"After that Constantine the eagle turn'd
　　Against the motions of the heav'n, that roll'd
　　Consenting with its course, when he of yore,
　　Lavinia's spouse, was leader of the flight,
　　A hundred years twice told and more, his seat
　　At Europe's extreme point, the bird of Jove
　　Held, near the mountains, whence he issued first.
　　There, under shadow of his sacred plumes
　　Swaying the world, till through successive hands
　　To mine he came devolv'd. Caesar I was,
　　And am Justinian; destin'd by the will
　　Of that prime love, whose influence I feel,
　　From vain excess to clear th' encumber'd laws.
　　Or ere that work engag'd me, I did hold
　　Christ's nature merely human, with such faith
　　Contented. But the blessed Agapete,
　　Who was chief shepherd, he with warning voice
　　To the true faith recall'd me. I believ'd
　　His words: and what he taught, now plainly see,
　　As thou in every contradiction seest
　　The true and false oppos'd. Soon as my feet
　　Were to the church reclaim'd, to my great task,
　　By inspiration of God's grace impell'd,
　　I gave me wholly, and consign'd mine arms
　　To Belisarius, with whom heaven's right hand
　　Was link'd in such conjointment, 't was a sign
　　That I should rest. To thy first question thus
　　I shape mine answer, which were ended here,
　　But that its tendency doth prompt perforce
　　To some addition; that thou well, mayst mark
　　What reason on each side they have to plead,
　　By whom that holiest banner is withstood,
　　Both who pretend its power and who oppose.
　　"Beginning from that hour, when Pallas died
　　To give it rule, behold the valorous deeds
　　Have made it worthy reverence. Not unknown
　　To thee, how for three hundred years and more
　　It dwelt in Alba, up to those fell lists
　　Where for its sake were met the rival three;
　　Nor aught unknown to thee, which it achiev'd
　　Down to the Sabines' wrong to Lucrece' woe,
　　With its sev'n kings conqu'ring the nation round;
　　Nor all it wrought, by Roman worthies home
　　'Gainst Brennus and th' Epirot prince, and hosts
　　Of single chiefs, or states in league combin'd
　　Of social warfare; hence Torquatus stern,
　　And Quintius nam'd of his neglected locks,
　　The Decii, and the Fabii hence acquir'd
　　Their fame, which I with duteous zeal embalm.
　　By it the pride of Arab hordes was quell'd,
　　When they led on by Hannibal o'erpass'd
　　The Alpine rocks, whence glide thy currents, Po!
　　Beneath its guidance, in their prime of days
　　Scipio and Pompey triumph'd; and that hill,
　　Under whose summit thou didst see the light,
　　Rued its stern bearing. After, near the hour,
　　When heav'n was minded that o'er all the world
　　His own deep calm should brood, to Caesar's hand
　　Did Rome consign it; and what then it wrought
　　From Var unto the Rhine, saw Isere's flood,
　　Saw Loire and Seine, and every vale, that fills
　　The torrent Rhone. What after that it wrought,
　　When from Ravenna it came forth, and leap'd
　　The Rubicon, was of so bold a flight,
　　That tongue nor pen may follow it. Tow'rds Spain
　　It wheel'd its bands, then tow'rd Dyrrachium smote,
　　And on Pharsalia with so fierce a plunge,
　　E'en the warm Nile was conscious to the pang;
　　Its native shores Antandros, and the streams
　　Of Simois revisited, and there
　　Where Hector lies; then ill for Ptolemy
　　His pennons shook again; lightning thence fell
　　On Juba; and the next upon your west,
　　At sound of the Pompeian trump, return'd.
　　
　　"What following and in its next bearer's gripe
　　It wrought, is now by Cassius and Brutus
　　Bark'd off in hell, and by Perugia's sons
　　And Modena's was mourn'd. Hence weepeth still
　　Sad Cleopatra, who, pursued by it,
　　Took from the adder black and sudden death.
　　With him it ran e'en to the Red Sea coast;
　　With him compos'd the world to such a peace,
　　That of his temple Janus barr'd the door.
　　
　　"But all the mighty standard yet had wrought,
　　And was appointed to perform thereafter,
　　Throughout the mortal kingdom which it sway'd,
　　Falls in appearance dwindled and obscur'd,
　　If one with steady eye and perfect thought
　　On the third Caesar look; for to his hands,
　　The living Justice, in whose breath I move,
　　Committed glory, e'en into his hands,
　　To execute the vengeance of its wrath.
　　
　　"Hear now and wonder at what next I tell.
　　After with Titus it was sent to wreak
　　Vengeance for vengeance of the ancient sin,
　　And, when the Lombard tooth, with fangs impure,
　　Did gore the bosom of the holy church,
　　Under its wings victorious, Charlemagne
　　Sped to her rescue. Judge then for thyself
　　Of those, whom I erewhile accus'd to thee,
　　What they are, and how grievous their offending,
　　Who are the cause of all your ills. The one
　　Against the universal ensign rears
　　The yellow lilies, and with partial aim
　　That to himself the other arrogates:
　　So that 't is hard to see which more offends.
　　Be yours, ye Ghibellines, to veil your arts
　　Beneath another standard: ill is this
　　Follow'd of him, who severs it and justice:
　　And let not with his Guelphs the new-crown'd Charles
　　Assail it, but those talons hold in dread,
　　Which from a lion of more lofty port
　　Have rent the easing. Many a time ere now
　　The sons have for the sire's transgression wail'd;
　　Nor let him trust the fond belief, that heav'n
　　Will truck its armour for his lilied shield.
　　
　　"This little star is furnish'd with good spirits,
　　Whose mortal lives were busied to that end,
　　That honour and renown might wait on them:
　　And, when desires thus err in their intention,
　　True love must needs ascend with slacker beam.
　　But it is part of our delight, to measure
　　Our wages with the merit; and admire
　　The close proportion. Hence doth heav'nly justice
　　Temper so evenly affection in us,
　　It ne'er can warp to any wrongfulness.
　　Of diverse voices is sweet music made:
　　So in our life the different degrees
　　Render sweet harmony among these wheels.
　　
　　"Within the pearl, that now encloseth us,
　　Shines Romeo's light, whose goodly deed and fair
　　Met ill acceptance. But the Provencals,
　　That were his foes, have little cause for mirth.
　　Ill shapes that man his course, who makes his wrong
　　Of other's worth. Four daughters were there born
　　To Raymond Berenger, and every one
　　Became a queen; and this for him did Romeo,
　　Though of mean state and from a foreign land.
　　Yet envious tongues incited him to ask
　　A reckoning of that just one, who return'd
　　Twelve fold to him for ten. Aged and poor
　　He parted thence: and if the world did know
　　The heart he had, begging his life by morsels,
　　'T would deem the praise, it yields him, scantly dealt."

　　"Hosanna Sanctus Deus Sabaoth
　　Superillustrans claritate tua
　　Felices ignes horum malahoth!"
　　Thus chanting saw I turn that substance bright
　　With fourfold lustre to its orb again,
　　Revolving; and the rest unto their dance
　　With it mov'd also; and like swiftest sparks,
　　In sudden distance from my sight were veil'd.
　　
　　Me doubt possess'd, and "Speak," it whisper'd me,
　　"Speak, speak unto thy lady, that she quench
　　Thy thirst with drops of sweetness." Yet blank awe,
　　Which lords it o'er me, even at the sound
　　Of Beatrice's name, did bow me down
　　As one in slumber held. Not long that mood
　　Beatrice suffer'd: she, with such a smile,
　　As might have made one blest amid the flames,
　　Beaming upon me, thus her words began:
　　"Thou in thy thought art pond'ring (as I deem),
　　And what I deem is truth how just revenge
　　Could be with justice punish'd: from which doubt
　　I soon will free thee; so thou mark my words;
　　For they of weighty matter shall possess thee.
　　
　　"That man, who was unborn, himself condemn'd,
　　And, in himself, all, who since him have liv'd,
　　His offspring: whence, below, the human kind
　　Lay sick in grievous error many an age;
　　Until it pleas'd the Word of God to come
　　Amongst them down, to his own person joining
　　The nature, from its Maker far estrang'd,
　　By the mere act of his eternal love.
　　Contemplate here the wonder I unfold.
　　The nature with its Maker thus conjoin'd,
　　Created first was blameless, pure and good;
　　But through itself alone was driven forth
　　From Paradise, because it had eschew'd
　　The way of truth and life, to evil turn'd.
　　Ne'er then was penalty so just as that
　　Inflicted by the cross, if thou regard
　　The nature in assumption doom'd: ne'er wrong
　　So great, in reference to him, who took
　　Such nature on him, and endur'd the doom.
　　God therefore and the Jews one sentence pleased:
　　So different effects flow'd from one act,
　　And heav'n was open'd, though the earth did quake.
　　Count it not hard henceforth, when thou dost hear
　　That a just vengeance was by righteous court
　　Justly reveng'd. But yet I see thy mind
　　By thought on thought arising sore perplex'd,
　　And with how vehement desire it asks
　　Solution of the maze. What I have heard,
　　Is plain, thou sayst: but wherefore God this way
　　For our redemption chose, eludes my search.
　　
　　"Brother! no eye of man not perfected,
　　Nor fully ripen'd in the flame of love,
　　May fathom this decree. It is a mark,
　　In sooth, much aim'd at, and but little kenn'd:
　　And I will therefore show thee why such way
　　Was worthiest. The celestial love, that spume
　　All envying in its bounty, in itself
　　With such effulgence blazeth, as sends forth
　　All beauteous things eternal. What distils
　　Immediate thence, no end of being knows,
　　Bearing its seal immutably impress'd.
　　Whatever thence immediate falls, is free,
　　Free wholly, uncontrollable by power
　　Of each thing new: by such conformity
　　More grateful to its author, whose bright beams,
　　Though all partake their shining, yet in those
　　Are liveliest, which resemble him the most.
　　These tokens of pre-eminence on man
　　Largely bestow'd, if any of them fail,
　　He needs must forfeit his nobility,
　　No longer stainless. Sin alone is that,
　　Which doth disfranchise him, and make unlike
　　To the chief good; for that its light in him
　　Is darken'd. And to dignity thus lost
　　Is no return; unless, where guilt makes void,
　　He for ill pleasure pay with equal pain.
　　Your nature, which entirely in its seed
　　Trangress'd, from these distinctions fell, no less
　　Than from its state in Paradise; nor means
　　Found of recovery (search all methods out
　　As strickly as thou may) save one of these,
　　The only fords were left through which to wade,
　　Either that God had of his courtesy
　　Releas'd him merely, or else man himself
　　For his own folly by himself aton'd.
　　
　　"Fix now thine eye, intently as thou canst,
　　On th' everlasting counsel, and explore,
　　Instructed by my words, the dread abyss.
　　
　　"Man in himself had ever lack'd the means
　　Of satisfaction, for he could not stoop
　　Obeying, in humility so low,
　　As high he, disobeying, thought to soar:
　　And for this reason he had vainly tried
　　Out of his own sufficiency to pay
　　The rigid satisfaction. Then behooved
　　That God should by his own ways lead him back
　　Unto the life, from whence he fell, restor'd:
　　By both his ways, I mean, or one alone.
　　But since the deed is ever priz'd the more,
　　The more the doer's good intent appears,
　　Goodness celestial, whose broad signature
　　Is on the universe, of all its ways
　　To raise ye up, was fain to leave out none,
　　Nor aught so vast or so magnificent,
　　Either for him who gave or who receiv'd
　　Between the last night and the primal day,
　　Was or can be. For God more bounty show'd.
　　Giving himself to make man capable
　　Of his return to life, than had the terms
　　Been mere and unconditional release.
　　And for his justice, every method else
　　Were all too scant, had not the Son of God
　　Humbled himself to put on mortal flesh.
　　
　　"Now, to fulfil each wish of thine, remains
　　I somewhat further to thy view unfold.
　　That thou mayst see as clearly as myself.
　　
　　"I see, thou sayst, the air, the fire I see,
　　The earth and water, and all things of them
　　Compounded, to corruption turn, and soon
　　Dissolve. Yet these were also things create,
　　Because, if what were told me, had been true
　　They from corruption had been therefore free.
　　
　　"The angels, O my brother! and this clime
　　Wherein thou art, impassible and pure,
　　I call created, as indeed they are
　　In their whole being. But the elements,
　　Which thou hast nam'd, and what of them is made,
　　Are by created virtue' inform'd: create
　　Their substance, and create the' informing virtue
　　In these bright stars, that round them circling move
　　The soul of every brute and of each plant,
　　The ray and motion of the sacred lights,
　　With complex potency attract and turn.
　　But this our life the' eternal good inspires
　　Immediate, and enamours of itself;
　　So that our wishes rest for ever here.
　　
　　"And hence thou mayst by inference conclude
　　Our resurrection certain, if thy mind
　　Consider how the human flesh was fram'd,
　　When both our parents at the first were made."

