eyed us, as they pass’d, A crowd of spirits, silent and devout.
The eyes of each were dark and hollow: pale Their visage, and so lean withal, the bones Stood staring thro’ the skin. I do not think Thus dry and meagre Erisicthon show’d,
When pinc’ed by sharp-set famine to the quick. “Lo!” to myself I mus’d, “the race, who lost Jerusalem, when Mary with dire beak
Prey’d on her child.” The sockets seem’d as rings, From which the gems were drops. Who reads the name Of man upon his forehead, there the M
Had trac’d most plainly. Who would deem, that scent Of water and an apple, could have prov’d Powerful to generate such pining want,
Not knowing how it wrought? While now I stood Wond’ring what thus could waste them (for the cause Of their gaunt hollowness and scaly rind Appear’d not) lo! a spirit turn’d his eyes In their deep-sunken cell, and fasten’d then On me, then cried with vehemence aloud:
“What grace is this vouchsaf’d me?” By his looks I ne’er had recogniz’d him: but the voice Brought to my knowledge what his cheer conceal’d. Remembrance of his alter’d lineaments
Was kindled from that spark; and I agniz’d The visage of Forese. “Ah! respect
This wan and leprous wither’d skin,” thus he Suppliant implor’d, “this macerated flesh. Speak to me truly of thyself. And who
Are those twain spirits, that escort thee there? Be it not said thou Scorn’st to talk with me.” “That face of thine,” I answer’d him, “which dead I once bewail’d, disposes me not less
For weeping, when I see It thus transform’d. Say then, by Heav’n, what blasts ye thus? The whilst I wonder, ask not Speech from me: unapt
Is he to speak, whom other will employs. He thus: “The water and tee plant we pass’d, Virtue possesses, by th’ eternal will
Infus’d, the which so pines me. Every spirit, Whose song bewails his gluttony indulg’d Too grossly, here in hunger and in thirst Is purified. The odour, which the fruit, And spray, that showers upon the verdure, breathe, Inflames us with desire to feed and drink. Nor once alone encompassing our route
We come to add fresh fuel to the pain: Pain, said I? solace rather: for that will To the tree leads us, by which Christ was led To call Elias, joyful when he paid
Our ransom from his vein.” I answering thus: “Forese! from that day, in which the world For better life thou changedst, not five years Have circled. If the power of sinning more Were first concluded in thee, ere thou knew’st That kindly grief, which re-espouses us
To God, how hither art thou come so soon? I thought to find thee lower, there, where time Is recompense for time.” He straight replied: “To drink up the sweet wormwood of affliction I have been brought thus early by the tears Stream’d down my Nella’s cheeks. Her prayers devout, Her sighs have drawn me from the coast, where oft Expectance lingers, and have set me free From th’ other circles. In the sight of God So much the dearer is my widow priz’d,
She whom I lov’d so fondly, as she ranks More singly eminent for virtuous deeds.
The tract most barb’rous of Sardinia’s isle, Hath dames more chaste and modester by far Than that wherein I left her. O sweet brother! What wouldst thou have me say? A time to come Stands full within my view, to which this hour Shall not be counted of an ancient date, When from the pulpit shall be loudly warn’d Th’ unblushing dames of Florence, lest they bare Unkerchief’d bosoms to the common gaze.
What savage women hath the world e’er seen, What Saracens, for whom there needed scourge Of spiritual or other discipline,
To force them walk with cov’ring on their limbs! But did they see, the shameless ones, that Heav’n Wafts on swift wing toward them, while I speak, Their mouths were op’d for howling: they shall taste Of Borrow (unless foresight cheat me here) Or ere the cheek of him be cloth’d with down Who is now rock’d with lullaby asleep.
Ah! now, my brother, hide thyself no more, Thou seest how not I alone but all
Gaze, where thou veil’st the intercepted sun.” Whence I replied: “If thou recall to mind What we were once together, even yet
Remembrance of those days may grieve thee sore. That I forsook that life, was due to him Who there precedes me, some few evenings past, When she was round, who shines with sister lamp To his, that glisters yonder,” and I show’d The sun. “Tis he, who through profoundest night Of he true dead has brought me, with this flesh As true, that follows. From that gloom the aid Of his sure comfort drew me on to climb, And climbing wind along this mountain-steep, Which rectifies in you whate’er the world Made crooked and deprav’d I have his word, That he will bear me company as far
As till I come where Beatrice dwells: But there must leave me. Virgil is that spirit, Who thus hath promis’d,” and I pointed to him; “The other is that shade, for whom so late Your realm, as he arose, exulting shook
Through every pendent cliff and rocky bound.”

CANTO XXIV

Our journey was not slacken’d by our talk, Nor yet our talk by journeying. Still we spake, And urg’d our travel stoutly, like a ship When the wind sits astern. The shadowy forms, That seem’d things dead and dead again, drew in At their deep-delved orbs rare wonder of me, Perceiving I had life; and I my words
Continued, and thus spake; “He journeys up Perhaps more tardily then else he would, For others’ sake. But tell me, if thou know’st, Where is Piccarda? Tell me, if I see
Any of mark, among this multitude,
Who eye me thus.”–“My sister (she for whom, ‘Twixt beautiful and good I cannot say
Which name was fitter ) wears e’en now her crown, And triumphs in Olympus.” Saying this,
He added: “Since spare diet hath so worn Our semblance out, ‘t is lawful here to name Each one . This,” and his finger then he rais’d, “Is Buonaggiuna,–Buonaggiuna, he
Of Lucca: and that face beyond him, pierc’d Unto a leaner fineness than the rest,
Had keeping of the church: he was of Tours, And purges by wan abstinence away
Bolsena’s eels and cups of muscadel.” He show’d me many others, one by one, And all, as they were nam’d, seem’d well content; For no dark gesture I discern’d in any.
I saw through hunger Ubaldino grind His teeth on emptiness; and Boniface,
That wav’d the crozier o’er a num’rous flock. I saw the Marquis, who tad time erewhile To swill at Forli with less drought, yet so Was one ne’er sated. I howe’er, like him, That gazing ‘midst a crowd, singles out one, So singled him of Lucca; for methought
Was none amongst them took such note of me. Somewhat I heard him whisper of Gentucca: The sound was indistinct, and murmur’d there, Where justice, that so strips them, fix’d her sting. “Spirit!” said I, “it seems as thou wouldst fain Speak with me. Let me hear thee. Mutual wish To converse prompts, which let us both indulge.” He, answ’ring, straight began: “Woman is born, Whose brow no wimple shades yet, that shall make My city please thee, blame it as they may. Go then with this forewarning. If aught false My whisper too implied, th’ event shall tell But say, if of a truth I see the man
Of that new lay th’ inventor, which begins With ‘Ladies, ye that con the lore of love’.” To whom I thus: “Count of me but as one Who am the scribe of love; that, when he breathes, Take up my pen, and, as he dictates, write.” “Brother!” said he, “the hind’rance which once held The notary with Guittone and myself,
Short of that new and sweeter style I hear, Is now disclos’d. I see how ye your plumes Stretch, as th’ inditer guides them; which, no question, Ours did not. He that seeks a grace beyond, Sees not the distance parts one style from other.” And, as contented, here he held his peace. Like as the bird, that winter near the Nile, In squared regiment direct their course, Then stretch themselves in file for speedier flight; Thus all the tribe of spirits, as they turn’d Their visage, faster deaf, nimble alike
Through leanness and desire. And as a man, Tir’d With the motion of a trotting steed, Slacks pace, and stays behind his company, Till his o’erbreathed lungs keep temperate time; E’en so Forese let that holy crew
Proceed, behind them lingering at my side, And saying: “When shall I again behold thee?” “How long my life may last,” said I, “I know not; This know, how soon soever I return,
My wishes will before me have arriv’d. Sithence the place, where I am set to live, Is, day by day, more scoop’d of all its good, And dismal ruin seems to threaten it.”
“Go now,” he cried: “lo! he, whose guilt is most, Passes before my vision, dragg’d at heels Of an infuriate beast. Toward the vale,
Where guilt hath no redemption, on it speeds, Each step increasing swiftness on the last; Until a blow it strikes, that leaveth him A corse most vilely shatter’d. No long space Those wheels have yet to roll” (therewith his eyes Look’d up to heav’n) “ere thou shalt plainly see That which my words may not more plainly tell. I quit thee: time is precious here: I lose Too much, thus measuring my pace with shine.” As from a troop of well-rank’d chivalry One knight, more enterprising than the rest, Pricks forth at gallop, eager to display His prowess in the first encounter prov’d So parted he from us with lengthen’d strides, And left me on the way with those twain spirits, Who were such mighty marshals of the world. When he beyond us had so fled mine eyes No nearer reach’d him, than my thought his words, The branches of another fruit, thick hung, And blooming fresh, appear’d. E’en as our steps Turn’d thither, not far off it rose to view. Beneath it were a multitude, that rais’d Their hands, and shouted forth I know not What Unto the boughs; like greedy and fond brats, That beg, and answer none obtain from him, Of whom they beg; but more to draw them on, He at arm’s length the object of their wish Above them holds aloft, and hides it not. At length, as undeceiv’d they went their way: And we approach the tree, who vows and tears Sue to in vain, the mighty tree. “Pass on, And come not near. Stands higher up the wood, Whereof Eve tasted, and from it was ta’en ‘this plant.” Such sounds from midst the thickets came. Whence I, with either bard, close to the side That rose, pass’d forth beyond. “Remember,” next We heard, “those noblest creatures of the clouds, How they their twofold bosoms overgorg’d Oppos’d in fight to Theseus: call to mind The Hebrews, how effeminate they stoop’d To ease their thirst; whence Gideon’s ranks were thinn’d, As he to Midian march’d adown the hills.” Thus near one border coasting, still we heard The sins of gluttony, with woe erewhile
Reguerdon’d. Then along the lonely path, Once more at large, full thousand paces on We travel’d, each contemplative and mute. “Why pensive journey thus ye three alone?” Thus suddenly a voice exclaim’d: whereat I shook, as doth a scar’d and paltry beast; Then rais’d my head to look from whence it came. Was ne’er, in furnace, glass, or metal seen So bright and glowing red, as was the shape I now beheld. “If ye desire to mount,”
He cried, “here must ye turn. This way he goes, Who goes in quest of peace.” His countenance Had dazzled me; and to my guides I fac’d Backward, like one who walks, as sound directs. As when, to harbinger the dawn, springs up On freshen’d wing the air of May, and breathes Of fragrance, all impregn’d with herb and flowers, E’en such a wind I felt upon my front
Blow gently, and the moving of a wing Perceiv’d, that moving shed ambrosial smell; And then a voice: “Blessed are they, whom grace Doth so illume, that appetite in them
Exhaleth no inordinate desire,
Still hung’ring as the rule of temperance wills.”