　　The world was in its day of peril dark
　　Wont to believe the dotage of fond love
　　From the fair Cyprian deity, who rolls
　　In her third epicycle, shed on men
　　By stream of potent radiance: therefore they
　　Of elder time, in their old error blind,
　　Not her alone with sacrifice ador'd
　　And invocation, but like honours paid
　　To Cupid and Dione, deem'd of them
　　Her mother, and her son, him whom they feign'd
　　To sit in Dido's bosom: and from her,
　　Whom I have sung preluding, borrow'd they
　　The appellation of that star, which views,
　　Now obvious and now averse, the sun.
　　
　　I was not ware that I was wafted up
　　Into its orb; but the new loveliness
　　That grac'd my lady, gave me ample proof
　　That we had entered there. And as in flame
　　A sparkle is distinct, or voice in voice
　　Discern'd, when one its even tenour keeps,
　　The other comes and goes; so in that light
　　I other luminaries saw, that cours'd
　　In circling motion rapid more or less,
　　As their eternal phases each impels.
　　
　　Never was blast from vapour charged with cold,
　　Whether invisible to eye or no,
　　Descended with such speed, it had not seem'd
　　To linger in dull tardiness, compar'd
　　To those celestial lights, that tow'rds us came,
　　Leaving the circuit of their joyous ring,
　　Conducted by the lofty seraphim.
　　And after them, who in the van appear'd,
　　Such an hosanna sounded, as hath left
　　Desire, ne'er since extinct in me, to hear
　　Renew'd the strain. Then parting from the rest
　　One near us drew, and sole began: "We all
　　Are ready at thy pleasure, well dispos'd
　　To do thee gentle service. We are they,
　　To whom thou in the world erewhile didst Sing
　　'O ye! whose intellectual ministry
　　Moves the third heaven!' and in one orb we roll,
　　One motion, one impulse, with those who rule
　　Princedoms in heaven; yet are of love so full,
　　That to please thee 't will be as sweet to rest."
　　
　　After mine eyes had with meek reverence
　　Sought the celestial guide, and were by her
　　Assur'd, they turn'd again unto the light
　　Who had so largely promis'd, and with voice
　　That bare the lively pressure of my zeal,
　　"Tell who ye are," I cried. Forthwith it grew
　　In size and splendour, through augmented joy;
　　And thus it answer'd: "A short date below
　　The world possess'd me. Had the time been more,
　　Much evil, that will come, had never chanc'd.
　　My gladness hides thee from me, which doth shine
　　Around, and shroud me, as an animal
　　In its own silk unswath'd. Thou lov'dst me well,
　　And had'st good cause; for had my sojourning
　　Been longer on the earth, the love I bare thee
　　Had put forth more than blossoms. The left bank,
　　That Rhone, when he hath mix'd with Sorga, laves."
　　
　　"In me its lord expected, and that horn
　　Of fair Ausonia, with its boroughs old,
　　Bari, and Croton, and Gaeta pil'd,
　　From where the Trento disembogues his waves,
　　With Verde mingled, to the salt sea-flood.
　　Already on my temples beam'd the crown,
　　Which gave me sov'reignty over the land
　　By Danube wash'd, whenas he strays beyond
　　The limits of his German shores. The realm,
　　Where, on the gulf by stormy Eurus lash'd,
　　Betwixt Pelorus and Pachynian heights,
　　The beautiful Trinacria lies in gloom
　　(Not through Typhaeus, but the vap'ry cloud
　　Bituminous upsteam'd), THAT too did look
　　To have its scepter wielded by a race
　　Of monarchs, sprung through me from Charles and Rodolph;
　　had not ill lording which doth spirit up
　　The people ever, in Palermo rais'd
　　The shout of 'death,' re-echo'd loud and long.
　　Had but my brother's foresight kenn'd as much,
　　He had been warier that the greedy want
　　Of Catalonia might not work his bale.
　　And truly need there is, that he forecast,
　　Or other for him, lest more freight be laid
　　On his already over-laden bark.
　　Nature in him, from bounty fall'n to thrift,
　　Would ask the guard of braver arms, than such
　　As only care to have their coffers fill'd."
　　
　　"My liege, it doth enhance the joy thy words
　　Infuse into me, mighty as it is,
　　To think my gladness manifest to thee,
　　As to myself, who own it, when thou lookst
　　Into the source and limit of all good,
　　There, where thou markest that which thou dost speak,
　　Thence priz'd of me the more. Glad thou hast made me.
　　Now make intelligent, clearing the doubt
　　Thy speech hath raised in me; for much I muse,
　　How bitter can spring up, when sweet is sown."
　　
　　I thus inquiring; he forthwith replied:
　　"If I have power to show one truth, soon that
　　Shall face thee, which thy questioning declares
　　Behind thee now conceal'd. The Good, that guides
　　And blessed makes this realm, which thou dost mount,
　　Ordains its providence to be the virtue
　　In these great bodies: nor th' all perfect Mind
　　Upholds their nature merely, but in them
　　Their energy to save: for nought, that lies
　　Within the range of that unerring bow,
　　But is as level with the destin'd aim,
　　As ever mark to arrow's point oppos'd.
　　Were it not thus, these heavens, thou dost visit,
　　Would their effect so work, it would not be
　　Art, but destruction; and this may not chance,
　　If th' intellectual powers, that move these stars,
　　Fail not, or who, first faulty made them fail.
　　Wilt thou this truth more clearly evidenc'd?"
　　
　　To whom I thus: "It is enough: no fear,
　　I see, lest nature in her part should tire."
　　
　　He straight rejoin'd: "Say, were it worse for man,
　　If he liv'd not in fellowship on earth?"
　　
　　"Yea," answer'd I; "nor here a reason needs."
　　
　　"And may that be, if different estates
　　Grow not of different duties in your life?
　　Consult your teacher, and he tells you 'no."'
　　
　　Thus did he come, deducing to this point,
　　And then concluded: "For this cause behooves,
　　The roots, from whence your operations come,
　　Must differ. Therefore one is Solon born;
　　Another, Xerxes; and Melchisidec
　　A third; and he a fourth, whose airy voyage
　　Cost him his son. In her circuitous course,
　　Nature, that is the seal to mortal wax,
　　Doth well her art, but no distinctions owns
　　'Twixt one or other household. Hence befalls
　　That Esau is so wide of Jacob: hence
　　Quirinus of so base a father springs,
　　He dates from Mars his lineage. Were it not
　　That providence celestial overrul'd,
　　Nature, in generation, must the path
　　Trac'd by the generator, still pursue
　　Unswervingly. Thus place I in thy sight
　　That, which was late behind thee. But, in sign
　　Of more affection for thee, 't is my will
　　Thou wear this corollary. Nature ever
　　Finding discordant fortune, like all seed
　　Out of its proper climate, thrives but ill.
　　And were the world below content to mark
　　And work on the foundation nature lays,
　　It would not lack supply of excellence.
　　But ye perversely to religion strain
　　Him, who was born to gird on him the sword,
　　And of the fluent phrasemen make your king;
　　Therefore your steps have wander'd from the paths."

　　After solution of my doubt, thy Charles,
　　O fair Clemenza, of the treachery spake
　　That must befall his seed: but, "Tell it not,"
　　Said he, "and let the destin'd years come round."
　　Nor may I tell thee more, save that the meed
　　Of sorrow well-deserv'd shall quit your wrongs.
　　
　　And now the visage of that saintly light
　　Was to the sun, that fills it, turn'd again,
　　As to the good, whose plenitude of bliss
　　Sufficeth all. O ye misguided souls!
　　Infatuate, who from such a good estrange
　　Your hearts, and bend your gaze on vanity,
　　Alas for you!—And lo! toward me, next,
　　Another of those splendent forms approach'd,
　　That, by its outward bright'ning, testified
　　The will it had to pleasure me. The eyes
　　Of Beatrice, resting, as before,
　　Firmly upon me, manifested forth
　　Approval of my wish. "And O," I cried,
　　"Blest spirit! quickly be my will perform'd;
　　And prove thou to me, that my inmost thoughts
　　I can reflect on thee." Thereat the light,
　　That yet was new to me, from the recess,
　　Where it before was singing, thus began,
　　As one who joys in kindness: "In that part
　　Of the deprav'd Italian land, which lies
　　Between Rialto, and the fountain-springs
　　Of Brenta and of Piava, there doth rise,
　　But to no lofty eminence, a hill,
　　From whence erewhile a firebrand did descend,
　　That sorely sheet the region. From one root
　　I and it sprang; my name on earth Cunizza:
　　And here I glitter, for that by its light
　　This star o'ercame me. Yet I naught repine,
　　Nor grudge myself the cause of this my lot,
　　Which haply vulgar hearts can scarce conceive.
　　
　　"This jewel, that is next me in our heaven,
　　Lustrous and costly, great renown hath left,
　　And not to perish, ere these hundred years
　　Five times absolve their round. Consider thou,
　　If to excel be worthy man's endeavour,
　　When such life may attend the first. Yet they
　　Care not for this, the crowd that now are girt
　　By Adice and Tagliamento, still
　　Impenitent, tho' scourg'd. The hour is near,
　　When for their stubbornness at Padua's marsh
　　The water shall be chang'd, that laves Vicena
　　And where Cagnano meets with Sile, one
　　Lords it, and bears his head aloft, for whom
　　The web is now a-warping. Feltro too
　　Shall sorrow for its godless shepherd's fault,
　　Of so deep stain, that never, for the like,
　　Was Malta's bar unclos'd. Too large should be
　　The skillet, that would hold Ferrara's blood,
　　And wearied he, who ounce by ounce would weight it,
　　The which this priest, in show of party-zeal,
　　Courteous will give; nor will the gift ill suit
　　The country's custom. We descry above,
　　Mirrors, ye call them thrones, from which to us
　　Reflected shine the judgments of our God:
　　Whence these our sayings we avouch for good."
　　
　　She ended, and appear'd on other thoughts
　　Intent, re-ent'ring on the wheel she late
　　Had left. That other joyance meanwhile wax'd
　　A thing to marvel at, in splendour glowing,
　　Like choicest ruby stricken by the sun,
　　For, in that upper clime, effulgence comes
　　Of gladness, as here laughter: and below,
　　As the mind saddens, murkier grows the shade.
　　
　　"God seeth all: and in him is thy sight,"
　　Said I, "blest Spirit! Therefore will of his
　　Cannot to thee be dark. Why then delays
　　Thy voice to satisfy my wish untold,
　　That voice which joins the inexpressive song,
　　Pastime of heav'n, the which those ardours sing,
　　That cowl them with six shadowing wings outspread?
　　I would not wait thy asking, wert thou known
　　To me, as thoroughly I to thee am known."
　　
　　He forthwith answ'ring, thus his words began:
　　"The valley' of waters, widest next to that
　　Which doth the earth engarland, shapes its course,
　　Between discordant shores, against the sun
　　Inward so far, it makes meridian there,
　　Where was before th' horizon. Of that vale
　　Dwelt I upon the shore, 'twixt Ebro's stream
　　And Macra's, that divides with passage brief
　　Genoan bounds from Tuscan. East and west
　　Are nearly one to Begga and my land,
　　Whose haven erst was with its own blood warm.
　　Who knew my name were wont to call me Folco:
　　And I did bear impression of this heav'n,
　　That now bears mine: for not with fiercer flame
　　Glow'd Belus' daughter, injuring alike
　　Sichaeus and Creusa, than did I,
　　Long as it suited the unripen'd down
　　That fledg'd my cheek: nor she of Rhodope,
　　That was beguiled of Demophoon;
　　Nor Jove's son, when the charms of Iole
　　Were shrin'd within his heart. And yet there hides
　　No sorrowful repentance here, but mirth,
　　Not for the fault (that doth not come to mind),
　　But for the virtue, whose o'erruling sway
　　And providence have wrought thus quaintly. Here
　　The skill is look'd into, that fashioneth
　　With such effectual working, and the good
　　Discern'd, accruing to this upper world
　　From that below. But fully to content
　　Thy wishes, all that in this sphere have birth,
　　Demands my further parle. Inquire thou wouldst,
　　Who of this light is denizen, that here
　　Beside me sparkles, as the sun-beam doth
　　On the clear wave. Know then, the soul of Rahab
　　Is in that gladsome harbour, to our tribe
　　United, and the foremost rank assign'd.
　　He to that heav'n, at which the shadow ends
　　Of your sublunar world, was taken up,
　　First, in Christ's triumph, of all souls redeem'd:
　　For well behoov'd, that, in some part of heav'n,
　　She should remain a trophy, to declare
　　The mighty contest won with either palm;
　　For that she favour'd first the high exploit
　　Of Joshua on the holy land, whereof
　　The Pope recks little now. Thy city, plant
　　Of him, that on his Maker turn'd the back,
　　And of whose envying so much woe hath sprung,
　　Engenders and expands the cursed flower,
　　That hath made wander both the sheep and lambs,
　　Turning the shepherd to a wolf. For this,
　　The gospel and great teachers laid aside,
　　The decretals, as their stuft margins show,
　　Are the sole study. Pope and Cardinals,
　　Intent on these, ne'er journey but in thought
　　To Nazareth, where Gabriel op'd his wings.
　　Yet it may chance, erelong, the Vatican,
　　And other most selected parts of Rome,
　　That were the grave of Peter's soldiery,
　　Shall be deliver'd from the adult'rous bond."

　　Looking into his first-born with the love,
　　Which breathes from both eternal, the first Might
　　Ineffable, whence eye or mind
　　Can roam, hath in such order all dispos'd,
　　As none may see and fail to enjoy. Raise, then,
　　O reader! to the lofty wheels, with me,
　　Thy ken directed to the point, whereat
　　One motion strikes on th' other. There begin
　　Thy wonder of the mighty Architect,
　　Who loves his work so inwardly, his eye
　　Doth ever watch it. See, how thence oblique
　　Brancheth the circle, where the planets roll
　　To pour their wished influence on the world;
　　Whose path not bending thus, in heav'n above
　　Much virtue would be lost, and here on earth,
　　All power well nigh extinct: or, from direct
　　Were its departure distant more or less,
　　I' th' universal order, great defect
　　Must, both in heav'n and here beneath, ensue.
　　
　　Now rest thee, reader! on thy bench, and muse
　　Anticipative of the feast to come;
　　So shall delight make thee not feel thy toil.
　　Lo! I have set before thee, for thyself
　　Feed now: the matter I indite, henceforth
　　Demands entire my thought. Join'd with the part,
　　Which late we told of, the great minister
　　Of nature, that upon the world imprints
　　The virtue of the heaven, and doles out
　　Time for us with his beam, went circling on
　　Along the spires, where each hour sooner comes;
　　And I was with him, weetless of ascent,
　　As one, who till arriv'd, weets not his coming.
　　
　　For Beatrice, she who passeth on
　　So suddenly from good to better, time
　　Counts not the act, oh then how great must needs
　　Have been her brightness! What she was i' th' sun
　　(Where I had enter'd), not through change of hue,
　　But light transparent—did I summon up
　　Genius, art, practice—I might not so speak,
　　It should be e'er imagin'd: yet believ'd
　　It may be, and the sight be justly crav'd.
　　And if our fantasy fail of such height,
　　What marvel, since no eye above the sun
　　Hath ever travel'd? Such are they dwell here,
　　Fourth family of the Omnipotent Sire,
　　Who of his spirit and of his offspring shows;
　　And holds them still enraptur'd with the view.
　　And thus to me Beatrice: "Thank, oh thank,
　　The Sun of angels, him, who by his grace
　　To this perceptible hath lifted thee."
　　
　　Never was heart in such devotion bound,
　　And with complacency so absolute
　　Dispos'd to render up itself to God,
　　As mine was at those words: and so entire
　　The love for Him, that held me, it eclips'd
　　Beatrice in oblivion. Naught displeas'd
　　Was she, but smil'd thereat so joyously,
　　That of her laughing eyes the radiance brake
　　And scatter'd my collected mind abroad.
　　
　　Then saw I a bright band, in liveliness
　　Surpassing, who themselves did make the crown,
　　And us their centre: yet more sweet in voice,
　　Than in their visage beaming. Cinctur'd thus,
　　Sometime Latona's daughter we behold,
　　When the impregnate air retains the thread,
　　That weaves her zone. In the celestial court,
　　Whence I return, are many jewels found,
　　So dear and beautiful, they cannot brook
　　Transporting from that realm: and of these lights
　　Such was the song. Who doth not prune his wing
　　To soar up thither, let him look from thence
　　For tidings from the dumb. When, singing thus,
　　Those burning suns that circled round us thrice,
　　As nearest stars around the fixed pole,
　　Then seem'd they like to ladies, from the dance
　　Not ceasing, but suspense, in silent pause,
　　List'ning, till they have caught the strain anew:
　　Suspended so they stood: and, from within,
　　Thus heard I one, who spake: "Since with its beam
　　The grace, whence true love lighteth first his flame,
　　That after doth increase by loving, shines
　　So multiplied in thee, it leads thee up
　　Along this ladder, down whose hallow'd steps
　　None e'er descend, and mount them not again,
　　Who from his phial should refuse thee wine
　　To slake thy thirst, no less constrained were,
　　Than water flowing not unto the sea.
　　Thou fain wouldst hear, what plants are these, that bloom
　　In the bright garland, which, admiring, girds
　　This fair dame round, who strengthens thee for heav'n.
　　I then was of the lambs, that Dominic
　　Leads, for his saintly flock, along the way,
　　Where well they thrive, not sworn with vanity.
　　He, nearest on my right hand, brother was,
　　And master to me: Albert of Cologne
　　Is this: and of Aquinum, Thomas I.
　　If thou of all the rest wouldst be assur'd,
　　Let thine eye, waiting on the words I speak,
　　In circuit journey round the blessed wreath.
　　That next resplendence issues from the smile
　　Of Gratian, who to either forum lent
　　Such help, as favour wins in Paradise.
　　The other, nearest, who adorns our quire,
　　Was Peter, he that with the widow gave
　　To holy church his treasure. The fifth light,
　　Goodliest of all, is by such love inspired,
　　That all your world craves tidings of its doom:
　　Within, there is the lofty light, endow'd
　　With sapience so profound, if truth be truth,
　　That with a ken of such wide amplitude
　　No second hath arisen. Next behold
　　That taper's radiance, to whose view was shown,
　　Clearliest, the nature and the ministry
　　Angelical, while yet in flesh it dwelt.
　　In the other little light serenely smiles
　　That pleader for the Christian temples, he
　　Who did provide Augustin of his lore.
　　Now, if thy mind's eye pass from light to light,
　　Upon my praises following, of the eighth
　　Thy thirst is next. The saintly soul, that shows
　　The world's deceitfulness, to all who hear him,
　　Is, with the sight of all the good, that is,
　　Blest there. The limbs, whence it was driven, lie
　　Down in Cieldauro, and from martyrdom
　　And exile came it here. Lo! further on,
　　Where flames the arduous Spirit of Isidore,
　　Of Bede, and Richard, more than man, erewhile,
　　In deep discernment. Lastly this, from whom
　　Thy look on me reverteth, was the beam
　　Of one, whose spirit, on high musings bent,
　　Rebuk'd the ling'ring tardiness of death.
　　It is the eternal light of Sigebert,
　　Who 'scap'd not envy, when of truth he argued,
　　Reading in the straw-litter'd street." Forthwith,
　　As clock, that calleth up the spouse of God
　　To win her bridegroom's love at matin's hour,
　　Each part of other fitly drawn and urg'd,
　　Sends out a tinkling sound, of note so sweet,
　　Affection springs in well-disposed breast;
　　Thus saw I move the glorious wheel, thus heard
　　Voice answ'ring voice, so musical and soft,
　　It can be known but where day endless shines.