CANTO XXV

It was an hour, when he who climbs, had need To walk uncrippled: for the sun had now
To Taurus the meridian circle left, And to the Scorpion left the night. As one That makes no pause, but presses on his road, Whate’er betide him, if some urgent need Impel: so enter’d we upon our way,
One before other; for, but singly, none That steep and narrow scale admits to climb. E’en as the young stork lifteth up his wing Through wish to fly, yet ventures not to quit The nest, and drops it; so in me desire
Of questioning my guide arose, and fell, Arriving even to the act, that marks
A man prepar’d for speech. Him all our haste Restrain’d not, but thus spake the sire belov’d: Fear not to speed the shaft, that on thy lip Stands trembling for its flight.” Encourag’d thus I straight began: “How there can leanness come, Where is no want of nourishment to feed?” “If thou,” he answer’d, “hadst remember’d thee, How Meleager with the wasting brand
Wasted alike, by equal fires consm’d, This would not trouble thee: and hadst thou thought, How in the mirror your reflected form
With mimic motion vibrates, what now seems Hard, had appear’d no harder than the pulp Of summer fruit mature. But that thy will In certainty may find its full repose,
Lo Statius here! on him I call, and pray That he would now be healer of thy wound.” “If in thy presence I unfold to him
The secrets of heaven’s vengeance, let me plead Thine own injunction, to exculpate me.”
So Statius answer’d, and forthwith began: “Attend my words, O son, and in thy mind Receive them: so shall they be light to clear The doubt thou offer’st. Blood, concocted well, Which by the thirsty veins is ne’er imbib’d, And rests as food superfluous, to be ta’en From the replenish’d table, in the heart Derives effectual virtue, that informs
The several human limbs, as being that, Which passes through the veins itself to make them. Yet more concocted it descends, where shame Forbids to mention: and from thence distils In natural vessel on another’s blood.
Then each unite together, one dispos’d T’ endure, to act the other, through meet frame Of its recipient mould: that being reach’d, It ‘gins to work, coagulating first;
Then vivifies what its own substance caus’d To bear. With animation now indued,
The active virtue (differing from a plant No further, than that this is on the way And at its limit that) continues yet
To operate, that now it moves, and feels, As sea sponge clinging to the rock: and there Assumes th’ organic powers its seed convey’d. ‘This is the period, son! at which the virtue, That from the generating heart proceeds, Is pliant and expansive; for each limb
Is in the heart by forgeful nature plann’d. How babe of animal becomes, remains
For thy consid’ring. At this point, more wise, Than thou hast err’d, making the soul disjoin’d From passive intellect, because he saw
No organ for the latter’s use assign’d. “Open thy bosom to the truth that comes. Know soon as in the embryo, to the brain, Articulation is complete, then turns
The primal Mover with a smile of joy On such great work of nature, and imbreathes New spirit replete with virtue, that what here Active it finds, to its own substance draws, And forms an individual soul, that lives, And feels, and bends reflective on itself. And that thou less mayst marvel at the word, Mark the sun’s heat, how that to wine doth change, Mix’d with the moisture filter’d through the vine. “When Lachesis hath spun the thread, the soul Takes with her both the human and divine, Memory, intelligence, and will, in act
Far keener than before, the other powers Inactive all and mute. No pause allow’d, In wond’rous sort self-moving, to one strand Of those, where the departed roam, she falls, Here learns her destin’d path. Soon as the place Receives her, round the plastic virtue beams, Distinct as in the living limbs before:
And as the air, when saturate with showers, The casual beam refracting, decks itself With many a hue; so here the ambient air Weareth that form, which influence of the soul Imprints on it; and like the flame, that where The fire moves, thither follows, so henceforth The new form on the spirit follows still: Hence hath it semblance, and is shadow call’d, With each sense even to the sight endued: Hence speech is ours, hence laughter, tears, and sighs Which thou mayst oft have witness’d on the mount Th’ obedient shadow fails not to present Whatever varying passion moves within us. And this the cause of what thou marvel’st at.” Now the last flexure of our way we reach’d, And to the right hand turning, other care Awaits us. Here the rocky precipice
Hurls forth redundant flames, and from the rim A blast upblown, with forcible rebuff
Driveth them back, sequester’d from its bound. Behoov’d us, one by one, along the side, That border’d on the void, to pass; and I Fear’d on one hand the fire, on th’ other fear’d Headlong to fall: when thus th’ instructor warn’d: “Strict rein must in this place direct the eyes. A little swerving and the way is lost.”
Then from the bosom of the burning mass, “O God of mercy!” heard I sung; and felt No less desire to turn. And when I saw
Spirits along the flame proceeding, I Between their footsteps and mine own was fain To share by turns my view. At the hymn’s close They shouted loud, “I do not know a man;” Then in low voice again took up the strain, Which once more ended, “To the wood,” they cried, “Ran Dian, and drave forth Callisto, stung With Cytherea’s poison:” then return’d
Unto their song; then marry a pair extoll’d, Who liv’d in virtue chastely, and the bands Of wedded love. Nor from that task, I ween, Surcease they; whilesoe’er the scorching fire Enclasps them. Of such skill appliance needs To medicine the wound, that healeth last.