　　O fond anxiety of mortal men!
　　How vain and inconclusive arguments
　　Are those, which make thee beat thy wings below
　　For statues one, and one for aphorisms
　　Was hunting; this the priesthood follow'd, that
　　By force or sophistry aspir'd to rule;
　　To rob another, and another sought
　　By civil business wealth; one moiling lay
　　Tangled in net of sensual delight,
　　And one to witless indolence resign'd;
　　What time from all these empty things escap'd,
　　With Beatrice, I thus gloriously
　　Was rais'd aloft, and made the guest of heav'n.
　　
　　They of the circle to that point, each one.
　　Where erst it was, had turn'd; and steady glow'd,
　　As candle in his socket. Then within
　　The lustre, that erewhile bespake me, smiling
　　With merer gladness, heard I thus begin:
　　
　　"E'en as his beam illumes me, so I look
　　Into the eternal light, and clearly mark
　　Thy thoughts, from whence they rise. Thou art in doubt,
　　And wouldst, that I should bolt my words afresh
　　In such plain open phrase, as may be smooth
　　To thy perception, where I told thee late
　　That 'well they thrive;' and that 'no second such
　　Hath risen,' which no small distinction needs.
　　
　　"The providence, that governeth the world,
　　In depth of counsel by created ken
　　Unfathomable, to the end that she,
　　Who with loud cries was 'spous'd in precious blood,
　　Might keep her footing towards her well-belov'd,
　　Safe in herself and constant unto him,
　　Hath two ordain'd, who should on either hand
　　In chief escort her: one seraphic all
　　In fervency; for wisdom upon earth,
　　The other splendour of cherubic light.
　　I but of one will tell: he tells of both,
　　Who one commendeth which of them so'er
　　Be taken: for their deeds were to one end.
　　
　　"Between Tupino, and the wave, that falls
　　From blest Ubaldo's chosen hill, there hangs
　　Rich slope of mountain high, whence heat and cold
　　Are wafted through Perugia's eastern gate:
　　And Norcera with Gualdo, in its rear
　　Mourn for their heavy yoke. Upon that side,
　　Where it doth break its steepness most, arose
　　A sun upon the world, as duly this
　　From Ganges doth: therefore let none, who speak
　　Of that place, say Ascesi; for its name
　　Were lamely so deliver'd; but the East,
　　To call things rightly, be it henceforth styl'd.
　　He was not yet much distant from his rising,
　　When his good influence 'gan to bless the earth.
　　A dame to whom none openeth pleasure's gate
　　More than to death, was, 'gainst his father's will,
　　His stripling choice: and he did make her his,
　　Before the Spiritual court, by nuptial bonds,
　　And in his father's sight: from day to day,
　　Then lov'd her more devoutly. She, bereav'd
　　Of her first husband, slighted and obscure,
　　Thousand and hundred years and more, remain'd
　　Without a single suitor, till he came.
　　Nor aught avail'd, that, with Amyclas, she
　　Was found unmov'd at rumour of his voice,
　　Who shook the world: nor aught her constant boldness
　　Whereby with Christ she mounted on the cross,
　　When Mary stay'd beneath. But not to deal
　　Thus closely with thee longer, take at large
　　The rovers' titles—Poverty and Francis.
　　Their concord and glad looks, wonder and love,
　　And sweet regard gave birth to holy thoughts,
　　So much, that venerable Bernard first
　　Did bare his feet, and, in pursuit of peace
　　So heavenly, ran, yet deem'd his footing slow.
　　O hidden riches! O prolific good!
　　Egidius bares him next, and next Sylvester,
　　And follow both the bridegroom; so the bride
　　Can please them. Thenceforth goes he on his way,
　　The father and the master, with his spouse,
　　And with that family, whom now the cord
　　Girt humbly: nor did abjectness of heart
　　Weigh down his eyelids, for that he was son
　　Of Pietro Bernardone, and by men
　　In wond'rous sort despis'd. But royally
　　His hard intention he to Innocent
　　Set forth, and from him first receiv'd the seal
　　On his religion. Then, when numerous flock'd
　　The tribe of lowly ones, that trac'd HIS steps,
　　Whose marvellous life deservedly were sung
　　In heights empyreal, through Honorius' hand
　　A second crown, to deck their Guardian's virtues,
　　Was by the eternal Spirit inwreath'd: and when
　　He had, through thirst of martyrdom, stood up
　　In the proud Soldan's presence, and there preach'd
　　Christ and his followers; but found the race
　　Unripen'd for conversion: back once more
　　He hasted (not to intermit his toil),
　　And reap'd Ausonian lands. On the hard rock,
　　'Twixt Arno and the Tyber, he from Christ
　　Took the last Signet, which his limbs two years
　　Did carry. Then the season come, that he,
　　Who to such good had destin'd him, was pleas'd
　　T' advance him to the meed, which he had earn'd
　　By his self-humbling, to his brotherhood,
　　As their just heritage, he gave in charge
　　His dearest lady, and enjoin'd their love
　　And faith to her: and, from her bosom, will'd
　　His goodly spirit should move forth, returning
　　To its appointed kingdom, nor would have
　　His body laid upon another bier.
　　
　　"Think now of one, who were a fit colleague,
　　To keep the bark of Peter in deep sea
　　Helm'd to right point; and such our Patriarch was.
　　Therefore who follow him, as he enjoins,
　　Thou mayst be certain, take good lading in.
　　But hunger of new viands tempts his flock,
　　So that they needs into strange pastures wide
　　Must spread them: and the more remote from him
　　The stragglers wander, so much mole they come
　　Home to the sheep-fold, destitute of milk.
　　There are of them, in truth, who fear their harm,
　　And to the shepherd cleave; but these so few,
　　A little stuff may furnish out their cloaks.
　　
　　"Now, if my words be clear, if thou have ta'en
　　Good heed, if that, which I have told, recall
　　To mind, thy wish may be in part fulfill'd:
　　For thou wilt see the point from whence they split,
　　Nor miss of the reproof, which that implies,
　　'That well they thrive not sworn with vanity."'

　　Soon as its final word the blessed flame
　　Had rais'd for utterance, straight the holy mill
　　Began to wheel, nor yet had once revolv'd,
　　Or ere another, circling, compass'd it,
　　Motion to motion, song to song, conjoining,
　　Song, that as much our muses doth excel,
　　Our Sirens with their tuneful pipes, as ray
　　Of primal splendour doth its faint reflex.
　　
　　As when, if Juno bid her handmaid forth,
　　Two arches parallel, and trick'd alike,
　　Span the thin cloud, the outer taking birth
　　From that within (in manner of that voice
　　Whom love did melt away, as sun the mist),
　　And they who gaze, presageful call to mind
　　The compact, made with Noah, of the world
　　No more to be o'erflow'd; about us thus
　　Of sempiternal roses, bending, wreath'd
　　Those garlands twain, and to the innermost
　　E'en thus th' external answered. When the footing,
　　And other great festivity, of song,
　　And radiance, light with light accordant, each
　　Jocund and blythe, had at their pleasure still'd
　　(E'en as the eyes by quick volition mov'd,
　　Are shut and rais'd together), from the heart
　　Of one amongst the new lights mov'd a voice,
　　That made me seem like needle to the star,
　　In turning to its whereabout, and thus
　　Began: "The love, that makes me beautiful,
　　Prompts me to tell of th' other guide, for whom
　　Such good of mine is spoken. Where one is,
　　The other worthily should also be;
　　That as their warfare was alike, alike
　　Should be their glory. Slow, and full of doubt,
　　And with thin ranks, after its banner mov'd
　　The army of Christ (which it so clearly cost
　　To reappoint), when its imperial Head,
　　Who reigneth ever, for the drooping host
　　Did make provision, thorough grace alone,
　　And not through its deserving. As thou heard'st,
　　Two champions to the succour of his spouse
　　He sent, who by their deeds and words might join
　　Again his scatter'd people. In that clime,
　　Where springs the pleasant west-wind to unfold
　　The fresh leaves, with which Europe sees herself
　　New-garmented; nor from those billows far,
　　Beyond whose chiding, after weary course,
　　The sun doth sometimes hide him, safe abides
　　The happy Callaroga, under guard
　　Of the great shield, wherein the lion lies
　　Subjected and supreme. And there was born
　　The loving million of the Christian faith,
　　The hollow'd wrestler, gentle to his own,
　　And to his enemies terrible. So replete
　　His soul with lively virtue, that when first
　　Created, even in the mother's womb,
　　It prophesied. When, at the sacred font,
　　The spousals were complete 'twixt faith and him,
　　Where pledge of mutual safety was exchang'd,
　　The dame, who was his surety, in her sleep
　　Beheld the wondrous fruit, that was from him
　　And from his heirs to issue. And that such
　　He might be construed, as indeed he was,
　　She was inspir'd to name him of his owner,
　　Whose he was wholly, and so call'd him Dominic.
　　And I speak of him, as the labourer,
　　Whom Christ in his own garden chose to be
　　His help-mate. Messenger he seem'd, and friend
　　Fast-knit to Christ; and the first love he show'd,
　　Was after the first counsel that Christ gave.
　　Many a time his nurse, at entering found
　　That he had ris'n in silence, and was prostrate,
　　As who should say, "My errand was for this."
　　O happy father! Felix rightly nam'd!
　　O favour'd mother! rightly nam'd Joanna!
　　If that do mean, as men interpret it.
　　Not for the world's sake, for which now they pore
　　Upon Ostiense and Taddeo's page,
　　But for the real manna, soon he grew
　　Mighty in learning, and did set himself
　　To go about the vineyard, that soon turns
　　To wan and wither'd, if not tended well:
　　And from the see (whose bounty to the just
　　And needy is gone by, not through its fault,
　　But his who fills it basely, he besought,
　　No dispensation for commuted wrong,
　　Nor the first vacant fortune, nor the tenth),
　　That to God's paupers rightly appertain,
　　But, 'gainst an erring and degenerate world,
　　Licence to fight, in favour of that seed,
　　From which the twice twelve cions gird thee round.
　　Then, with sage doctrine and good will to help,
　　Forth on his great apostleship he far'd,
　　Like torrent bursting from a lofty vein;
　　And, dashing 'gainst the stocks of heresy,
　　Smote fiercest, where resistance was most stout.
　　Thence many rivulets have since been turn'd,
　　Over the garden Catholic to lead
　　Their living waters, and have fed its plants.
　　
　　"If such one wheel of that two-yoked car,
　　Wherein the holy church defended her,
　　And rode triumphant through the civil broil.
　　Thou canst not doubt its fellow's excellence,
　　Which Thomas, ere my coming, hath declar'd
　　So courteously unto thee. But the track,
　　Which its smooth fellies made, is now deserted:
　　That mouldy mother is where late were lees.
　　His family, that wont to trace his path,
　　Turn backward, and invert their steps; erelong
　　To rue the gathering in of their ill crop,
　　When the rejected tares in vain shall ask
　　Admittance to the barn. I question not
　　But he, who search'd our volume, leaf by leaf,
　　Might still find page with this inscription on't,
　　'I am as I was wont.' Yet such were not
　　From Acquasparta nor Casale, whence
　　Of those, who come to meddle with the text,
　　One stretches and another cramps its rule.
　　Bonaventura's life in me behold,
　　From Bagnororegio, one, who in discharge
　　Of my great offices still laid aside
　　All sinister aim. Illuminato here,
　　And Agostino join me: two they were,
　　Among the first of those barefooted meek ones,
　　Who sought God's friendship in the cord: with them
　　Hugues of Saint Victor, Pietro Mangiadore,
　　And he of Spain in his twelve volumes shining,
　　Nathan the prophet, Metropolitan
　　Chrysostom, and Anselmo, and, who deign'd
　　To put his hand to the first art, Donatus.
　　Raban is here: and at my side there shines
　　Calabria's abbot, Joachim, endow'd
　　With soul prophetic. The bright courtesy
　　Of friar Thomas, and his goodly lore,
　　Have mov'd me to the blazon of a peer
　　So worthy, and with me have mov'd this throng."

　　Let him, who would conceive what now I saw,
　　Imagine (and retain the image firm,
　　As mountain rock, the whilst he hears me speak),
　　Of stars fifteen, from midst the ethereal host
　　Selected, that, with lively ray serene,
　　O'ercome the massiest air: thereto imagine
　　The wain, that, in the bosom of our sky,
　　Spins ever on its axle night and day,
　　With the bright summit of that horn which swells
　　Due from the pole, round which the first wheel rolls,
　　T' have rang'd themselves in fashion of two signs
　　In heav'n, such as Ariadne made,
　　When death's chill seized her; and that one of them
　　Did compass in the other's beam; and both
　　In such sort whirl around, that each should tend
　　With opposite motion and, conceiving thus,
　　Of that true constellation, and the dance
　　Twofold, that circled me, he shall attain
　　As 't were the shadow; for things there as much
　　Surpass our usage, as the swiftest heav'n
　　Is swifter than the Chiana. There was sung
　　No Bacchus, and no Io Paean, but
　　Three Persons in the Godhead, and in one
　　Substance that nature and the human join'd.
　　
　　The song fulfill'd its measure; and to us
　　Those saintly lights attended, happier made
　　At each new minist'ring. Then silence brake,
　　Amid th' accordant sons of Deity,
　　That luminary, in which the wondrous life
　　Of the meek man of God was told to me;
　　And thus it spake: "One ear o' th' harvest thresh'd,
　　And its grain safely stor'd, sweet charity
　　Invites me with the other to like toil.
　　
　　"Thou know'st, that in the bosom, whence the rib
　　Was ta'en to fashion that fair cheek, whose taste
　　All the world pays for, and in that, which pierc'd
　　By the keen lance, both after and before
　　Such satisfaction offer'd, as outweighs
　　Each evil in the scale, whate'er of light
　　To human nature is allow'd, must all
　　Have by his virtue been infus'd, who form'd
　　Both one and other: and thou thence admir'st
　　In that I told thee, of beatitudes
　　A second, there is none, to his enclos'd
　　In the fifth radiance. Open now thine eyes
　　To what I answer thee; and thou shalt see
　　Thy deeming and my saying meet in truth,
　　As centre in the round. That which dies not,
　　And that which can die, are but each the beam
　　Of that idea, which our Soverign Sire
　　Engendereth loving; for that lively light,
　　Which passeth from his brightness; not disjoin'd
　　From him, nor from his love triune with them,
　　Doth, through his bounty, congregate itself,
　　Mirror'd, as 't were in new existences,
　　Itself unalterable and ever one.
　　
　　"Descending hence unto the lowest powers,
　　Its energy so sinks, at last it makes
　　But brief contingencies: for so I name
　　Things generated, which the heav'nly orbs
　　Moving, with seed or without seed, produce.
　　Their wax, and that which molds it, differ much:
　　And thence with lustre, more or less, it shows
　　Th' ideal stamp impress: so that one tree
　　According to his kind, hath better fruit,
　　And worse: and, at your birth, ye, mortal men,
　　Are in your talents various. Were the wax
　　Molded with nice exactness, and the heav'n
　　In its disposing influence supreme,
　　The lustre of the seal should be complete:
　　But nature renders it imperfect ever,
　　Resembling thus the artist in her work,
　　Whose faultering hand is faithless to his skill.
　　Howe'er, if love itself dispose, and mark
　　The primal virtue, kindling with bright view,
　　There all perfection is vouchsafed; and such
　　The clay was made, accomplish'd with each gift,
　　That life can teem with; such the burden fill'd
　　The virgin's bosom: so that I commend
　　Thy judgment, that the human nature ne'er
　　Was or can be, such as in them it was.
　　
　　"Did I advance no further than this point,
　　'How then had he no peer?' thou might'st reply.
　　But, that what now appears not, may appear
　　Right plainly, ponder, who he was, and what
　　(When he was bidden 'Ask' ), the motive sway'd
　　To his requesting. I have spoken thus,
　　That thou mayst see, he was a king, who ask'd
　　For wisdom, to the end he might be king
　　Sufficient: not the number to search out
　　Of the celestial movers; or to know,
　　If necessary with contingent e'er
　　Have made necessity; or whether that
　　Be granted, that first motion is; or if
　　Of the mid circle can, by art, be made
　　Triangle with each corner, blunt or sharp.
　　
　　"Whence, noting that, which I have said, and this,
　　Thou kingly prudence and that ken mayst learn,
　　At which the dart of my intention aims.
　　And, marking clearly, that I told thee, 'Risen,'
　　Thou shalt discern it only hath respect
　　To kings, of whom are many, and the good
　　Are rare. With this distinction take my words;
　　And they may well consist with that which thou
　　Of the first human father dost believe,
　　And of our well-beloved. And let this
　　Henceforth be led unto thy feet, to make
　　Thee slow in motion, as a weary man,
　　Both to the 'yea' and to the 'nay' thou seest not.
　　For he among the fools is down full low,
　　Whose affirmation, or denial, is
　　Without distinction, in each case alike
　　Since it befalls, that in most instances
　　Current opinion leads to false: and then
　　Affection bends the judgment to her ply.
　　
　　"Much more than vainly doth he loose from shore,
　　Since he returns not such as he set forth,
　　Who fishes for the truth and wanteth skill.
　　And open proofs of this unto the world
　　Have been afforded in Parmenides,
　　Melissus, Bryso, and the crowd beside,
　　Who journey'd on, and knew not whither: so did
　　Sabellius, Arius, and the other fools,
　　Who, like to scymitars, reflected back
　　The scripture-image, by distortion marr'd.
　　
　　"Let not the people be too swift to judge,
　　As one who reckons on the blades in field,
　　Or ere the crop be ripe. For I have seen
　　The thorn frown rudely all the winter long
　　And after bear the rose upon its top;
　　And bark, that all the way across the sea
　　Ran straight and speedy, perish at the last,
　　E'en in the haven's mouth seeing one steal,
　　Another brine, his offering to the priest,
　　Let not Dame Birtha and Sir Martin thence
　　Into heav'n's counsels deem that they can pry:
　　For one of these may rise, the other fall."

　　CANTO XIV
　　
　　
　　From centre to the circle, and so back
　　From circle to the centre, water moves
　　In the round chalice, even as the blow
　　Impels it, inwardly, or from without.
　　Such was the image glanc'd into my mind,
　　As the great spirit of Aquinum ceas'd;
　　And Beatrice after him her words
　　Resum'd alternate: "Need there is (tho' yet
　　He tells it to you not in words, nor e'en
　　In thought) that he should fathom to its depth
　　Another mystery. Tell him, if the light,
　　Wherewith your substance blooms, shall stay with you
　　Eternally, as now: and, if it doth,
　　How, when ye shall regain your visible forms,
　　The sight may without harm endure the change,
　　That also tell." As those, who in a ring
　　Tread the light measure, in their fitful mirth
　　Raise loud the voice, and spring with gladder bound;
　　Thus, at the hearing of that pious suit,
　　The saintly circles in their tourneying
　　And wond'rous note attested new delight.
　　
　　Whoso laments, that we must doff this garb
　　Of frail mortality, thenceforth to live
　　Immortally above, he hath not seen
　　The sweet refreshing, of that heav'nly shower.
　　
　　Him, who lives ever, and for ever reigns
　　In mystic union of the Three in One,
　　Unbounded, bounding all, each spirit thrice
　　Sang, with such melody, as but to hear
　　For highest merit were an ample meed.
　　And from the lesser orb the goodliest light,
　　With gentle voice and mild, such as perhaps
　　The angel's once to Mary, thus replied:
　　"Long as the joy of Paradise shall last,
　　Our love shall shine around that raiment, bright,
　　As fervent; fervent, as in vision blest;
　　And that as far in blessedness exceeding,
　　As it hath grave beyond its virtue great.
　　Our shape, regarmented with glorious weeds
　　Of saintly flesh, must, being thus entire,
　　Show yet more gracious. Therefore shall increase,
　　Whate'er of light, gratuitous, imparts
　　The Supreme Good; light, ministering aid,
　　The better disclose his glory: whence
　　The vision needs increasing, much increase
　　The fervour, which it kindles; and that too
　　The ray, that comes from it. But as the greed
　　Which gives out flame, yet it its whiteness shines
　　More lively than that, and so preserves
　　Its proper semblance; thus this circling sphere
　　Of splendour, shall to view less radiant seem,
　　Than shall our fleshly robe, which yonder earth
　　Now covers. Nor will such excess of light
　　O'erpower us, in corporeal organs made
　　Firm, and susceptible of all delight."
　　
　　So ready and so cordial an "Amen,"
　　Followed from either choir, as plainly spoke
　　Desire of their dead bodies; yet perchance
　　Not for themselves, but for their kindred dear,
　　Mothers and sires, and those whom best they lov'd,
　　Ere they were made imperishable flame.
　　
　　
　　
　　And lo! forthwith there rose up round about
　　A lustre over that already there,
　　Of equal clearness, like the brightening up
　　Of the horizon. As at an evening hour
　　Of twilight, new appearances through heav'n
　　Peer with faint glimmer, doubtfully descried;
　　So there new substances, methought began
　　To rise in view; and round the other twain
　　Enwheeling, sweep their ampler circuit wide.
　　
　　O gentle glitter of eternal beam!
　　With what a such whiteness did it flow,
　　O'erpowering vision in me! But so fair,
　　So passing lovely, Beatrice show'd,
　　Mind cannot follow it, nor words express
　　Her infinite sweetness. Thence mine eyes regain'd
　　Power to look up, and I beheld myself,
　　Sole with my lady, to more lofty bliss
　　Translated: for the star, with warmer smile
　　Impurpled, well denoted our ascent.
　　
　　With all the heart, and with that tongue which speaks
　　The same in all, an holocaust I made
　　To God, befitting the new grace vouchsaf'd.
　　And from my bosom had not yet upsteam'd
　　The fuming of that incense, when I knew
　　The rite accepted. With such mighty sheen
　　And mantling crimson, in two listed rays
　　The splendours shot before me, that I cried,
　　"God of Sabaoth! that does prank them thus!"
　　
　　
　　As leads the galaxy from pole to pole,
　　Distinguish'd into greater lights and less,
　　Its pathway, which the wisest fail to spell;
　　So thickly studded, in the depth of Mars,
　　Those rays describ'd the venerable sign,
　　That quadrants in the round conjoining frame.
　　Here memory mocks the toil of genius. Christ
　　Beam'd on that cross; and pattern fails me now.
　　But whoso takes his cross, and follows Christ
　　Will pardon me for that I leave untold,
　　When in the flecker'd dawning he shall spy
　　The glitterance of Christ. From horn to horn,
　　And 'tween the summit and the base did move
　　Lights, scintillating, as they met and pass'd.
　　Thus oft are seen, with ever-changeful glance,
　　Straight or athwart, now rapid and now slow,
　　The atomies of bodies, long or short,
　　To move along the sunbeam, whose slant line
　　Checkers the shadow, interpos'd by art
　　Against the noontide heat. And as the chime
　　Of minstrel music, dulcimer, and help
　　With many strings, a pleasant dining makes
　　To him, who heareth not distinct the note;
　　So from the lights, which there appear'd to me,
　　Gather'd along the cross a melody,
　　That, indistinctly heard, with ravishment
　　Possess'd me. Yet I mark'd it was a hymn
　　Of lofty praises; for there came to me
　　"Arise and conquer," as to one who hears
　　And comprehends not. Me such ecstasy
　　O'ercame, that never till that hour was thing
　　That held me in so sweet imprisonment.
　　
　　Perhaps my saying over bold appears,
　　Accounting less the pleasure of those eyes,
　　Whereon to look fulfilleth all desire.
　　But he, who is aware those living seals
　　Of every beauty work with quicker force,
　　The higher they are ris'n; and that there
　　I had not turn'd me to them; he may well
　　Excuse me that, whereof in my excuse
　　I do accuse me, and may own my truth;
　　That holy pleasure here not yet reveal'd,
　　Which grows in transport as we mount aloof.

　　True love, that ever shows itself as clear
　　In kindness, as loose appetite in wrong,
　　Silenced that lyre harmonious, and still'd
　　The sacred chords, that are by heav'n's right hand
　　Unwound and tighten'd, flow to righteous prayers
　　Should they not hearken, who, to give me will
　　For praying, in accordance thus were mute?
　　He hath in sooth good cause for endless grief,
　　Who, for the love of thing that lasteth not,
　　Despoils himself forever of that love.
　　
　　As oft along the still and pure serene,
　　At nightfall, glides a sudden trail of fire,
　　Attracting with involuntary heed
　　The eye to follow it, erewhile at rest,
　　And seems some star that shifted place in heav'n,
　　Only that, whence it kindles, none is lost,
　　And it is soon extinct; thus from the horn,
　　That on the dexter of the cross extends,
　　Down to its foot, one luminary ran
　　From mid the cluster shone there; yet no gem
　　Dropp'd from its foil; and through the beamy list
　　Like flame in alabaster, glow'd its course.
　　
　　So forward stretch'd him (if of credence aught
　　Our greater muse may claim) the pious ghost
　　Of old Anchises, in the' Elysian bower,
　　When he perceiv'd his son. "O thou, my blood!
　　O most exceeding grace divine! to whom,
　　As now to thee, hath twice the heav'nly gate
　　Been e'er unclos'd?" so spake the light; whence I
　　Turn'd me toward him; then unto my dame
　　My sight directed, and on either side
　　Amazement waited me; for in her eyes
　　Was lighted such a smile, I thought that mine
　　Had div'd unto the bottom of my grace
　　And of my bliss in Paradise. Forthwith
　　To hearing and to sight grateful alike,
　　The spirit to his proem added things
　　I understood not, so profound he spake;
　　Yet not of choice but through necessity
　　Mysterious; for his high conception scar'd
　　Beyond the mark of mortals. When the flight
　　Of holy transport had so spent its rage,
　　That nearer to the level of our thought
　　The speech descended, the first sounds I heard
　　Were, "Best he thou, Triunal Deity!
　　That hast such favour in my seed vouchsaf'd!"
　　Then follow'd: "No unpleasant thirst, tho' long,
　　Which took me reading in the sacred book,
　　Whose leaves or white or dusky never change,
　　Thou hast allay'd, my son, within this light,
　　From whence my voice thou hear'st; more thanks to her.
　　Who for such lofty mounting has with plumes
　　Begirt thee. Thou dost deem thy thoughts to me
　　From him transmitted, who is first of all,
　　E'en as all numbers ray from unity;
　　And therefore dost not ask me who I am,
　　Or why to thee more joyous I appear,
　　Than any other in this gladsome throng.
　　The truth is as thou deem'st; for in this hue
　　Both less and greater in that mirror look,
　　In which thy thoughts, or ere thou think'st, are shown.
　　But, that the love, which keeps me wakeful ever,
　　Urging with sacred thirst of sweet desire,
　　May be contended fully, let thy voice,
　　Fearless, and frank and jocund, utter forth
　　Thy will distinctly, utter forth the wish,
　　Whereto my ready answer stands decreed."
　　
　　I turn'd me to Beatrice; and she heard
　　Ere I had spoken, smiling, an assent,
　　That to my will gave wings; and I began
　　"To each among your tribe, what time ye kenn'd
　　The nature, in whom naught unequal dwells,
　　Wisdom and love were in one measure dealt;
　　For that they are so equal in the sun,
　　From whence ye drew your radiance and your heat,
　　As makes all likeness scant. But will and means,
　　In mortals, for the cause ye well discern,
　　With unlike wings are fledge. A mortal I
　　Experience inequality like this,
　　And therefore give no thanks, but in the heart,
　　For thy paternal greeting. This howe'er
　　I pray thee, living topaz! that ingemm'st
　　This precious jewel, let me hear thy name."
　　
　　"I am thy root, O leaf! whom to expect
　　Even, hath pleas'd me:" thus the prompt reply
　　Prefacing, next it added: "he, of whom
　　Thy kindred appellation comes, and who,
　　These hundred years and more, on its first ledge
　　Hath circuited the mountain, was my son
　　And thy great grandsire. Well befits, his long
　　Endurance should be shorten'd by thy deeds.
　　
　　"Florence, within her ancient limit-mark,
　　Which calls her still to matin prayers and noon,
　　Was chaste and sober, and abode in peace.
　　She had no armlets and no head-tires then,
　　No purfled dames, no zone, that caught the eye
　　More than the person did. Time was not yet,
　　When at his daughter's birth the sire grew pale.
　　For fear the age and dowry should exceed
　　On each side just proportion. House was none
　　Void of its family; nor yet had come
　　Hardanapalus, to exhibit feats
　　Of chamber prowess. Montemalo yet
　　O'er our suburban turret rose; as much
　　To be surpass in fall, as in its rising.
　　I saw Bellincione Berti walk abroad
　　In leathern girdle and a clasp of bone;
　　And, with no artful colouring on her cheeks,
　　His lady leave the glass. The sons I saw
　　Of Nerli and of Vecchio well content
　　With unrob'd jerkin; and their good dames handling
　　The spindle and the flax; O happy they!
　　Each sure of burial in her native land,
　　And none left desolate a-bed for France!
　　One wak'd to tend the cradle, hushing it
　　With sounds that lull'd the parent's infancy:
　　Another, with her maidens, drawing off
　　The tresses from the distaff, lectur'd them
　　Old tales of Troy and Fesole and Rome.
　　A Salterello and Cianghella we
　　Had held as strange a marvel, as ye would
　　A Cincinnatus or Cornelia now.
　　
　　"In such compos'd and seemly fellowship,
　　Such faithful and such fair equality,
　　In so sweet household, Mary at my birth
　　Bestow'd me, call'd on with loud cries; and there
　　In your old baptistery, I was made
　　Christian at once and Cacciaguida; as were
　　My brethren, Eliseo and Moronto.
　　
　　"From Valdipado came to me my spouse,
　　And hence thy surname grew. I follow'd then
　　The Emperor Conrad; and his knighthood he
　　Did gird on me; in such good part he took
　　My valiant service. After him I went
　　To testify against that evil law,
　　Whose people, by the shepherd's fault, possess
　　Your right, usurping. There, by that foul crew
　　Was I releas'd from the deceitful world,
　　Whose base affection many a spirit soils,
　　And from the martyrdom came to this peace."