CANTO XXVI

While singly thus along the rim we walk’d, Oft the good master warn’d me: “Look thou well. Avail it that I caution thee.” The sun
Now all the western clime irradiate chang’d From azure tinct to white; and, as I pass’d, My passing shadow made the umber’d flame Burn ruddier. At so strange a sight I mark’d That many a spirit marvel’d on his way.
This bred occasion first to speak of me, “He seems,” said they, “no insubstantial frame:” Then to obtain what certainty they might, Stretch’d towards me, careful not to overpass The burning pale. “O thou, who followest The others, haply not more slow than they, But mov’d by rev’rence, answer me, who burn In thirst and fire: nor I alone, but these All for thine answer do more thirst, than doth Indian or Aethiop for the cooling stream. Tell us, how is it that thou mak’st thyself A wall against the sun, as thou not yet
Into th’ inextricable toils of death Hadst enter’d?” Thus spake one, and I had straight Declar’d me, if attention had not turn’d To new appearance. Meeting these, there came, Midway the burning path, a crowd, on whom Earnestly gazing, from each part I view
The shadows all press forward, sev’rally Each snatch a hasty kiss, and then away. E’en so the emmets, ‘mid their dusky troops, Peer closely one at other, to spy out
Their mutual road perchance, and how they thrive. That friendly greeting parted, ere dispatch Of the first onward step, from either tribe Loud clamour rises: those, who newly come, Shout Sodom and Gomorrah!” these, “The cow Pasiphae enter’d, that the beast she woo’d Might rush unto her luxury.” Then as cranes, That part towards the Riphaean mountains fly, Part towards the Lybic sands, these to avoid The ice, and those the sun; so hasteth off One crowd, advances th’ other; and resume Their first song weeping, and their several shout. Again drew near my side the very same, Who had erewhile besought me, and their looks Mark’d eagerness to listen. I, who twice Their will had noted, spake: “O spirits secure, Whene’er the time may be, of peaceful end! My limbs, nor crude, nor in mature old age, Have I left yonder: here they bear me, fed With blood, and sinew-strung. That I no more May live in blindness, hence I tend aloft. There is a dame on high, who wind for us This grace, by which my mortal through your realm I bear. But may your utmost wish soon meet Such full fruition, that the orb of heaven, Fullest of love, and of most ample space, Receive you, as ye tell (upon my page
Henceforth to stand recorded) who ye are, And what this multitude, that at your backs Have past behind us.” As one, mountain-bred, Rugged and clownish, if some city’s walls He chance to enter, round him stares agape, Confounded and struck dumb; e’en such appear’d Each spirit. But when rid of that amaze, (Not long the inmate of a noble heart)
He, who before had question’d, thus resum’d: “O blessed, who, for death preparing, tak’st Experience of our limits, in thy bark!
Their crime, who not with us proceed, was that, For which, as he did triumph, Caesar heard The snout of ‘queen,’ to taunt him. Hence their cry Of ‘Sodom,’ as they parted, to rebuke
Themselves, and aid the burning by their shame. Our sinning was Hermaphrodite: but we,
Because the law of human kind we broke, Following like beasts our vile concupiscence, Hence parting from them, to our own disgrace Record the name of her, by whom the beast In bestial tire was acted. Now our deeds Thou know’st, and how we sinn’d. If thou by name Wouldst haply know us, time permits not now To tell so much, nor can I. Of myself
Learn what thou wishest. Guinicelli I, Who having truly sorrow’d ere my last,
Already cleanse me.” With such pious joy, As the two sons upon their mother gaz’d
From sad Lycurgus rescu’d, such my joy (Save that I more represt it) when I heard From his own lips the name of him pronounc’d, Who was a father to me, and to those
My betters, who have ever us’d the sweet And pleasant rhymes of love. So nought I heard Nor spake, but long time thoughtfully I went, Gazing on him; and, only for the fire,
Approach’d not nearer. When my eyes were fed By looking on him, with such solemn pledge, As forces credence, I devoted me
Unto his service wholly. In reply
He thus bespake me: “What from thee I hear Is grav’d so deeply on my mind, the waves Of Lethe shall not wash it off, nor make A whit less lively. But as now thy oath
Has seal’d the truth, declare what cause impels That love, which both thy looks and speech bewray.” “Those dulcet lays,” I answer’d, “which, as long As of our tongue the beauty does not fade, Shall make us love the very ink that trac’d them.” “Brother!” he cried, and pointed at a shade Before him, “there is one, whose mother speech Doth owe to him a fairer ornament.
He in love ditties and the tales of prose Without a rival stands, and lets the fools Talk on, who think the songster of Limoges O’ertops him. Rumour and the popular voice They look to more than truth, and so confirm Opinion, ere by art or reason taught.
Thus many of the elder time cried up Guittone, giving him the prize, till truth By strength of numbers vanquish’d. If thou own So ample privilege, as to have gain’d
Free entrance to the cloister, whereof Christ Is Abbot of the college, say to him
One paternoster for me, far as needs For dwellers in this world, where power to sin No longer tempts us.” Haply to make way
For one, that follow’d next, when that was said, He vanish’d through the fire, as through the wave A fish, that glances diving to the deep. I, to the spirit he had shown me, drew A little onward, and besought his name,
For which my heart, I said, kept gracious room. He frankly thus began: “Thy courtesy
So wins on me, I have nor power nor will To hide me. I am Arnault; and with songs, Sorely lamenting for my folly past,
Thorough this ford of fire I wade, and see The day, I hope for, smiling in my view. I pray ye by the worth that guides ye up Unto the summit of the scale, in time
Remember ye my suff’rings.” With such words He disappear’d in the refining flame.

CANTO XXVII

Now was the sun so station’d, as when first His early radiance quivers on the heights, Where stream’d his Maker’s blood, while Libra hangs Above Hesperian Ebro, and new fires
Meridian flash on Ganges’ yellow tide. So day was sinking, when the’ angel of God Appear’d before us. Joy was in his mien. Forth of the flame he stood upon the brink, And with a voice, whose lively clearness far Surpass’d our human, “Blessed are the pure In heart,” he Sang: then near him as we came, “Go ye not further, holy spirits!” he cried, “Ere the fire pierce you: enter in; and list Attentive to the song ye hear from thence.” I, when I heard his saying, was as one Laid in the grave. My hands together clasp’d, And upward stretching, on the fire I look’d, And busy fancy conjur’d up the forms
Erewhile beheld alive consum’d in flames. Th’ escorting spirits turn’d with gentle looks Toward me, and the Mantuan spake: “My son, Here torment thou mayst feel, but canst not death. Remember thee, remember thee, if I
Safe e’en on Geryon brought thee: now I come More near to God, wilt thou not trust me now? Of this be sure: though in its womb that flame A thousand years contain’d thee, from thy head No hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth, Approach, and with thy hands thy vesture’s hem Stretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief. Lay now all fear, O lay all fear aside.
Turn hither, and come onward undismay’d.” I still, though conscience urg’d’ no step advanc’d. When still he saw me fix’d and obstinate, Somewhat disturb’d he cried: “Mark now, my son, From Beatrice thou art by this wall
Divided.” As at Thisbe’s name the eye Of Pyramus was open’d (when life ebb’d
Fast from his veins), and took one parting glance, While vermeil dyed the mulberry; thus I turn’d To my sage guide, relenting, when I heard The name, that springs forever in my breast. He shook his forehead; and, “How long,” he said, “Linger we now?” then smil’d, as one would smile Upon a child, that eyes the fruit and yields. Into the fire before me then he walk’d;
And Statius, who erewhile no little space Had parted us, he pray’d to come behind. I would have cast me into molten glass To cool me, when I enter’d; so intense
Rag’d the conflagrant mass. The sire belov’d, To comfort me, as he proceeded, still
Of Beatrice talk’d. “Her eyes,” saith he, “E’en now I seem to view.” From the other side A voice, that sang, did guide us, and the voice Following, with heedful ear, we issued forth, There where the path led upward. “Come,” we heard, “Come, blessed of my Father.” Such the sounds, That hail’d us from within a light, which shone So radiant, I could not endure the view. “The sun,” it added, “hastes: and evening comes. Delay not: ere the western sky is hung
With blackness, strive ye for the pass.” Our way Upright within the rock arose, and fac’d Such part of heav’n, that from before my steps The beams were shrouded of the sinking sun. Nor many stairs were overpass, when now By fading of the shadow we perceiv’d
The sun behind us couch’d: and ere one face Of darkness o’er its measureless expanse Involv’d th’ horizon, and the night her lot Held individual, each of us had made
A stair his pallet: not that will, but power, Had fail’d us, by the nature of that mount Forbidden further travel. As the goats,
That late have skipp’d and wanton’d rapidly Upon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta’en Their supper on the herb, now silent lie And ruminate beneath the umbrage brown,
While noonday rages; and the goatherd leans Upon his staff, and leaning watches them: And as the swain, that lodges out all night In quiet by his flock, lest beast of prey Disperse them; even so all three abode,
I as a goat and as the shepherds they, Close pent on either side by shelving rock. A little glimpse of sky was seen above; Yet by that little I beheld the stars
In magnitude and rustle shining forth With more than wonted glory. As I lay,
Gazing on them, and in that fit of musing, Sleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oft Tidings of future hap. About the hour,
As I believe, when Venus from the east First lighten’d on the mountain, she whose orb Seems always glowing with the fire of love, A lady young and beautiful, I dream’d,
Was passing o’er a lea; and, as she came, Methought I saw her ever and anon
Bending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang: “Know ye, whoever of my name would ask,
That I am Leah: for my brow to weave A garland, these fair hands unwearied ply. To please me at the crystal mirror, here I deck me. But my sister Rachel, she
Before her glass abides the livelong day, Her radiant eyes beholding, charm’d no less, Than I with this delightful task. Her joy In contemplation, as in labour mine.”
And now as glimm’ring dawn appear’d, that breaks More welcome to the pilgrim still, as he Sojourns less distant on his homeward way, Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fled My slumber; whence I rose and saw my guide Already risen. “That delicious fruit,
Which through so many a branch the zealous care Of mortals roams in quest of, shall this day Appease thy hunger.” Such the words I heard From Virgil’s lip; and never greeting heard So pleasant as the sounds. Within me straight Desire so grew upon desire to mount,
Thenceforward at each step I felt the wings Increasing for my flight. When we had run O’er all the ladder to its topmost round, As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fix’d His eyes, and thus he spake: “Both fires, my son, The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen, And art arriv’d, where of itself my ken
No further reaches. I with skill and art Thus far have drawn thee. Now thy pleasure take For guide. Thou hast o’ercome the steeper way, O’ercome the straighter. Lo! the sun, that darts His beam upon thy forehead! lo! the herb, The arboreta and flowers, which of itself This land pours forth profuse! Till those bright eyes With gladness come, which, weeping, made me haste To succour thee, thou mayst or seat thee down, Or wander where thou wilt. Expect no more Sanction of warning voice or sign from me, Free of thy own arbitrement to choose,
Discreet, judicious. To distrust thy sense Were henceforth error. I invest thee then With crown and mitre, sovereign o’er thyself.”