　　O slight respect of man's nobility!
　　I never shall account it marvelous,
　　That our infirm affection here below
　　Thou mov'st to boasting, when I could not choose,
　　E'en in that region of unwarp'd desire,
　　In heav'n itself, but make my vaunt in thee!
　　Yet cloak thou art soon shorten'd, for that time,
　　Unless thou be eked out from day to day,
　　Goes round thee with his shears. Resuming then
　　With greeting such, as Rome, was first to bear,
　　But since hath disaccustom'd I began;
　　And Beatrice, that a little space
　　Was sever'd, smil'd reminding me of her,
　　Whose cough embolden'd (as the story holds)
　　To first offence the doubting Guenever.
　　
　　"You are my sire," said I, "you give me heart
　　Freely to speak my thought: above myself
　　You raise me. Through so many streams with joy
　　My soul is fill'd, that gladness wells from it;
　　So that it bears the mighty tide, and bursts not
　　Say then, my honour'd stem! what ancestors
　　Where those you sprang from, and what years were mark'd
　　In your first childhood? Tell me of the fold,
　　That hath Saint John for guardian, what was then
　　Its state, and who in it were highest seated?"
　　
　　As embers, at the breathing of the wind,
　　Their flame enliven, so that light I saw
　　Shine at my blandishments; and, as it grew
　　More fair to look on, so with voice more sweet,
　　Yet not in this our modern phrase, forthwith
　　It answer'd: "From the day, when it was said
　　'Hail Virgin!' to the throes, by which my mother,
　　Who now is sainted, lighten'd her of me
　　Whom she was heavy with, this fire had come,
　　Five hundred fifty times and thrice, its beams
　　To reilumine underneath the foot
　　Of its own lion. They, of whom I sprang,
　　And I, had there our birth-place, where the last
　　Partition of our city first is reach'd
　　By him, that runs her annual game. Thus much
　　Suffice of my forefathers: who they were,
　　And whence they hither came, more honourable
　　It is to pass in silence than to tell.
　　All those, who in that time were there from Mars
　　Until the Baptist, fit to carry arms,
　　Were but the fifth of them this day alive.
　　But then the citizen's blood, that now is mix'd
　　From Campi and Certaldo and Fighine,
　　Ran purely through the last mechanic's veins.
　　O how much better were it, that these people
　　Were neighbours to you, and that at Galluzzo
　　And at Trespiano, ye should have your bound'ry,
　　Than to have them within, and bear the stench
　　Of Aguglione's hind, and Signa's, him,
　　That hath his eye already keen for bart'ring!
　　Had not the people, which of all the world
　　Degenerates most, been stepdame unto Caesar,
　　But, as a mother, gracious to her son;
　　Such one, as hath become a Florentine,
　　And trades and traffics, had been turn'd adrift
　　To Simifonte, where his grandsire ply'd
　　The beggar's craft. The Conti were possess'd
　　Of Montemurlo still: the Cerchi still
　　Were in Acone's parish; nor had haply
　　From Valdigrieve past the Buondelmonte.
　　The city's malady hath ever source
　　In the confusion of its persons, as
　　The body's, in variety of food:
　　And the blind bull falls with a steeper plunge,
　　Than the blind lamb; and oftentimes one sword
　　Doth more and better execution,
　　Than five. Mark Luni, Urbisaglia mark,
　　How they are gone, and after them how go
　　Chiusi and Sinigaglia; and 't will seem
　　No longer new or strange to thee to hear,
　　That families fail, when cities have their end.
　　All things, that appertain t' ye, like yourselves,
　　Are mortal: but mortality in some
　　Ye mark not, they endure so long, and you
　　Pass by so suddenly. And as the moon
　　Doth, by the rolling of her heav'nly sphere,
　　Hide and reveal the strand unceasingly;
　　So fortune deals with Florence. Hence admire not
　　At what of them I tell thee, whose renown
　　Time covers, the first Florentines. I saw
　　The Ughi, Catilini and Filippi,
　　The Alberichi, Greci and Ormanni,
　　Now in their wane, illustrious citizens:
　　And great as ancient, of Sannella him,
　　With him of Arca saw, and Soldanieri
　　And Ardinghi, and Bostichi. At the poop,
　　That now is laden with new felony,
　　So cumb'rous it may speedily sink the bark,
　　The Ravignani sat, of whom is sprung
　　The County Guido, and whoso hath since
　　His title from the fam'd Bellincione ta'en.
　　Fair governance was yet an art well priz'd
　　By him of Pressa: Galigaio show'd
　　The gilded hilt and pommel, in his house.
　　The column, cloth'd with verrey, still was seen
　　Unshaken: the Sacchetti still were great,
　　Giouchi, Sifanti, Galli and Barucci,
　　With them who blush to hear the bushel nam'd.
　　Of the Calfucci still the branchy trunk
　　Was in its strength: and to the curule chairs
　　Sizii and Arigucci yet were drawn.
　　How mighty them I saw, whom since their pride
　　Hath undone! and in all her goodly deeds
　　Florence was by the bullets of bright gold
　　O'erflourish'd. Such the sires of those, who now,
　　As surely as your church is vacant, flock
　　Into her consistory, and at leisure
　　There stall them and grow fat. The o'erweening brood,
　　That plays the dragon after him that flees,
　　But unto such, as turn and show the tooth,
　　Ay or the purse, is gentle as a lamb,
　　Was on its rise, but yet so slight esteem'd,
　　That Ubertino of Donati grudg'd
　　His father-in-law should yoke him to its tribe.
　　Already Caponsacco had descended
　　Into the mart from Fesole: and Giuda
　　And Infangato were good citizens.
　　A thing incredible I tell, tho' true:
　　The gateway, named from those of Pera, led
　　Into the narrow circuit of your walls.
　　Each one, who bears the sightly quarterings
　　Of the great Baron (he whose name and worth
　　The festival of Thomas still revives)
　　His knighthood and his privilege retain'd;
　　Albeit one, who borders them With gold,
　　This day is mingled with the common herd.
　　In Borgo yet the Gualterotti dwelt,
　　And Importuni: well for its repose
　　Had it still lack'd of newer neighbourhood.
　　The house, from whence your tears have had their spring,
　　Through the just anger that hath murder'd ye
　　And put a period to your gladsome days,
　　Was honour'd, it, and those consorted with it.
　　O Buondelmonte! what ill counseling
　　Prevail'd on thee to break the plighted bond
　　Many, who now are weeping, would rejoice,
　　Had God to Ema giv'n thee, the first time
　　Thou near our city cam'st. But so was doom'd:
　　On that maim'd stone set up to guard the bridge,
　　At thy last peace, the victim, Florence! fell.
　　With these and others like to them, I saw
　　Florence in such assur'd tranquility,
　　She had no cause at which to grieve: with these
　　Saw her so glorious and so just, that ne'er
　　The lily from the lance had hung reverse,
　　Or through division been with vermeil dyed."

　　Such as the youth, who came to Clymene
　　To certify himself of that reproach,
　　Which had been fasten'd on him, (he whose end
　　Still makes the fathers chary to their sons),
　　E'en such was I; nor unobserv'd was such
　　Of Beatrice, and that saintly lamp,
　　Who had erewhile for me his station mov'd;
　　When thus by lady: "Give thy wish free vent,
　　That it may issue, bearing true report
　　Of the mind's impress; not that aught thy words
　　May to our knowledge add, but to the end,
　　That thou mayst use thyself to own thy thirst
　　And men may mingle for thee when they hear."
　　
　　"O plant! from whence I spring! rever'd and lov'd!
　　Who soar'st so high a pitch, thou seest as clear,
　　As earthly thought determines two obtuse
　　In one triangle not contain'd, so clear
　　Dost see contingencies, ere in themselves
　　Existent, looking at the point whereto
　　All times are present, I, the whilst I scal'd
　　With Virgil the soul purifying mount,
　　And visited the nether world of woe,
　　Touching my future destiny have heard
　　Words grievous, though I feel me on all sides
　　Well squar'd to fortune's blows. Therefore my will
　　Were satisfied to know the lot awaits me,
　　The arrow, seen beforehand, slacks its flight."
　　
　　So said I to the brightness, which erewhile
　　To me had spoken, and my will declar'd,
　　As Beatrice will'd, explicitly.
　　Nor with oracular response obscure,
　　Such, as or ere the Lamb of God was slain,
　　Beguil'd the credulous nations; but, in terms
　　Precise and unambiguous lore, replied
　　The spirit of paternal love, enshrin'd,
　　Yet in his smile apparent; and thus spake:
　　"Contingency, unfolded not to view
　　Upon the tablet of your mortal mold,
　　Is all depictur'd in the' eternal sight;
　　But hence deriveth not necessity,
　　More then the tall ship, hurried down the flood,
　　Doth from the vision, that reflects the scene.
　　From thence, as to the ear sweet harmony
　　From organ comes, so comes before mine eye
　　The time prepar'd for thee. Such as driv'n out
　　From Athens, by his cruel stepdame's wiles,
　　Hippolytus departed, such must thou
　　Depart from Florence. This they wish, and this
　　Contrive, and will ere long effectuate, there,
　　Where gainful merchandize is made of Christ,
　　Throughout the livelong day. The common cry,
　　Will, as 't is ever wont, affix the blame
　　Unto the party injur'd: but the truth
　　Shall, in the vengeance it dispenseth, find
　　A faithful witness. Thou shall leave each thing
　　Belov'd most dearly: this is the first shaft
　　Shot from the bow of exile. Thou shalt prove
　　How salt the savour is of other's bread,
　　How hard the passage to descend and climb
　　By other's stairs, But that shall gall thee most
　　Will be the worthless and vile company,
　　With whom thou must be thrown into these straits.
　　For all ungrateful, impious all and mad,
　　Shall turn 'gainst thee: but in a little while
　　Theirs and not thine shall be the crimson'd brow
　　Their course shall so evince their brutishness
　　T' have ta'en thy stand apart shall well become thee.
　　
　　"First refuge thou must find, first place of rest,
　　In the great Lombard's courtesy, who bears
　　Upon the ladder perch'd the sacred bird.
　　He shall behold thee with such kind regard,
　　That 'twixt ye two, the contrary to that
　　Which falls 'twixt other men, the granting shall
　　Forerun the asking. With him shalt thou see
　　That mortal, who was at his birth impress
　　So strongly from this star, that of his deeds
　　The nations shall take note. His unripe age
　　Yet holds him from observance; for these wheels
　　Only nine years have compass him about.
　　But, ere the Gascon practice on great Harry,
　　Sparkles of virtue shall shoot forth in him,
　　In equal scorn of labours and of gold.
　　His bounty shall be spread abroad so widely,
　　As not to let the tongues e'en of his foes
　　Be idle in its praise. Look thou to him
　　And his beneficence: for he shall cause
　　Reversal of their lot to many people,
　　Rich men and beggars interchanging fortunes.
　　And thou shalt bear this written in thy soul
　　Of him, but tell it not;" and things he told
　　Incredible to those who witness them;
　　Then added: "So interpret thou, my son,
　　What hath been told thee.—Lo! the ambushment
　　That a few circling seasons hide for thee!
　　Yet envy not thy neighbours: time extends
　　Thy span beyond their treason's chastisement."
　　
　　Soon, as the saintly spirit, by his silence,
　　Had shown the web, which I had streteh'd for him
　　Upon the warp, was woven, I began,
　　As one, who in perplexity desires
　　Counsel of other, wise, benign and friendly:
　　"My father! well I mark how time spurs on
　　Toward me, ready to inflict the blow,
　　Which falls most heavily on him, who most
　　Abandoned himself. Therefore 't is good
　　I should forecast, that driven from the place
　　Most dear to me, I may not lose myself
　　All others by my song. Down through the world
　　Of infinite mourning, and along the mount
　　From whose fair height my lady's eyes did lift me,
　　And after through this heav'n from light to light,
　　Have I learnt that, which if I tell again,
　　It may with many woefully disrelish;
　　And, if I am a timid friend to truth,
　　I fear my life may perish among those,
　　To whom these days shall be of ancient date."
　　
　　The brightness, where enclos'd the treasure smil'd,
　　Which I had found there, first shone glisteningly,
　　Like to a golden mirror in the sun;
　　Next answer'd: "Conscience, dimm'd or by its own
　　Or other's shame, will feel thy saying sharp.
　　Thou, notwithstanding, all deceit remov'd,
　　See the whole vision be made manifest.
　　And let them wince who have their withers wrung.
　　What though, when tasted first, thy voice shall prove
　　Unwelcome, on digestion it will turn
　　To vital nourishment. The cry thou raisest,
　　Shall, as the wind doth, smite the proudest summits;
　　Which is of honour no light argument,
　　For this there only have been shown to thee,
　　Throughout these orbs, the mountain, and the deep,
　　Spirits, whom fame hath note of. For the mind
　　Of him, who hears, is loth to acquiesce
　　And fix its faith, unless the instance brought
　　Be palpable, and proof apparent urge."

　　Now in his word, sole, ruminating, joy'd
　　That blessed spirit; and I fed on mine,
　　Tempting the sweet with bitter: she meanwhile,
　　Who led me unto God, admonish'd: "Muse
　　On other thoughts: bethink thee, that near Him
　　I dwell, who recompenseth every wrong."
　　
　　At the sweet sounds of comfort straight I turn'd;
　　And, in the saintly eyes what love was seen,
　　I leave in silence here: nor through distrust
　　Of my words only, but that to such bliss
　　The mind remounts not without aid. Thus much
　　Yet may I speak; that, as I gaz'd on her,
　　Affection found no room for other wish.
　　While the everlasting pleasure, that did full
　　On Beatrice shine, with second view
　　From her fair countenance my gladden'd soul
　　Contented; vanquishing me with a beam
　　Of her soft smile, she spake: "Turn thee, and list.
　　These eyes are not thy only Paradise."
　　
　　As here we sometimes in the looks may see
　　Th' affection mark'd, when that its sway hath ta'en
　　The spirit wholly; thus the hallow'd light,
　　To whom I turn'd, flashing, bewray'd its will
　　To talk yet further with me, and began:
　　"On this fifth lodgment of the tree, whose life
　　Is from its top, whose fruit is ever fair
　　And leaf unwith'ring, blessed spirits abide,
　　That were below, ere they arriv'd in heav'n,
　　So mighty in renown, as every muse
　　Might grace her triumph with them. On the horns
　　Look therefore of the cross: he, whom I name,
　　Shall there enact, as doth in summer cloud
　　Its nimble fire." Along the cross I saw,
　　At the repeated name of Joshua,
　　A splendour gliding; nor, the word was said,
　　Ere it was done: then, at the naming saw
　　Of the great Maccabee, another move
　　With whirling speed; and gladness was the scourge
　　Unto that top. The next for Charlemagne
　　And for the peer Orlando, two my gaze
　　Pursued, intently, as the eye pursues
　　A falcon flying. Last, along the cross,
　　William, and Renard, and Duke Godfrey drew
　　My ken, and Robert Guiscard. And the soul,
　　Who spake with me among the other lights
　　Did move away, and mix; and with the choir
　　Of heav'nly songsters prov'd his tuneful skill.
　　
　　To Beatrice on my right l bent,
　　Looking for intimation or by word
　　Or act, what next behoov'd: and did descry
　　Such mere effulgence in her eyes, such joy,
　　It past all former wont. And, as by sense
　　Of new delight, the man, who perseveres
　　In good deeds doth perceive from day to day
　　His virtue growing; I e'en thus perceiv'd
　　Of my ascent, together with the heav'n
　　The circuit widen'd, noting the increase
　　Of beauty in that wonder. Like the change
　　In a brief moment on some maiden's cheek,
　　Which from its fairness doth discharge the weight
　　Of pudency, that stain'd it; such in her,
　　And to mine eyes so sudden was the change,
　　Through silvery whiteness of that temperate star,
　　Whose sixth orb now enfolded us. I saw,
　　Within that Jovial cresset, the clear sparks
　　Of love, that reign'd there, fashion to my view
　　Our language. And as birds, from river banks
　　Arisen, now in round, now lengthen'd troop,
　　Array them in their flight, greeting, as seems,
　　Their new-found pastures; so, within the lights,
　　The saintly creatures flying, sang, and made
　　Now D. now I. now L. figur'd I' th' air.
　　
　　First, singing, to their notes they mov'd, then one
　　Becoming of these signs, a little while
　　Did rest them, and were mute. O nymph divine
　　Of Pegasean race! whose souls, which thou
　　Inspir'st, mak'st glorious and long-liv'd, as they
　　Cities and realms by thee! thou with thyself
　　Inform me; that I may set forth the shapes,
　　As fancy doth present them. Be thy power
　　Display'd in this brief song. The characters,
　　Vocal and consonant, were five-fold seven.
　　In order each, as they appear'd, I mark'd.
　　Diligite Justitiam, the first,
　　Both verb and noun all blazon'd; and the extreme
　　Qui judicatis terram. In the M.
　　Of the fifth word they held their station,
　　Making the star seem silver streak'd with gold.
　　And on the summit of the M. I saw
　　Descending other lights, that rested there,
　　Singing, methinks, their bliss and primal good.
　　Then, as at shaking of a lighted brand,
　　Sparkles innumerable on all sides
　　Rise scatter'd, source of augury to th' unwise;
　　Thus more than thousand twinkling lustres hence
　　Seem'd reascending, and a higher pitch
　　Some mounting, and some less; e'en as the sun,
　　Which kindleth them, decreed. And when each one
　　Had settled in his place, the head and neck
　　Then saw I of an eagle, lively
　　Grav'd in that streaky fire. Who painteth there,
　　Hath none to guide him; of himself he guides;
　　And every line and texture of the nest
　　Doth own from him the virtue, fashions it.
　　The other bright beatitude, that seem'd
　　Erewhile, with lilied crowning, well content
　　To over-canopy the M. mov'd forth,
　　Following gently the impress of the bird.
　　
　　Sweet star! what glorious and thick-studded gems
　　Declar'd to me our justice on the earth
　　To be the effluence of that heav'n, which thou,
　　Thyself a costly jewel, dost inlay!
　　Therefore I pray the Sovran Mind, from whom
　　Thy motion and thy virtue are begun,
　　That he would look from whence the fog doth rise,
　　To vitiate thy beam: so that once more
　　He may put forth his hand 'gainst such, as drive
　　Their traffic in that sanctuary, whose walls
　　With miracles and martyrdoms were built.
　　
　　Ye host of heaven! whose glory I survey l
　　O beg ye grace for those, that are on earth
　　All after ill example gone astray.
　　War once had for its instrument the sword:
　　But now 't is made, taking the bread away
　　Which the good Father locks from none. —And thou,
　　That writes but to cancel, think, that they,
　　Who for the vineyard, which thou wastest, died,
　　Peter and Paul live yet, and mark thy doings.
　　Thou hast good cause to cry, "My heart so cleaves
　　To him, that liv'd in solitude remote,
　　And from the wilds was dragg'd to martyrdom,
　　I wist not of the fisherman nor Paul."

　　Before my sight appear'd, with open wings,
　　The beauteous image, in fruition sweet
　　Gladdening the thronged spirits. Each did seem
　　A little ruby, whereon so intense
　　The sun-beam glow'd that to mine eyes it came
　　In clear refraction. And that, which next
　　Befalls me to portray, voice hath not utter'd,
　　Nor hath ink written, nor in fantasy
　　Was e'er conceiv'd. For I beheld and heard
　　The beak discourse; and, what intention form'd
　　Of many, singly as of one express,
　　Beginning: "For that I was just and piteous,
　　l am exalted to this height of glory,
　　The which no wish exceeds: and there on earth
　　Have I my memory left, e'en by the bad
　　Commended, while they leave its course untrod."
　　
　　Thus is one heat from many embers felt,
　　As in that image many were the loves,
　　And one the voice, that issued from them all.
　　Whence I address them: "O perennial flowers
　　Of gladness everlasting! that exhale
　　In single breath your odours manifold!
　　Breathe now; and let the hunger be appeas'd,
　　That with great craving long hath held my soul,
　　Finding no food on earth. This well I know,
　　That if there be in heav'n a realm, that shows
　　In faithful mirror the celestial Justice,
　　Yours without veil reflects it. Ye discern
　　The heed, wherewith I do prepare myself
　　To hearken; ye the doubt that urges me
　　With such inveterate craving." Straight I saw,
　　Like to a falcon issuing from the hood,
　　That rears his head, and claps him with his wings,
　　His beauty and his eagerness bewraying.
　　So saw I move that stately sign, with praise
　　Of grace divine inwoven and high song
　　Of inexpressive joy. "He," it began,
　　"Who turn'd his compass on the world's extreme,
　　And in that space so variously hath wrought,
　　Both openly, and in secret, in such wise
　　Could not through all the universe display
　　Impression of his glory, that the Word
　　Of his omniscience should not still remain
　　In infinite excess. In proof whereof,
　　He first through pride supplanted, who was sum
　　Of each created being, waited not
　　For light celestial, and abortive fell.
　　Whence needs each lesser nature is but scant
　　Receptacle unto that Good, which knows
　　No limit, measur'd by itself alone.
　　Therefore your sight, of th' omnipresent Mind
　　A single beam, its origin must own
　　Surpassing far its utmost potency.
　　The ken, your world is gifted with, descends
　　In th' everlasting Justice as low down,
　　As eye doth in the sea; which though it mark
　　The bottom from the shore, in the wide main
　　Discerns it not; and ne'ertheless it is,
　　But hidden through its deepness. Light is none,
　　Save that which cometh from the pure serene
　　Of ne'er disturbed ether: for the rest,
　　'Tis darkness all, or shadow of the flesh,
　　Or else its poison. Here confess reveal'd
　　That covert, which hath hidden from thy search
　　The living justice, of the which thou mad'st
　　Such frequent question; for thou saidst—'A man
　　Is born on Indus' banks, and none is there
　　Who speaks of Christ, nor who doth read nor write,
　　And all his inclinations and his acts,
　　As far as human reason sees, are good,
　　And he offendeth not in word or deed.
　　But unbaptiz'd he dies, and void of faith.
　　Where is the justice that condemns him? where
　　His blame, if he believeth not?'—What then,
　　And who art thou, that on the stool wouldst sit
　　To judge at distance of a thousand miles
　　With the short-sighted vision of a span?
　　To him, who subtilizes thus with me,
　　There would assuredly be room for doubt
　　Even to wonder, did not the safe word
　　Of scripture hold supreme authority.
　　
　　"O animals of clay! O spirits gross I
　　The primal will, that in itself is good,
　　Hath from itself, the chief Good, ne'er been mov'd.
　　Justice consists in consonance with it,
　　Derivable by no created good,
　　Whose very cause depends upon its beam."
　　
　　As on her nest the stork, that turns about
　　Unto her young, whom lately she hath fed,
　　While they with upward eyes do look on her;
　　So lifted I my gaze; and bending so
　　The ever-blessed image wav'd its wings,
　　Lab'ring with such deep counsel. Wheeling round
　　It warbled, and did say: "As are my notes
　　To thee, who understand'st them not, such is
　　Th' eternal judgment unto mortal ken."
　　
　　Then still abiding in that ensign rang'd,
　　Wherewith the Romans over-awed the world,
　　Those burning splendours of the Holy Spirit
　　Took up the strain; and thus it spake again:
　　"None ever hath ascended to this realm,
　　Who hath not a believer been in Christ,
　　Either before or after the blest limbs
　　Were nail'd upon the wood. But lo! of those
　　Who call 'Christ, Christ,' there shall be many found,
　　In judgment, further off from him by far,
　　Than such, to whom his name was never known.
　　Christians like these the Ethiop shall condemn:
　　When that the two assemblages shall part;
　　One rich eternally, the other poor.
　　
　　"What may the Persians say unto your kings,
　　When they shall see that volume, in the which
　　All their dispraise is written, spread to view?
　　There amidst Albert's works shall that be read,
　　Which will give speedy motion to the pen,
　　When Prague shall mourn her desolated realm.
　　There shall be read the woe, that he doth work
　　With his adulterate money on the Seine,
　　Who by the tusk will perish: there be read
　　The thirsting pride, that maketh fool alike
　　The English and Scot, impatient of their bound.
　　There shall be seen the Spaniard's luxury,
　　The delicate living there of the Bohemian,
　　Who still to worth has been a willing stranger.
　　The halter of Jerusalem shall see
　　A unit for his virtue, for his vices
　　No less a mark than million. He, who guards
　　The isle of fire by old Anchises honour'd
　　Shall find his avarice there and cowardice;
　　And better to denote his littleness,
　　The writing must be letters maim'd, that speak
　　Much in a narrow space. All there shall know
　　His uncle and his brother's filthy doings,
　　Who so renown'd a nation and two crowns
　　Have bastardized. And they, of Portugal
　　And Norway, there shall be expos'd with him
　　Of Ratza, who hath counterfeited ill
　　The coin of Venice. O blest Hungary!
　　If thou no longer patiently abid'st
　　Thy ill-entreating! and, O blest Navarre!
　　If with thy mountainous girdle thou wouldst arm thee
　　In earnest of that day, e'en now are heard
　　Wailings and groans in Famagosta's streets
　　And Nicosia's, grudging at their beast,
　　Who keepeth even footing with the rest."

　　When, disappearing, from our hemisphere,
　　The world's enlightener vanishes, and day
　　On all sides wasteth, suddenly the sky,
　　Erewhile irradiate only with his beam,
　　Is yet again unfolded, putting forth
　　Innumerable lights wherein one shines.
　　Of such vicissitude in heaven I thought,
　　As the great sign, that marshaleth the world
　　And the world's leaders, in the blessed beak
　　Was silent; for that all those living lights,
　　Waxing in splendour, burst forth into songs,
　　Such as from memory glide and fall away.
　　
　　Sweet love! that dost apparel thee in smiles,
　　How lustrous was thy semblance in those sparkles,
　　Which merely are from holy thoughts inspir'd!
　　
　　After the precious and bright beaming stones,
　　That did ingem the sixth light, ceas'd the chiming
　　Of their angelic bells; methought I heard
　　The murmuring of a river, that doth fall
　　From rock to rock transpicuous, making known
　　The richness of his spring-head: and as sound
　　Of cistern, at the fret-board, or of pipe,
　　Is, at the wind-hole, modulate and tun'd;
　　Thus up the neck, as it were hollow, rose
　　That murmuring of the eagle, and forthwith
　　Voice there assum'd, and thence along the beak
　　Issued in form of words, such as my heart
　　Did look for, on whose tables I inscrib'd them.
　　
　　"The part in me, that sees, and bears the sun,,
　　In mortal eagles," it began, "must now
　　Be noted steadfastly: for of the fires,
　　That figure me, those, glittering in mine eye,
　　Are chief of all the greatest. This, that shines
　　Midmost for pupil, was the same, who sang
　　The Holy Spirit's song, and bare about
　　The ark from town to town; now doth he know
　　The merit of his soul-impassion'd strains
　　By their well-fitted guerdon. Of the five,
　　That make the circle of the vision, he
　　Who to the beak is nearest, comforted
　　The widow for her son: now doth he know
　　How dear he costeth not to follow Christ,
　　Both from experience of this pleasant life,
　　And of its opposite. He next, who follows
　　In the circumference, for the over arch,
　　By true repenting slack'd the pace of death:
　　Now knoweth he, that the degrees of heav'n
　　Alter not, when through pious prayer below
　　Today's is made tomorrow's destiny.
　　The other following, with the laws and me,
　　To yield the shepherd room, pass'd o'er to Greece,
　　From good intent producing evil fruit:
　　Now knoweth he, how all the ill, deriv'd
　　From his well doing, doth not helm him aught,
　　Though it have brought destruction on the world.
　　That, which thou seest in the under bow,
　　Was William, whom that land bewails, which weeps
　　For Charles and Frederick living: now he knows
　　How well is lov'd in heav'n the righteous king,
　　Which he betokens by his radiant seeming.
　　Who in the erring world beneath would deem,
　　That Trojan Ripheus in this round was set
　　Fifth of the saintly splendours? now he knows
　　Enough of that, which the world cannot see,
　　The grace divine, albeit e'en his sight
　　Reach not its utmost depth." Like to the lark,
　　That warbling in the air expatiates long,
　　Then, trilling out his last sweet melody,
　　Drops satiate with the sweetness; such appear'd
　　That image stampt by the' everlasting pleasure,
　　Which fashions like itself all lovely things.
　　
　　I, though my doubting were as manifest,
　　As is through glass the hue that mantles it,
　　In silence waited not: for to my lips
　　"What things are these?" involuntary rush'd,
　　And forc'd a passage out: whereat I mark'd
　　A sudden lightening and new revelry.
　　The eye was kindled: and the blessed sign
　　No more to keep me wond'ring and suspense,
　　Replied: "I see that thou believ'st these things,
　　Because I tell them, but discern'st not how;
　　So that thy knowledge waits not on thy faith:
　　As one who knows the name of thing by rote,
　　But is a stranger to its properties,
　　Till other's tongue reveal them. Fervent love
　　And lively hope with violence assail
　　The kingdom of the heavens, and overcome
　　The will of the Most high; not in such sort
　　As man prevails o'er man; but conquers it,
　　Because 't is willing to be conquer'd, still,
　　Though conquer'd, by its mercy conquering.
　　
　　"Those, in the eye who live the first and fifth,
　　Cause thee to marvel, in that thou behold'st
　　The region of the angels deck'd with them.
　　They quitted not their bodies, as thou deem'st,
　　Gentiles but Christians, in firm rooted faith,
　　This of the feet in future to be pierc'd,
　　That of feet nail'd already to the cross.
　　One from the barrier of the dark abyss,
　　Where never any with good will returns,
　　Came back unto his bones. Of lively hope
　　Such was the meed; of lively hope, that wing'd
　　The prayers sent up to God for his release,
　　And put power into them to bend his will.
　　The glorious Spirit, of whom I speak to thee,
　　A little while returning to the flesh,
　　Believ'd in him, who had the means to help,
　　And, in believing, nourish'd such a flame
　　Of holy love, that at the second death
　　He was made sharer in our gamesome mirth.
　　The other, through the riches of that grace,
　　Which from so deep a fountain doth distil,
　　As never eye created saw its rising,
　　Plac'd all his love below on just and right:
　　Wherefore of grace God op'd in him the eye
　　To the redemption of mankind to come;
　　Wherein believing, he endur'd no more
　　The filth of paganism, and for their ways
　　Rebuk'd the stubborn nations. The three nymphs,
　　Whom at the right wheel thou beheldst advancing,
　　Were sponsors for him more than thousand years
　　Before baptizing. O how far remov'd,
　　Predestination! is thy root from such
　　As see not the First cause entire: and ye,
　　O mortal men! be wary how ye judge:
　　For we, who see our Maker, know not yet
　　The number of the chosen: and esteem
　　Such scantiness of knowledge our delight:
　　For all our good is in that primal good
　　Concentrate, and God's will and ours are one."
　　
　　So, by that form divine, was giv'n to me
　　Sweet medicine to clear and strengthen sight,
　　And, as one handling skillfully the harp,
　　Attendant on some skilful songster's voice
　　Bids the chords vibrate, and therein the song
　　Acquires more pleasure; so, the whilst it spake,
　　It doth remember me, that I beheld
　　The pair of blessed luminaries move.
　　Like the accordant twinkling of two eyes,
　　Their beamy circlets, dancing to the sounds.