CANTO XXVIII

Through that celestial forest, whose thick shade With lively greenness the new-springing day Attemper’d, eager now to roam, and search Its limits round, forthwith I left the bank, Along the champain leisurely my way
Pursuing, o’er the ground, that on all sides Delicious odour breath’d. A pleasant air, That intermitted never, never veer’d,
Smote on my temples, gently, as a wind Of softest influence: at which the sprays, Obedient all, lean’d trembling to that part Where first the holy mountain casts his shade, Yet were not so disorder’d, but that still Upon their top the feather’d quiristers
Applied their wonted art, and with full joy Welcom’d those hours of prime, and warbled shrill Amid the leaves, that to their jocund lays inept tenor; even as from branch to branch, Along the piney forests on the shore
Of Chiassi, rolls the gath’ring melody, When Eolus hath from his cavern loos’d
The dripping south. Already had my steps, Though slow, so far into that ancient wood Transported me, I could not ken the place Where I had enter’d, when behold! my path Was bounded by a rill, which to the left With little rippling waters bent the grass, That issued from its brink. On earth no wave How clean soe’er, that would not seem to have Some mixture in itself, compar’d with this, Transpicuous, clear; yet darkly on it roll’d, Darkly beneath perpetual gloom, which ne’er Admits or sun or moon light there to shine. My feet advanc’d not; but my wond’ring eyes Pass’d onward, o’er the streamlet, to survey The tender May-bloom, flush’d through many a hue, In prodigal variety: and there,
As object, rising suddenly to view, That from our bosom every thought beside With the rare marvel chases, I beheld
A lady all alone, who, singing, went, And culling flower from flower, wherewith her way Was all o’er painted. “Lady beautiful!
Thou, who (if looks, that use to speak the heart, Are worthy of our trust), with love’s own beam Dost warm thee,” thus to her my speech I fram’d: “Ah! please thee hither towards the streamlet bend Thy steps so near, that I may list thy song. Beholding thee and this fair place, methinks, I call to mind where wander’d and how look’d Proserpine, in that season, when her child The mother lost, and she the bloomy spring.” As when a lady, turning in the dance, Doth foot it featly, and advances scarce One step before the other to the ground; Over the yellow and vermilion flowers
Thus turn’d she at my suit, most maiden-like, Valing her sober eyes, and came so near, That I distinctly caught the dulcet sound. Arriving where the limped waters now
Lav’d the green sward, her eyes she deign’d to raise, That shot such splendour on me, as I ween Ne’er glanced from Cytherea’s, when her son Had sped his keenest weapon to her heart. Upon the opposite bank she stood and smil’d through her graceful fingers shifted still The intermingling dyes, which without seed That lofty land unbosoms. By the stream
Three paces only were we sunder’d: yet The Hellespont, where Xerxes pass’d it o’er, (A curb for ever to the pride of man)
Was by Leander not more hateful held For floating, with inhospitable wave
‘Twixt Sestus and Abydos, than by me That flood, because it gave no passage thence. “Strangers ye come, and haply in this place, That cradled human nature in its birth,
Wond’ring, ye not without suspicion view My smiles: but that sweet strain of psalmody, ‘Thou, Lord! hast made me glad,’ will give ye light, Which may uncloud your minds. And thou, who stand’st The foremost, and didst make thy suit to me, Say if aught else thou wish to hear: for I Came prompt to answer every doubt of thine.” She spake; and I replied: “l know not how To reconcile this wave and rustling sound Of forest leaves, with what I late have heard Of opposite report.” She answering thus: “I will unfold the cause, whence that proceeds, Which makes thee wonder; and so purge the cloud That hath enwraps thee. The First Good, whose joy Is only in himself, created man
For happiness, and gave this goodly place, His pledge and earnest of eternal peace. Favour’d thus highly, through his own defect He fell, and here made short sojourn; he fell, And, for the bitterness of sorrow, chang’d Laughter unblam’d and ever-new delight.
That vapours none, exhal’d from earth beneath, Or from the waters (which, wherever heat Attracts them, follow), might ascend thus far To vex man’s peaceful state, this mountain rose So high toward the heav’n, nor fears the rage 0f elements contending, from that part
Exempted, where the gate his limit bars. Because the circumambient air throughout With its first impulse circles still, unless Aught interpose to cheek or thwart its course; Upon the summit, which on every side
To visitation of th’ impassive air
Is open, doth that motion strike, and makes Beneath its sway th’ umbrageous wood resound: And in the shaken plant such power resides, That it impregnates with its efficacy
The voyaging breeze, upon whose subtle plume That wafted flies abroad; and th’ other land Receiving (as ‘t is worthy in itself,
Or in the clime, that warms it), doth conceive, And from its womb produces many a tree
Of various virtue. This when thou hast heard, The marvel ceases, if in yonder earth
Some plant without apparent seed be found To fix its fibrous stem. And further learn, That with prolific foison of all seeds,
This holy plain is fill’d, and in itself Bears fruit that ne’er was pluck’d on other soil. “The water, thou behold’st, springs not from vein, As stream, that intermittently repairs
And spends his pulse of life, but issues forth From fountain, solid, undecaying, sure;
And by the will omnific, full supply Feeds whatsoe’er On either side it pours; On this devolv’d with power to take away Remembrance of offence, on that to bring Remembrance back of every good deed done. From whence its name of Lethe on this part; On th’ other Eunoe: both of which must first Be tasted ere it work; the last exceeding All flavours else. Albeit thy thirst may now Be well contented, if I here break off,
No more revealing: yet a corollary
I freely give beside: nor deem my words Less grateful to thee, if they somewhat pass The stretch of promise. They, whose verse of yore The golden age recorded and its bliss,
On the Parnassian mountain, of this place Perhaps had dream’d. Here was man guiltless, here Perpetual spring and every fruit, and this The far-fam’d nectar.” Turning to the bards, When she had ceas’d, I noted in their looks A smile at her conclusion; then my face
Again directed to the lovely dame.

CANTO XXIX

Singing, as if enamour’d, she resum’d And clos’d the song, with “Blessed they whose sins Are cover’d.” Like the wood-nymphs then, that tripp’d Singly across the sylvan shadows, one
Eager to view and one to ‘scape the sun, So mov’d she on, against the current, up The verdant rivage. I, her mincing step
Observing, with as tardy step pursued. Between us not an hundred paces trod, The bank, on each side bending equally,
Gave me to face the orient. Nor our way Far onward brought us, when to me at once She turn’d, and cried: “My brother! look and hearken.” And lo! a sudden lustre ran across
Through the great forest on all parts, so bright I doubted whether lightning were abroad; But that expiring ever in the spleen,
That doth unfold it, and this during still And waxing still in splendor, made me question What it might be: and a sweet melody
Ran through the luminous air. Then did I chide With warrantable zeal the hardihood
Of our first parent, for that there were earth Stood in obedience to the heav’ns, she only, Woman, the creature of an hour, endur’d not Restraint of any veil: which had she borne Devoutly, joys, ineffable as these,
Had from the first, and long time since, been mine. While through that wilderness of primy sweets That never fade, suspense I walk’d, and yet Expectant of beatitude more high,
Before us, like a blazing fire, the air Under the green boughs glow’d; and, for a song, Distinct the sound of melody was heard.
O ye thrice holy virgins! for your sakes If e’er I suffer’d hunger, cold and watching, Occasion calls on me to crave your bounty. Now through my breast let Helicon his stream Pour copious; and Urania with her choir
Arise to aid me: while the verse unfolds Things that do almost mock the grasp of thought. Onward a space, what seem’d seven trees of gold, The intervening distance to mine eye
Falsely presented; but when I was come So near them, that no lineament was lost Of those, with which a doubtful object, seen Remotely, plays on the misdeeming sense, Then did the faculty, that ministers
Discourse to reason, these for tapers of gold Distinguish, and it th’ singing trace the sound “Hosanna.” Above, their beauteous garniture Flam’d with more ample lustre, than the moon Through cloudless sky at midnight in her full. I turn’d me full of wonder to my guide; And he did answer with a countenance
Charg’d with no less amazement: whence my view Reverted to those lofty things, which came So slowly moving towards us, that the bride Would have outstript them on her bridal day. The lady called aloud: “Why thus yet burns Affection in thee for these living, lights, And dost not look on that which follows them?” I straightway mark’d a tribe behind them walk, As if attendant on their leaders, cloth’d With raiment of such whiteness, as on earth Was never. On my left, the wat’ry gleam
Borrow’d, and gave me back, when there I look’d. As in a mirror, my left side portray’d.
When I had chosen on the river’s edge Such station, that the distance of the stream Alone did separate me; there I stay’d
My steps for clearer prospect, and beheld The flames go onward, leaving, as they went, The air behind them painted as with trail Of liveliest pencils! so distinct were mark’d All those sev’n listed colours, whence the sun Maketh his bow, and Cynthia her zone.
These streaming gonfalons did flow beyond My vision; and ten paces, as I guess,
Parted the outermost. Beneath a sky So beautiful, came foul and-twenty elders, By two and two, with flower-de-luces crown’d. All sang one song: “Blessed be thou among The daughters of Adam! and thy loveliness Blessed for ever!” After that the flowers, And the fresh herblets, on the opposite brink, Were free from that elected race; as light In heav’n doth second light, came after them Four animals, each crown’d with verdurous leaf. With six wings each was plum’d, the plumage full Of eyes, and th’ eyes of Argus would be such, Were they endued with life. Reader, more rhymes Will not waste in shadowing forth their form: For other need no straitens, that in this I may not give my bounty room. But read
Ezekiel; for he paints them, from the north How he beheld them come by Chebar’s flood, In whirlwind, cloud and fire; and even such As thou shalt find them character’d by him, Here were they; save as to the pennons; there, From him departing, John accords with me. The space, surrounded by the four, enclos’d A car triumphal: on two wheels it came
Drawn at a Gryphon’s neck; and he above Stretch’d either wing uplifted, ‘tween the midst And the three listed hues, on each side three; So that the wings did cleave or injure none; And out of sight they rose. The members, far As he was bird, were golden; white the rest With vermeil intervein’d. So beautiful
A car in Rome ne’er grac’d Augustus pomp, Or Africanus’: e’en the sun’s itself
Were poor to this, that chariot of the sun Erroneous, which in blazing ruin fell
At Tellus’ pray’r devout, by the just doom Mysterious of all-seeing Jove. Three nymphs ,k the right wheel, came circling in smooth dance; The one so ruddy, that her form had scarce Been known within a furnace of clear flame: The next did look, as if the flesh and bones Were emerald: snow new-fallen seem’d the third. Now seem’d the white to lead, the ruddy now; And from her song who led, the others took Their treasure, swift or slow. At th’ other wheel, A band quaternion, each in purple clad,
Advanc’d with festal step, as of them one The rest conducted, one, upon whose front Three eyes were seen. In rear of all this group, Two old men I beheld, dissimilar
In raiment, but in port and gesture like, Solid and mainly grave; of whom the one
Did show himself some favour’d counsellor Of the great Coan, him, whom nature made To serve the costliest creature of her tribe. His fellow mark’d an opposite intent,
Bearing a sword, whose glitterance and keen edge, E’en as I view’d it with the flood between, Appall’d me. Next four others I beheld,
Of humble seeming: and, behind them all, One single old man, sleeping, as he came, With a shrewd visage. And these seven, each Like the first troop were habited, hut wore No braid of lilies on their temples wreath’d. Rather with roses and each vermeil flower, A sight, but little distant, might have sworn, That they were all on fire above their brow. Whenas the car was o’er against me, straight. Was heard a thund’ring, at whose voice it seem’d The chosen multitude were stay’d; for there, With the first ensigns, made they solemn halt.