　　Again mine eyes were fix'd on Beatrice,
　　And with mine eyes my soul, that in her looks
　　Found all contentment. Yet no smile she wore
　　And, "Did I smile," quoth she, "thou wouldst be straight
　　Like Semele when into ashes turn'd:
　　For, mounting these eternal palace-stairs,
　　My beauty, which the loftier it climbs,
　　As thou hast noted, still doth kindle more,
　　So shines, that, were no temp'ring interpos'd,
　　Thy mortal puissance would from its rays
　　Shrink, as the leaf doth from the thunderbolt.
　　Into the seventh splendour are we wafted,
　　That underneath the burning lion's breast
　　Beams, in this hour, commingled with his might,
　　Thy mind be with thine eyes: and in them mirror'd
　　The shape, which in this mirror shall be shown."
　　Whoso can deem, how fondly I had fed
　　My sight upon her blissful countenance,
　　May know, when to new thoughts I chang'd, what joy
　　To do the bidding of my heav'nly guide:
　　In equal balance poising either weight.
　　
　　Within the crystal, which records the name,
　　(As its remoter circle girds the world)
　　Of that lov'd monarch, in whose happy reign
　　No ill had power to harm, I saw rear'd up,
　　In colour like to sun-illumin'd gold.
　　
　　A ladder, which my ken pursued in vain,
　　So lofty was the summit; down whose steps
　　I saw the splendours in such multitude
　　Descending, ev'ry light in heav'n, methought,
　　Was shed thence. As the rooks, at dawn of day
　　Bestirring them to dry their feathers chill,
　　Some speed their way a-field, and homeward some,
　　Returning, cross their flight, while some abide
　　And wheel around their airy lodge; so seem'd
　　That glitterance, wafted on alternate wing,
　　As upon certain stair it met, and clash'd
　　Its shining. And one ling'ring near us, wax'd
　　So bright, that in my thought: said: "The love,
　　Which this betokens me, admits no doubt."
　　
　　Unwillingly from question I refrain,
　　To her, by whom my silence and my speech
　　Are order'd, looking for a sign: whence she,
　　Who in the sight of Him, that seeth all,
　　Saw wherefore I was silent, prompted me
　　T' indulge the fervent wish; and I began:
　　"I am not worthy, of my own desert,
　　That thou shouldst answer me; but for her sake,
　　Who hath vouchsaf'd my asking, spirit blest!
　　That in thy joy art shrouded! say the cause,
　　Which bringeth thee so near: and wherefore, say,
　　Doth the sweet symphony of Paradise
　　Keep silence here, pervading with such sounds
　　Of rapt devotion ev'ry lower sphere?"
　　"Mortal art thou in hearing as in sight;"
　　Was the reply: "and what forbade the smile
　　Of Beatrice interrupts our song.
　　Only to yield thee gladness of my voice,
　　And of the light that vests me, I thus far
　　Descend these hallow'd steps: not that more love
　　Invites me; for lo! there aloft, as much
　　Or more of love is witness'd in those flames:
　　But such my lot by charity assign'd,
　　That makes us ready servants, as thou seest,
　　To execute the counsel of the Highest.
　　"That in this court," said I, "O sacred lamp!
　　Love no compulsion needs, but follows free
　　Th' eternal Providence, I well discern:
　　This harder find to deem, why of thy peers
　　Thou only to this office wert foredoom'd."
　　I had not ended, when, like rapid mill,
　　Upon its centre whirl'd the light; and then
　　The love, that did inhabit there, replied:
　　"Splendour eternal, piercing through these folds,
　　Its virtue to my vision knits, and thus
　　Supported, lifts me so above myself,
　　That on the sov'ran essence, which it wells from,
　　I have the power to gaze: and hence the joy,
　　Wherewith I sparkle, equaling with my blaze
　　The keenness of my sight. But not the soul,
　　That is in heav'n most lustrous, nor the seraph
　　That hath his eyes most fix'd on God, shall solve
　　What thou hast ask'd: for in th' abyss it lies
　　Of th' everlasting statute sunk so low,
　　That no created ken may fathom it.
　　And, to the mortal world when thou return'st,
　　Be this reported; that none henceforth dare
　　Direct his footsteps to so dread a bourn.
　　The mind, that here is radiant, on the earth
　　Is wrapt in mist. Look then if she may do,
　　Below, what passeth her ability,
　　When she is ta'en to heav'n." By words like these
　　Admonish'd, I the question urg'd no more;
　　And of the spirit humbly sued alone
　　T' instruct me of its state. "'Twixt either shore
　　Of Italy, nor distant from thy land,
　　A stony ridge ariseth, in such sort,
　　The thunder doth not lift his voice so high,
　　They call it Catria: at whose foot a cell
　　Is sacred to the lonely Eremite,
　　For worship set apart and holy rites."
　　A third time thus it spake; then added: "There
　　So firmly to God's service I adher'd,
　　That with no costlier viands than the juice
　　Of olives, easily I pass'd the heats
　　Of summer and the winter frosts, content
　　In heav'n-ward musings. Rich were the returns
　　And fertile, which that cloister once was us'd
　　To render to these heavens: now 't is fall'n
　　Into a waste so empty, that ere long
　　Detection must lay bare its vanity
　　Pietro Damiano there was I yclept:
　　Pietro the sinner, when before I dwelt
　　Beside the Adriatic, in the house
　　Of our blest Lady. Near upon my close
　　Of mortal life, through much importuning
　　I was constrain'd to wear the hat that still
　　From bad to worse it shifted.—Cephas came;
　　He came, who was the Holy Spirit's vessel,
　　Barefoot and lean, eating their bread, as chanc'd,
　　At the first table. Modern Shepherd's need
　　Those who on either hand may prop and lead them,
　　So burly are they grown: and from behind
　　Others to hoist them. Down the palfrey's sides
　　Spread their broad mantles, so as both the beasts
　　Are cover'd with one skin. O patience! thou
　　That lookst on this and doth endure so long."
　　I at those accents saw the splendours down
　　From step to step alight, and wheel, and wax,
　　Each circuiting, more beautiful. Round this
　　They came, and stay'd them; uttered them a shout
　　So loud, it hath no likeness here: nor I
　　Wist what it spake, so deaf'ning was the thunder."

　　Astounded, to the guardian of my steps
　　I turn'd me, like the chill, who always runs
　　Thither for succour, where he trusteth most,
　　And she was like the mother, who her son
　　Beholding pale and breathless, with her voice
　　Soothes him, and he is cheer'd; for thus she spake,
　　Soothing me: "Know'st not thou, thou art in heav'n?
　　And know'st not thou, whatever is in heav'n,
　　Is holy, and that nothing there is done
　　But is done zealously and well? Deem now,
　　What change in thee the song, and what my smile
　　had wrought, since thus the shout had pow'r to move thee.
　　In which couldst thou have understood their prayers,
　　The vengeance were already known to thee,
　　Which thou must witness ere thy mortal hour,
　　The sword of heav'n is not in haste to smite,
　　Nor yet doth linger, save unto his seeming,
　　Who in desire or fear doth look for it.
　　But elsewhere now l bid thee turn thy view;
　　So shalt thou many a famous spirit behold."
　　Mine eyes directing, as she will'd, I saw
　　A hundred little spheres, that fairer grew
　　By interchange of splendour. I remain'd,
　　As one, who fearful of o'er-much presuming,
　　Abates in him the keenness of desire,
　　Nor dares to question, when amid those pearls,
　　One largest and most lustrous onward drew,
　　That it might yield contentment to my wish;
　　And from within it these the sounds I heard.
　　
　　"If thou, like me, beheldst the charity
　　That burns amongst us, what thy mind conceives,
　　Were utter'd. But that, ere the lofty bound
　　Thou reach, expectance may not weary thee,
　　I will make answer even to the thought,
　　Which thou hast such respect of. In old days,
　　That mountain, at whose side Cassino rests,
　　Was on its height frequented by a race
　　Deceived and ill dispos'd: and I it was,
　　Who thither carried first the name of Him,
　　Who brought the soul-subliming truth to man.
　　And such a speeding grace shone over me,
　　That from their impious worship I reclaim'd
　　The dwellers round about, who with the world
　　Were in delusion lost. These other flames,
　　The spirits of men contemplative, were all
　　Enliven'd by that warmth, whose kindly force
　　Gives birth to flowers and fruits of holiness.
　　Here is Macarius; Romoaldo here:
　　And here my brethren, who their steps refrain'd
　　Within the cloisters, and held firm their heart."
　　
　　I answ'ring, thus; "Thy gentle words and kind,
　　And this the cheerful semblance, I behold
　　Not unobservant, beaming in ye all,
　　Have rais'd assurance in me, wakening it
　　Full-blossom'd in my bosom, as a rose
　　Before the sun, when the consummate flower
　　Has spread to utmost amplitude. Of thee
　　Therefore entreat I, father! to declare
　　If I may gain such favour, as to gaze
　　Upon thine image, by no covering veil'd."
　　
　　"Brother!" he thus rejoin'd, "in the last sphere
　　Expect completion of thy lofty aim,
　　For there on each desire completion waits,
　　And there on mine: where every aim is found
　　Perfect, entire, and for fulfillment ripe.
　　There all things are as they have ever been:
　　For space is none to bound, nor pole divides,
　　Our ladder reaches even to that clime,
　　And so at giddy distance mocks thy view.
　　Thither the Patriarch Jacob saw it stretch
　　Its topmost round, when it appear'd to him
　　With angels laden. But to mount it now
　　None lifts his foot from earth: and hence my rule
　　Is left a profitless stain upon the leaves;
　　The walls, for abbey rear'd, turned into dens,
　　The cowls to sacks choak'd up with musty meal.
　　Foul usury doth not more lift itself
　　Against God's pleasure, than that fruit which makes
　　The hearts of monks so wanton: for whate'er
　　Is in the church's keeping, all pertains.
　　To such, as sue for heav'n's sweet sake, and not
　　To those who in respect of kindred claim,
　　Or on more vile allowance. Mortal flesh
　　Is grown so dainty, good beginnings last not
　　From the oak's birth, unto the acorn's setting.
　　His convent Peter founded without gold
　　Or silver; I with pray'rs and fasting mine;
　　And Francis his in meek humility.
　　And if thou note the point, whence each proceeds,
　　Then look what it hath err'd to, thou shalt find
　　The white grown murky. Jordan was turn'd back;
　　And a less wonder, then the refluent sea,
　　May at God's pleasure work amendment here."
　　
　　So saying, to his assembly back he drew:
　　And they together cluster'd into one,
　　Then all roll'd upward like an eddying wind.
　　
　　The sweet dame beckon'd me to follow them:
　　And, by that influence only, so prevail'd
　　Over my nature, that no natural motion,
　　Ascending or descending here below,
　　Had, as I mounted, with my pennon vied.
　　
　　So, reader, as my hope is to return
　　Unto the holy triumph, for the which
　　I ofttimes wail my sins, and smite my breast,
　　Thou hadst been longer drawing out and thrusting
　　Thy finger in the fire, than I was, ere
　　The sign, that followeth Taurus, I beheld,
　　And enter'd its precinct. O glorious stars!
　　O light impregnate with exceeding virtue!
　　To whom whate'er of genius lifteth me
　　Above the vulgar, grateful I refer;
　　With ye the parent of all mortal life
　　Arose and set, when I did first inhale
　　The Tuscan air; and afterward, when grace
　　Vouchsaf'd me entrance to the lofty wheel
　　That in its orb impels ye, fate decreed
　　My passage at your clime. To you my soul
　　Devoutly sighs, for virtue even now
　　To meet the hard emprize that draws me on.
　　
　　"Thou art so near the sum of blessedness,"
　　Said Beatrice, "that behooves thy ken
　　Be vigilant and clear. And, to this end,
　　Or even thou advance thee further, hence
　　Look downward, and contemplate, what a world
　　Already stretched under our feet there lies:
　　So as thy heart may, in its blithest mood,
　　Present itself to the triumphal throng,
　　Which through the' etherial concave comes rejoicing."
　　
　　I straight obey'd; and with mine eye return'd
　　Through all the seven spheres, and saw this globe
　　So pitiful of semblance, that perforce
　　It moved my smiles: and him in truth I hold
　　For wisest, who esteems it least: whose thoughts
　　Elsewhere are fix'd, him worthiest call and best.
　　I saw the daughter of Latona shine
　　Without the shadow, whereof late I deem'd
　　That dense and rare were cause. Here I sustain'd
　　The visage, Hyperion! of thy sun;
　　And mark'd, how near him with their circle, round
　　Move Maia and Dione; here discern'd
　　Jove's tempering 'twixt his sire and son; and hence
　　Their changes and their various aspects
　　Distinctly scann'd. Nor might I not descry
　　Of all the seven, how bulky each, how swift;
　　Nor of their several distances not learn.
　　This petty area (o'er the which we stride
　　So fiercely), as along the eternal twins
　　I wound my way, appear'd before me all,
　　Forth from the havens stretch'd unto the hills.
　　Then to the beauteous eyes mine eyes return'd.