CANTO XXX

Soon as the polar light, which never knows Setting nor rising, nor the shadowy veil Of other cloud than sin, fair ornament
Of the first heav’n, to duty each one there Safely convoying, as that lower doth
The steersman to his port, stood firmly fix’d; Forthwith the saintly tribe, who in the van Between the Gryphon and its radiance came, Did turn them to the car, as to their rest: And one, as if commission’d from above,
In holy chant thrice shorted forth aloud: “Come, spouse, from Libanus!” and all the rest Took up the song–At the last audit so
The blest shall rise, from forth his cavern each Uplifting lightly his new-vested flesh,
As, on the sacred litter, at the voice Authoritative of that elder, sprang
A hundred ministers and messengers
Of life eternal. “Blessed thou! who com’st!” And, “O,” they cried, “from full hands scatter ye Unwith’ring lilies;” and, so saying, cast Flowers over head and round them on all sides. I have beheld, ere now, at break of day, The eastern clime all roseate, and the sky Oppos’d, one deep and beautiful serene,
And the sun’s face so shaded, and with mists Attemper’d at lids rising, that the eye
Long while endur’d the sight: thus in a cloud Of flowers, that from those hands angelic rose, And down, within and outside of the car, Fell showering, in white veil with olive wreath’d, A virgin in my view appear’d, beneath
Green mantle, rob’d in hue of living flame: And o’er my Spirit, that in former days
Within her presence had abode so long, No shudd’ring terror crept. Mine eyes no more Had knowledge of her; yet there mov’d from her A hidden virtue, at whose touch awak’d,
The power of ancient love was strong within me. No sooner on my vision streaming, smote The heav’nly influence, which years past, and e’en In childhood, thrill’d me, than towards Virgil I Turn’d me to leftward, panting, like a babe, That flees for refuge to his mother’s breast, If aught have terrified or work’d him woe: And would have cried: “There is no dram of blood, That doth not quiver in me. The old flame Throws out clear tokens of reviving fire:” But Virgil had bereav’d us of himself,
Virgil, my best-lov’d father; Virgil, he To whom I gave me up for safety: nor,
All, our prime mother lost, avail’d to save My undew’d cheeks from blur of soiling tears. “Dante, weep not, that Virgil leaves thee: nay, Weep thou not yet: behooves thee feel the edge Of other sword, and thou shalt weep for that.” As to the prow or stern, some admiral Paces the deck, inspiriting his crew,
When ‘mid the sail-yards all hands ply aloof; Thus on the left side of the car I saw,
(Turning me at the sound of mine own name, Which here I am compell’d to register)
The virgin station’d, who before appeared Veil’d in that festive shower angelical. Towards me, across the stream, she bent her eyes; Though from her brow the veil descending, bound With foliage of Minerva, suffer’d not
That I beheld her clearly; then with act Full royal, still insulting o’er her thrall, Added, as one, who speaking keepeth back The bitterest saying, to conclude the speech: “Observe me well. I am, in sooth, I am
Beatrice. What! and hast thou deign’d at last Approach the mountain? knewest not, O man! Thy happiness is whole?” Down fell mine eyes On the clear fount, but there, myself espying, Recoil’d, and sought the greensward: such a weight Of shame was on my forehead. With a mien Of that stern majesty, which doth surround mother’s presence to her awe-struck child, She look’d; a flavour of such bitterness Was mingled in her pity. There her words Brake off, and suddenly the angels sang: “In thee, O gracious Lord, my hope hath been:” But went no farther than, “Thou Lord, hast set My feet in ample room.” As snow, that lies Amidst the living rafters on the back
Of Italy congeal’d when drifted high And closely pil’d by rough Sclavonian blasts, Breathe but the land whereon no shadow falls, And straightway melting it distils away, Like a fire-wasted taper: thus was I,
Without a sigh or tear, or ever these Did sing, that with the chiming of heav’n’s sphere, Still in their warbling chime: but when the strain Of dulcet symphony, express’d for me
Their soft compassion, more than could the words “Virgin, why so consum’st him?” then the ice, Congeal’d about my bosom, turn’d itself
To spirit and water, and with anguish forth Gush’d through the lips and eyelids from the heart. Upon the chariot’s right edge still she stood, Immovable, and thus address’d her words
To those bright semblances with pity touch’d: “Ye in th’ eternal day your vigils keep, So that nor night nor slumber, with close stealth, Conveys from you a single step in all
The goings on of life: thence with more heed I shape mine answer, for his ear intended, Who there stands weeping, that the sorrow now May equal the transgression. Not alone
Through operation of the mighty orbs, That mark each seed to some predestin’d aim, As with aspect or fortunate or ill
The constellations meet, but through benign Largess of heav’nly graces, which rain down From such a height, as mocks our vision, this man Was in the freshness of his being, such, So gifted virtually, that in him
All better habits wond’rously had thriv’d. The more of kindly strength is in the soil, So much doth evil seed and lack of culture Mar it the more, and make it run to wildness. These looks sometime upheld him; for I show’d My youthful eyes, and led him by their light In upright walking. Soon as I had reach’d The threshold of my second age, and chang’d My mortal for immortal, then he left me, And gave himself to others. When from flesh To spirit I had risen, and increase
Of beauty and of virtue circled me, I was less dear to him, and valued less. His steps were turn’d into deceitful ways, Following false images of good, that make No promise perfect. Nor avail’d me aught To sue for inspirations, with the which, I, both in dreams of night, and otherwise, Did call him back; of them so little reck’d him, Such depth he fell, that all device was short Of his preserving, save that he should view The children of perdition. To this end
I visited the purlieus of the dead: And one, who hath conducted him thus high, Receiv’d my supplications urg’d with weeping. It were a breaking of God’s high decree, If Lethe should be past, and such food tasted Without the cost of some repentant tear.”

CANTO XXXI

“O Thou!” her words she thus without delay Resuming, turn’d their point on me, to whom They but with lateral edge seem’d harsh before, ‘Say thou, who stand’st beyond the holy stream, If this be true. A charge so grievous needs Thine own avowal.” On my faculty
Such strange amazement hung, the voice expir’d Imperfect, ere its organs gave it birth. A little space refraining, then she spake: “What dost thou muse on? Answer me. The wave On thy remembrances of evil yet
Hath done no injury.” A mingled sense Of fear and of confusion, from my lips
Did such a “Yea ” produce, as needed help Of vision to interpret. As when breaks
In act to be discharg’d, a cross-bow bent Beyond its pitch, both nerve and bow o’erstretch’d, The flagging weapon feebly hits the mark; Thus, tears and sighs forth gushing, did I burst Beneath the heavy load, and thus my voice Was slacken’d on its way. She straight began: “When my desire invited thee to love
The good, which sets a bound to our aspirings, What bar of thwarting foss or linked chain Did meet thee, that thou so should’st quit the hope Of further progress, or what bait of ease Or promise of allurement led thee on
Elsewhere, that thou elsewhere should’st rather wait?” A bitter sigh I drew, then scarce found voice To answer, hardly to these sounds my lips Gave utterance, wailing: “Thy fair looks withdrawn, Things present, with deceitful pleasures, turn’d My steps aside.” She answering spake: “Hadst thou Been silent, or denied what thou avow’st, Thou hadst not hid thy sin the more: such eye Observes it. But whene’er the sinner’s cheek Breaks forth into the precious-streaming tears Of self-accusing, in our court the wheel Of justice doth run counter to the edge. Howe’er that thou may’st profit by thy shame For errors past, and that henceforth more strength May arm thee, when thou hear’st the Siren-voice, Lay thou aside the motive to this grief, And lend attentive ear, while I unfold
How opposite a way my buried flesh
Should have impell’d thee. Never didst thou spy In art or nature aught so passing sweet, As were the limbs, that in their beauteous frame Enclos’d me, and are scatter’d now in dust. If sweetest thing thus fail’d thee with my death, What, afterward, of mortal should thy wish Have tempted? When thou first hadst felt the dart Of perishable things, in my departing
For better realms, thy wing thou should’st have prun’d To follow me, and never stoop’d again
To ‘bide a second blow for a slight girl, Or other gaud as transient and as vain.
The new and inexperienc’d bird awaits, Twice it may be, or thrice, the fowler’s aim; But in the sight of one, whose plumes are full, In vain the net is spread, the arrow wing’d.” I stood, as children silent and asham’d Stand, list’ning, with their eyes upon the earth, Acknowledging their fault and self-condemn’d. And she resum’d: “If, but to hear thus pains thee, Raise thou thy beard, and lo! what sight shall do!” With less reluctance yields a sturdy holm, Rent from its fibers by a blast, that blows From off the pole, or from Iarbas’ land, Than I at her behest my visage rais’d:
And thus the face denoting by the beard, I mark’d the secret sting her words convey’d. No sooner lifted I mine aspect up,
Than downward sunk that vision I beheld Of goodly creatures vanish; and mine eyes Yet unassur’d and wavering, bent their light On Beatrice. Towards the animal,
Who joins two natures in one form, she turn’d, And, even under shadow of her veil,
And parted by the verdant rill, that flow’d Between, in loveliness appear’d as much
Her former self surpassing, as on earth All others she surpass’d. Remorseful goads Shot sudden through me. Each thing else, the more Its love had late beguil’d me, now the more I Was loathsome. On my heart so keenly smote The bitter consciousness, that on the ground O’erpower’d I fell: and what my state was then, She knows who was the cause. When now my strength Flow’d back, returning outward from the heart, The lady, whom alone I first had seen,
I found above me. “Loose me not,” she cried: “Loose not thy hold;” and lo! had dragg’d me high As to my neck into the stream, while she, Still as she drew me after, swept along, Swift as a shuttle, bounding o’er the wave. The blessed shore approaching then was heard So sweetly, “Tu asperges me,” that I
May not remember, much less tell the sound. The beauteous dame, her arms expanding, clasp’d My temples, and immerg’d me, where ‘t was fit The wave should drench me: and thence raising up, Within the fourfold dance of lovely nymphs Presented me so lav’d, and with their arm They each did cover me. “Here are we nymphs, And in the heav’n are stars. Or ever earth Was visited of Beatrice, we
Appointed for her handmaids, tended on her. We to her eyes will lead thee; but the light Of gladness that is in them, well to scan, Those yonder three, of deeper ken than ours, Thy sight shall quicken.” Thus began their song; And then they led me to the Gryphon’s breast, While, turn’d toward us, Beatrice stood. “Spare not thy vision. We have stationed thee Before the emeralds, whence love erewhile Hath drawn his weapons on thee. “As they spake, A thousand fervent wishes riveted
Mine eyes upon her beaming eyes, that stood Still fix’d toward the Gryphon motionless. As the sun strikes a mirror, even thus
Within those orbs the twofold being, shone, For ever varying, in one figure now
Reflected, now in other. Reader! muse How wond’rous in my sight it seem’d to mark A thing, albeit steadfast in itself,
Yet in its imag’d semblance mutable. Full of amaze, and joyous, while my soul Fed on the viand, whereof still desire
Grows with satiety, the other three With gesture, that declar’d a loftier line, Advanc’d: to their own carol on they came Dancing in festive ring angelical.
“Turn, Beatrice!” was their song: “O turn Thy saintly sight on this thy faithful one, Who to behold thee many a wearisome pace Hath measur’d. Gracious at our pray’r vouchsafe Unveil to him thy cheeks: that he may mark Thy second beauty, now conceal’d.” O splendour! O sacred light eternal! who is he
So pale with musing in Pierian shades, Or with that fount so lavishly imbued,
Whose spirit should not fail him in th’ essay To represent thee such as thou didst seem, When under cope of the still-chiming heaven Thou gav’st to open air thy charms reveal’d.

CANTO XXXII

Mine eyes with such an eager coveting, Were bent to rid them of their ten years’ thirst, No other sense was waking: and e’en they Were fenc’d on either side from heed of aught; So tangled in its custom’d toils that smile Of saintly brightness drew me to itself, When forcibly toward the left my sight
The sacred virgins turn’d; for from their lips I heard the warning sounds: “Too fix’d a gaze!” Awhile my vision labor’d; as when late Upon the’ o’erstrained eyes the sun hath smote: But soon to lesser object, as the view
Was now recover’d (lesser in respect To that excess of sensible, whence late
I had perforce been sunder’d) on their right I mark’d that glorious army wheel, and turn, Against the sun and sev’nfold lights, their front. As when, their bucklers for protection rais’d, A well-rang’d troop, with portly banners curl’d, Wheel circling, ere the whole can change their ground: E’en thus the goodly regiment of heav’n
Proceeding, all did pass us, ere the car Had slop’d his beam. Attendant at the wheels The damsels turn’d; and on the Gryphon mov’d The sacred burden, with a pace so smooth, No feather on him trembled. The fair dame Who through the wave had drawn me, companied By Statius and myself, pursued the wheel, Whose orbit, rolling, mark’d a lesser arch. Through the high wood, now void (the more her blame, Who by the serpent was beguil’d) I past
With step in cadence to the harmony Angelic. Onward had we mov’d, as far
Perchance as arrow at three several flights Full wing’d had sped, when from her station down Descended Beatrice. With one voice
All murmur’d “Adam,” circling next a plant Despoil’d of flowers and leaf on every bough. Its tresses, spreading more as more they rose, Were such, as ‘midst their forest wilds for height The Indians might have gaz’d at. “Blessed thou! Gryphon, whose beak hath never pluck’d that tree Pleasant to taste: for hence the appetite Was warp’d to evil.” Round the stately trunk Thus shouted forth the rest, to whom return’d The animal twice-gender’d: “Yea: for so
The generation of the just are sav’d.” And turning to the chariot-pole, to foot He drew it of the widow’d branch, and bound There left unto the stock whereon it grew. As when large floods of radiance from above Stream, with that radiance mingled, which ascends Next after setting of the scaly sign,
Our plants then burgeon, and each wears anew His wonted colours, ere the sun have yok’d Beneath another star his flamy steeds;
Thus putting forth a hue, more faint than rose, And deeper than the violet, was renew’d
The plant, erewhile in all its branches bare. Unearthly was the hymn, which then arose. I understood it not, nor to the end
Endur’d the harmony. Had I the skill To pencil forth, how clos’d th’ unpitying eyes Slumb’ring, when Syrinx warbled, (eyes that paid So dearly for their watching,) then like painter, That with a model paints, I might design The manner of my falling into sleep.
But feign who will the slumber cunningly; I pass it by to when I wak’d, and tell
How suddenly a flash of splendour rent The curtain of my sleep, and one cries out: “Arise, what dost thou?” As the chosen three, On Tabor’s mount, admitted to behold
The blossoming of that fair tree, whose fruit Is coveted of angels, and doth make
Perpetual feast in heaven, to themselves Returning at the word, whence deeper sleeps Were broken, that they their tribe diminish’d saw, Both Moses and Elias gone, and chang’d
The stole their master wore: thus to myself Returning, over me beheld I stand
The piteous one, who cross the stream had brought My steps. “And where,” all doubting, I exclaim’d, “Is Beatrice?”–“See her,” she replied,
“Beneath the fresh leaf seated on its root. Behold th’ associate choir that circles her. The others, with a melody more sweet
And more profound, journeying to higher realms, Upon the Gryphon tend.” If there her words Were clos’d, I know not; but mine eyes had now Ta’en view of her, by whom all other thoughts Were barr’d admittance. On the very ground Alone she sat, as she had there been left A guard upon the wain, which I beheld
Bound to the twyform beast. The seven nymphs Did make themselves a cloister round about her, And in their hands upheld those lights secure From blast septentrion and the gusty south. “A little while thou shalt be forester here: And citizen shalt be forever with me,
Of that true Rome, wherein Christ dwells a Roman To profit the misguided world, keep now
Thine eyes upon the car; and what thou seest, Take heed thou write, returning to that place.” Thus Beatrice: at whose feet inclin’d Devout, at her behest, my thought and eyes, I, as she bade, directed. Never fire,
With so swift motion, forth a stormy cloud Leap’d downward from the welkin’s farthest bound, As I beheld the bird of Jove descending
Pounce on the tree, and, as he rush’d, the rind, Disparting crush beneath him, buds much more And leaflets. On the car with all his might He struck, whence, staggering like a ship, it reel’d, At random driv’n, to starboard now, o’ercome, And now to larboard, by the vaulting waves. Next springing up into the chariot’s womb A fox I saw, with hunger seeming pin’d
Of all good food. But, for his ugly sins The saintly maid rebuking him, away
Scamp’ring he turn’d, fast as his hide-bound corpse Would bear him. Next, from whence before he came, I saw the eagle dart into the hull
O’ th’ car, and leave it with his feathers lin’d; And then a voice, like that which issues forth From heart with sorrow riv’d, did issue forth From heav’n, and, “O poor bark of mine!” it cried, “How badly art thou freighted!” Then, it seem’d, That the earth open’d between either wheel, And I beheld a dragon issue thence,
That through the chariot fix’d his forked train; And like a wasp that draggeth back the sting, So drawing forth his baleful train, he dragg’d Part of the bottom forth, and went his way Exulting. What remain’d, as lively turf
With green herb, so did clothe itself with plumes, Which haply had with purpose chaste and kind Been offer’d; and therewith were cloth’d the wheels, Both one and other, and the beam, so quickly A sigh were not breath’d sooner. Thus transform’d, The holy structure, through its several parts, Did put forth heads, three on the beam, and one On every side; the first like oxen horn’d, But with a single horn upon their front
The four. Like monster sight hath never seen. O’er it methought there sat, secure as rock On mountain’s lofty top, a shameless whore, Whose ken rov’d loosely round her. At her side, As ‘t were that none might bear her off, I saw A giant stand; and ever, and anon
They mingled kisses. But, her lustful eyes Chancing on me to wander, that fell minion Scourg’d her from head to foot all o’er; then full Of jealousy, and fierce with rage, unloos’d The monster, and dragg’d on, so far across The forest, that from me its shades alone Shielded the harlot and the new-form’d brute.

CANTO XXXIII

“The heathen, Lord! are come!” responsive thus, The trinal now, and now the virgin band
Quaternion, their sweet psalmody began, Weeping; and Beatrice listen’d, sad
And sighing, to the song’, in such a mood, That Mary, as she stood beside the cross, Was scarce more chang’d. But when they gave her place To speak, then, risen upright on her feet, She, with a colour glowing bright as fire, Did answer: “Yet a little while, and ye
Shall see me not; and, my beloved sisters, Again a little while, and ye shall see me.” Before her then she marshall’d all the seven, And, beck’ning only motion’d me, the dame, And that remaining sage, to follow her.
So on she pass’d; and had not set, I ween, Her tenth step to the ground, when with mine eyes Her eyes encounter’d; and, with visage mild, “So mend thy pace,” she cried, “that if my words Address thee, thou mayst still be aptly plac’d To hear them.” Soon as duly to her side
I now had hasten’d: “Brother!” she began, “Why mak’st thou no attempt at questioning, As thus we walk together?” Like to those Who, speaking with too reverent an awe
Before their betters, draw not forth the voice Alive unto their lips, befell me shell
That I in sounds imperfect thus began: “Lady! what I have need of, that thou know’st, And what will suit my need.” She answering thus: “Of fearfulness and shame, I will, that thou Henceforth do rid thee: that thou speak no more, As one who dreams. Thus far be taught of me: The vessel, which thou saw’st the serpent break, Was and is not: let him, who hath the blame, Hope not to scare God’s vengeance with a sop. Without an heir for ever shall not be
That eagle, he, who left the chariot plum’d, Which monster made it first and next a prey. Plainly I view, and therefore speak, the stars E’en now approaching, whose conjunction, free From all impediment and bar, brings on
A season, in the which, one sent from God, (Five hundred, five, and ten, do mark him out) That foul one, and th’ accomplice of her guilt, The giant, both shall slay. And if perchance My saying, dark as Themis or as Sphinx,
Fail to persuade thee, (since like them it foils The intellect with blindness) yet ere long Events shall be the Naiads, that will solve This knotty riddle, and no damage light
On flock or field. Take heed; and as these words By me are utter’d, teach them even so
To those who live that life, which is a race To death: and when thou writ’st them, keep in mind Not to conceal how thou hast seen the plant, That twice hath now been spoil’d. This whoso robs, This whoso plucks, with blasphemy of deed Sins against God, who for his use alone
Creating hallow’d it. For taste of this, In pain and in desire, five thousand years And upward, the first soul did yearn for him, Who punish’d in himself the fatal gust.
“Thy reason slumbers, if it deem this height And summit thus inverted of the plant,
Without due cause: and were not vainer thoughts, As Elsa’s numbing waters, to thy soul,
And their fond pleasures had not dyed it dark As Pyramus the mulberry, thou hadst seen, In such momentous circumstance alone,
God’s equal justice morally implied In the forbidden tree. But since I mark thee In understanding harden’d into stone,
And, to that hardness, spotted too and stain’d, So that thine eye is dazzled at my word, I will, that, if not written, yet at least Painted thou take it in thee, for the cause, That one brings home his staff inwreath’d with palm. “I thus: “As wax by seal, that changeth not Its impress, now is stamp’d my brain by thee. But wherefore soars thy wish’d-for speech so high Beyond my sight, that loses it the more, The more it strains to reach it?” –“To the end That thou mayst know,” she answer’d straight, “the school, That thou hast follow’d; and how far behind, When following my discourse, its learning halts: And mayst behold your art, from the divine As distant, as the disagreement is
‘Twixt earth and heaven’s most high and rapturous orb.” “I not remember,” I replied, “that e’er I was estrang’d from thee, nor for such fault Doth conscience chide me.” Smiling she return’d: “If thou canst, not remember, call to mind How lately thou hast drunk of Lethe’s wave; And, sure as smoke doth indicate a flame, In that forgetfulness itself conclude
Blame from thy alienated will incurr’d. From henceforth verily my words shall be As naked as will suit them to appear
In thy unpractis’d view.” More sparkling now, And with retarded course the sun possess’d The circle of mid-day, that varies still As th’ aspect varies of each several clime, When, as one, sent in vaward of a troop
For escort, pauses, if perchance he spy Vestige of somewhat strange and rare: so paus’d The sev’nfold band, arriving at the verge Of a dun umbrage hoar, such as is seen,
Beneath green leaves and gloomy branches, oft To overbrow a bleak and alpine cliff.
And, where they stood, before them, as it seem’d, Tigris and Euphrates both beheld,
Forth from one fountain issue; and, like friends, Linger at parting. “O enlight’ning beam! O glory of our kind! beseech thee say
What water this, which from one source deriv’d Itself removes to distance from itself?” To such entreaty answer thus was made: “Entreat Matilda, that she teach thee this.” And here, as one, who clears himself of blame Imputed, the fair dame return’d: “Of me
He this and more hath learnt; and I am safe That Lethe’s water hath not hid it from him.” And Beatrice: “Some more pressing care That oft the memory ‘reeves, perchance hath made His mind’s eye dark. But lo! where Eunoe cows! Lead thither; and, as thou art wont, revive His fainting virtue.” As a courteous spirit, That proffers no excuses, but as soon
As he hath token of another’s will, Makes it his own; when she had ta’en me, thus The lovely maiden mov’d her on, and call’d To Statius with an air most lady-like:
“Come thou with him.” Were further space allow’d, Then, Reader, might I sing, though but in part, That beverage, with whose sweetness I had ne’er Been sated. But, since all the leaves are full, Appointed for this second strain, mine art With warning bridle checks me. I return’d From the most holy wave, regenerate,
If ‘en as new plants renew’d with foliage new, Pure and made apt for mounting to the stars.

NOTES TO PURGATORY

CANTO I

Verse 1. O’er better waves.] Berni, Orl. Inn. L 2. c. i. Per correr maggior acqua alza le vele,
O debil navicella del mio ingegno.

v. 11. Birds of chattering note.] For the fable of the daughters of Pierus, who challenged the muses to sing, and were by them
changed into magpies, see Ovid, Met. 1. v. fab. 5.

v. 19. Planet.] Venus.

v. 20. Made all the orient laugh.] Hence Chaucer, Knight’s Tale: And all the orisont laugheth of the sight.

It is sometimes read “orient.”

v. 24. Four stars.] Symbolical of the four cardinal virtues, Prudence Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance. See Canto XXXI v. 105.

v. 30. The wain.] Charles’s wain, or Bootes.

v. 31. An old man.] Cato.

v. 92. Venerable plumes.] The same metaphor has occurred in Hell Canto XX. v. 41:

–the plumes,
That mark’d the better sex.

It is used by Ford in the Lady’s Trial, a. 4. s. 2.

Now the down
Of softness is exchang’d for plumes of age.

v. 58. The farthest gloom.] L’ultima sera. Ariosto, Oroando Furioso c. xxxiv st. 59:
Che non hen visto ancor l’ultima sera.

And Filicaja, c. ix. Al Sonno.
L’ultima sera.

v. 79. Marcia.]
Da fredera prisci
Illibata tori: da tantum nomen inane Connubil: liceat tumulo scripsisse, Catonis Martia
Lucan, Phars. 1. ii. 344.

v. 110. I spy’d the trembling of the ocean stream.] Connubil il tremolar della marina.

Trissino, in the Sofonisba.]
E resta in tremolar l’onda marina

And Fortiguerra, Rleelardetto, c. ix. st. 17. –visto il tremolar della marine.

v. 135. another.] From Virg, Aen. 1. vi. 143. Primo avulso non deficit alter

CANTO II

v. 1. Now had the sun.] Dante was now antipodal to Jerusalem, so that while the sun was setting with respect to that place which he supposes to be the middle of the inhabited earth, to him it was rising.

v. 6. The scales.] The constellation Libra.

v. 35. Winnowing the air.]
Trattando l’acre con l’eterne penne.

80 Filicaja, canz. viii. st. 11.
Ma trattar l’acre coll’ eterne plume

v. 45. In exitu.] “When Israel came out of Egypt.” Ps. cxiv.

v. 75. Thrice my hands.]
Ter conatus ibi eollo dare brachia eircum, Ter frustra eomprensa manus effugit imago, Par levibus ventis voluerique simillima sommo. Virg. Aen. ii. 794.

Compare Homer, Od. xl. 205.

v. 88. My Casella.] A Florentine, celebrated for his skill in music, “in whose company,” says Landine, “Dante often recreated his spirits wearied by severe studies.” See Dr. Burney’s History of Music, vol. ii. c. iv. p. 322. Milton has a fine allusion to this meeting in his sonnet to Henry Lawes.

v. 90. Hath so much time been lost.] Casella had been dead some years but was only just arrived.

v. 91. He.] The eonducting angel.

v. 94. These three months past.] Since the time of the Jubilee, during which all spirits not condemned to eternal punishment, were supposed to pass over to Purgatory as soon as they pleased.

v. 96. The shore.] Ostia.

v. 170. “Love that discourses in my thoughts.”] “Amor che nella mente mi ragiona.”
The first verse of a eanzone or song in the Convito of Dante, which he again cites in his Treatise de Vulg. Eloq. 1. ii. c. vi.

CANTO III

v. 9. How doth a little failing wound thee sore.] (Ch’era al cor picciol fallo amaro morso. Tasso, G. L. c. x. st. 59.

v. 11. Haste, that mars all decency of act. Aristotle in his Physiog iii. reekons it among the “the signs of an impudent man,” that he is “quick in his motions.” Compare Sophoeles, Electra, 878.