　　E'en as the bird, who midst the leafy bower
　　Has, in her nest, sat darkling through the night,
　　With her sweet brood, impatient to descry
　　Their wished looks, and to bring home their food,
　　In the fond quest unconscious of her toil:
　　She, of the time prevenient, on the spray,
　　That overhangs their couch, with wakeful gaze
　　Expects the sun; nor ever, till the dawn,
　　Removeth from the east her eager ken;
　　So stood the dame erect, and bent her glance
　　Wistfully on that region, where the sun
　　Abateth most his speed; that, seeing her
　　Suspense and wand'ring, I became as one,
　　In whom desire is waken'd, and the hope
　　Of somewhat new to come fills with delight.
　　
　　Short space ensued; I was not held, I say,
　　Long in expectance, when I saw the heav'n
　　Wax more and more resplendent; and, "Behold,"
　　Cried Beatrice, "the triumphal hosts
　　Of Christ, and all the harvest reap'd at length
　　Of thy ascending up these spheres." Meseem'd,
　　That, while she spake her image all did burn,
　　And in her eyes such fullness was of joy,
　　And I am fain to pass unconstrued by.
　　
　　As in the calm full moon, when Trivia smiles,
　　In peerless beauty, 'mid th' eternal nympus,
　　That paint through all its gulfs the blue profound
　　In bright pre-eminence so saw I there,
　　O'er million lamps a sun, from whom all drew
　　Their radiance as from ours the starry train:
　　And through the living light so lustrous glow'd
　　The substance, that my ken endur'd it not.
　　
　　O Beatrice! sweet and precious guide!
　　Who cheer'd me with her comfortable words!
　　"Against the virtue, that o'erpow'reth thee,
　　Avails not to resist. Here is the might,
　　And here the wisdom, which did open lay
　　The path, that had been yearned for so long,
　　Betwixt the heav'n and earth." Like to the fire,
　　That, in a cloud imprison'd doth break out
　　Expansive, so that from its womb enlarg'd,
　　It falleth against nature to the ground;
　　Thus in that heav'nly banqueting my soul
　　Outgrew herself; and, in the transport lost.
　　Holds now remembrance none of what she was.
　　
　　"Ope thou thine eyes, and mark me: thou hast seen
　　Things, that empower thee to sustain my smile."
　　
　　I was as one, when a forgotten dream
　　Doth come across him, and he strives in vain
　　To shape it in his fantasy again,
　　Whenas that gracious boon was proffer'd me,
　　Which never may be cancel'd from the book,
　　Wherein the past is written. Now were all
　　Those tongues to sound, that have on sweetest milk
　　Of Polyhymnia and her sisters fed
　　And fatten'd, not with all their help to boot,
　　Unto the thousandth parcel of the truth,
　　My song might shadow forth that saintly smile,
　　flow merely in her saintly looks it wrought.
　　And with such figuring of Paradise
　　The sacred strain must leap, like one, that meets
　　A sudden interruption to his road.
　　But he, who thinks how ponderous the theme,
　　And that 't is lain upon a mortal shoulder,
　　May pardon, if it tremble with the burden.
　　The track, our ventrous keel must furrow, brooks
　　No unribb'd pinnace, no self-sparing pilot.
　　
　　"Why doth my face," said Beatrice, "thus
　　Enamour thee, as that thou dost not turn
　　Unto the beautiful garden, blossoming
　　Beneath the rays of Christ? Here is the rose,
　　Wherein the word divine was made incarnate;
　　And here the lilies, by whose odour known
　　The way of life was follow'd." Prompt I heard
　　Her bidding, and encounter once again
　　The strife of aching vision. As erewhile,
　　Through glance of sunlight, stream'd through broken cloud,
　　Mine eyes a flower-besprinkled mead have seen,
　　Though veil'd themselves in shade; so saw I there
　　Legions of splendours, on whom burning rays
　　Shed lightnings from above, yet saw I not
　　The fountain whence they flow'd. O gracious virtue!
　　Thou, whose broad stamp is on them, higher up
　　Thou didst exalt thy glory to give room
　　To my o'erlabour'd sight: when at the name
　　Of that fair flower, whom duly I invoke
　　Both morn and eve, my soul, with all her might
　　Collected, on the goodliest ardour fix'd.
　　And, as the bright dimensions of the star
　　In heav'n excelling, as once here on earth
　　Were, in my eyeballs lively portray'd,
　　Lo! from within the sky a cresset fell,
　　Circling in fashion of a diadem,
　　And girt the star, and hov'ring round it wheel'd.
　　
　　Whatever melody sounds sweetest here,
　　And draws the spirit most unto itself,
　　Might seem a rent cloud when it grates the thunder,
　　Compar'd unto the sounding of that lyre,
　　Wherewith the goodliest sapphire, that inlays
　　The floor of heav'n, was crown'd. "Angelic Love,
　　I am, who thus with hov'ring flight enwheel
　　The lofty rapture from that womb inspir'd,
　　Where our desire did dwell: and round thee so,
　　Lady of Heav'n! will hover; long as thou
　　Thy Son shalt follow, and diviner joy
　　Shall from thy presence gild the highest sphere."
　　
　　Such close was to the circling melody:
　　And, as it ended, all the other lights
　　Took up the strain, and echoed Mary's name.
　　
　　The robe, that with its regal folds enwraps
　　The world, and with the nearer breath of God
　　Doth burn and quiver, held so far retir'd
　　Its inner hem and skirting over us,
　　That yet no glimmer of its majesty
　　Had stream'd unto me: therefore were mine eyes
　　Unequal to pursue the crowned flame,
　　That rose and sought its natal seed of fire;
　　And like to babe, that stretches forth its arms
　　For very eagerness towards the breast,
　　After the milk is taken; so outstretch'd
　　Their wavy summits all the fervent band,
　　Through zealous love to Mary: then in view
　　There halted, and "Regina Coeli" sang
　　So sweetly, the delight hath left me never.
　　
　　O what o'erflowing plenty is up-pil'd
　　In those rich-laden coffers, which below
　　Sow'd the good seed, whose harvest now they keep.
　　
　　Here are the treasures tasted, that with tears
　　Were in the Babylonian exile won,
　　When gold had fail'd them. Here in synod high
　　Of ancient council with the new conven'd,
　　Under the Son of Mary and of God,
　　Victorious he his mighty triumph holds,
　　To whom the keys of glory were assign'd.

　　"O ye! in chosen fellowship advanc'd
　　To the great supper of the blessed Lamb,
　　Whereon who feeds hath every wish fulfill'd!
　　If to this man through God's grace be vouchsaf'd
　　Foretaste of that, which from your table falls,
　　Or ever death his fated term prescribe;
　　Be ye not heedless of his urgent will;
　　But may some influence of your sacred dews
　　Sprinkle him. Of the fount ye alway drink,
　　Whence flows what most he craves." Beatrice spake,
　　And the rejoicing spirits, like to spheres
　　On firm-set poles revolving, trail'd a blaze
　　Of comet splendour; and as wheels, that wind
　　Their circles in the horologe, so work
　　The stated rounds, that to th' observant eye
　　The first seems still, and, as it flew, the last;
　　E'en thus their carols weaving variously,
　　They by the measure pac'd, or swift, or slow,
　　Made me to rate the riches of their joy.
　　
　　From that, which I did note in beauty most
　　Excelling, saw I issue forth a flame
　　So bright, as none was left more goodly there.
　　Round Beatrice thrice it wheel'd about,
　　With so divine a song, that fancy's ear
　　Records it not; and the pen passeth on
　　And leaves a blank: for that our mortal speech,
　　Nor e'en the inward shaping of the brain,
　　Hath colours fine enough to trace such folds.
　　
　　"O saintly sister mine! thy prayer devout
　　Is with so vehement affection urg'd,
　　Thou dost unbind me from that beauteous sphere."
　　
　　Such were the accents towards my lady breath'd
　　From that blest ardour, soon as it was stay'd:
　　To whom she thus: "O everlasting light
　　Of him, within whose mighty grasp our Lord
　　Did leave the keys, which of this wondrous bliss
　　He bare below! tent this man, as thou wilt,
　　With lighter probe or deep, touching the faith,
　　By the which thou didst on the billows walk.
　　If he in love, in hope, and in belief,
　　Be steadfast, is not hid from thee: for thou
　　Hast there thy ken, where all things are beheld
　　In liveliest portraiture. But since true faith
　　Has peopled this fair realm with citizens,
　　Meet is, that to exalt its glory more,
　　Thou in his audience shouldst thereof discourse."
　　
　　Like to the bachelor, who arms himself,
　　And speaks not, till the master have propos'd
　　The question, to approve, and not to end it;
　　So I, in silence, arm'd me, while she spake,
　　Summoning up each argument to aid;
　　As was behooveful for such questioner,
　　And such profession: "As good Christian ought,
　　Declare thee, What is faith?" Whereat I rais'd
　　My forehead to the light, whence this had breath'd,
　　Then turn'd to Beatrice, and in her looks
　　Approval met, that from their inmost fount
　　I should unlock the waters. "May the grace,
　　That giveth me the captain of the church
　　For confessor," said I, "vouchsafe to me
　　Apt utterance for my thoughts!" then added: "Sire!
　　E'en as set down by the unerring style
　　Of thy dear brother, who with thee conspir'd
　　To bring Rome in unto the way of life,
　　Faith of things hop'd is substance, and the proof
　　Of things not seen; and herein doth consist
　　Methinks its essence,"—"Rightly hast thou deem'd,"
　　Was answer'd: "if thou well discern, why first
　　He hath defin'd it, substance, and then proof."
　　
　　"The deep things," I replied, "which here I scan
　　Distinctly, are below from mortal eye
　　So hidden, they have in belief alone
　　Their being, on which credence hope sublime
　　Is built; and therefore substance it intends.
　　And inasmuch as we must needs infer
　　From such belief our reasoning, all respect
　　To other view excluded, hence of proof
　　Th' intention is deriv'd." Forthwith I heard:
　　"If thus, whate'er by learning men attain,
　　Were understood, the sophist would want room
　　To exercise his wit." So breath'd the flame
　　Of love: then added: "Current is the coin
　　Thou utter'st, both in weight and in alloy.
　　But tell me, if thou hast it in thy purse."
　　
　　"Even so glittering and so round," said I,
　　"I not a whit misdoubt of its assay."
　　
　　Next issued from the deep imbosom'd splendour:
　　"Say, whence the costly jewel, on the which
　　Is founded every virtue, came to thee."
　　"The flood," I answer'd, "from the Spirit of God
　　Rain'd down upon the ancient bond and new,—
　　Here is the reas'ning, that convinceth me
　　So feelingly, each argument beside
　　Seems blunt and forceless in comparison."
　　Then heard I: "Wherefore holdest thou that each,
　　The elder proposition and the new,
　　Which so persuade thee, are the voice of heav'n?"
　　
　　"The works, that follow'd, evidence their truth;"
　　I answer'd: "Nature did not make for these
　　The iron hot, or on her anvil mould them."
　　"Who voucheth to thee of the works themselves,"
　　Was the reply, "that they in very deed
　　Are that they purport? None hath sworn so to thee."
　　
　　"That all the world," said I, "should have been turn'd
　　To Christian, and no miracle been wrought,
　　Would in itself be such a miracle,
　　The rest were not an hundredth part so great.
　　E'en thou wentst forth in poverty and hunger
　　To set the goodly plant, that from the vine,
　　It once was, now is grown unsightly bramble."
　　That ended, through the high celestial court
　　Resounded all the spheres. "Praise we one God!"
　　In song of most unearthly melody.
　　And when that Worthy thus, from branch to branch,
　　Examining, had led me, that we now
　　Approach'd the topmost bough, he straight resum'd;
　　"The grace, that holds sweet dalliance with thy soul,
　　So far discreetly hath thy lips unclos'd
　　That, whatsoe'er has past them, I commend.
　　Behooves thee to express, what thou believ'st,
　　The next, and whereon thy belief hath grown."
　　
　　"O saintly sire and spirit!" I began,
　　"Who seest that, which thou didst so believe,
　　As to outstrip feet younger than thine own,
　　Toward the sepulchre? thy will is here,
　　That I the tenour of my creed unfold;
　　And thou the cause of it hast likewise ask'd.
　　And I reply: I in one God believe,
　　One sole eternal Godhead, of whose love
　　All heav'n is mov'd, himself unmov'd the while.
　　Nor demonstration physical alone,
　　Or more intelligential and abstruse,
　　Persuades me to this faith; but from that truth
　　It cometh to me rather, which is shed
　　Through Moses, the rapt Prophets, and the Psalms.
　　The Gospel, and that ye yourselves did write,
　　When ye were gifted of the Holy Ghost.
　　In three eternal Persons I believe,
　　Essence threefold and one, mysterious league
　　Of union absolute, which, many a time,
　　The word of gospel lore upon my mind
　　Imprints: and from this germ, this firstling spark,
　　The lively flame dilates, and like heav'n's star
　　Doth glitter in me." As the master hears,
　　Well pleas'd, and then enfoldeth in his arms
　　The servant, who hath joyful tidings brought,
　　And having told the errand keeps his peace;
　　Thus benediction uttering with song
　　Soon as my peace I held, compass'd me thrice
　　The apostolic radiance, whose behest
　　Had op'd lips; so well their answer pleas'd.

　　If e'er the sacred poem that hath made
　　Both heav'n and earth copartners in its toil,
　　And with lean abstinence, through many a year,
　　Faded my brow, be destin'd to prevail
　　Over the cruelty, which bars me forth
　　Of the fair sheep-fold, where a sleeping lamb
　　The wolves set on and fain had worried me,
　　With other voice and fleece of other grain
　　I shall forthwith return, and, standing up
　　At my baptismal font, shall claim the wreath
　　Due to the poet's temples: for I there
　　First enter'd on the faith which maketh souls
　　Acceptable to God: and, for its sake,
　　Peter had then circled my forehead thus.
　　
　　Next from the squadron, whence had issued forth
　　The first fruit of Christ's vicars on the earth,
　　Toward us mov'd a light, at view whereof
　　My Lady, full of gladness, spake to me:
　　"Lo! lo! behold the peer of mickle might,
　　That makes Falicia throng'd with visitants!"
　　
　　As when the ring-dove by his mate alights,
　　In circles each about the other wheels,
　　And murmuring cooes his fondness; thus saw I
　　One, of the other great and glorious prince,
　　With kindly greeting hail'd, extolling both
　　Their heavenly banqueting; but when an end
　　Was to their gratulation, silent, each,
　　Before me sat they down, so burning bright,
　　I could not look upon them. Smiling then,
　　Beatrice spake: "O life in glory shrin'd!"
　　Who didst the largess of our kingly court
　　Set down with faithful pen! let now thy voice
　　Of hope the praises in this height resound.
　　For thou, who figur'st them in shapes, as clear,
　　As Jesus stood before thee, well can'st speak them."
　　
　　"Lift up thy head, and be thou strong in trust:
　　For that, which hither from the mortal world
　　Arriveth, must be ripen'd in our beam."
　　
　　Such cheering accents from the second flame
　　Assur'd me; and mine eyes I lifted up
　　Unto the mountains that had bow'd them late
　　With over-heavy burden. "Sith our Liege
　　Wills of his grace that thou, or ere thy death,
　　In the most secret council, with his lords
　　Shouldst be confronted, so that having view'd
　　The glories of our court, thou mayst therewith
　　Thyself, and all who hear, invigorate
　　With hope, that leads to blissful end; declare,
　　What is that hope, how it doth flourish in thee,
　　And whence thou hadst it?" Thus proceeding still,
　　The second light: and she, whose gentle love
　　My soaring pennons in that lofty flight
　　Escorted, thus preventing me, rejoin'd:
　　Among her sons, not one more full of hope,
　　Hath the church militant: so 't is of him
　　Recorded in the sun, whose liberal orb
　　Enlighteneth all our tribe: and ere his term
　　Of warfare, hence permitted he is come,
　　From Egypt to Jerusalem, to see.
　　The other points, both which thou hast inquir'd,
　　Not for more knowledge, but that he may tell
　　How dear thou holdst the virtue, these to him
　　Leave I; for he may answer thee with ease,
　　And without boasting, so God give him grace."
　　Like to the scholar, practis'd in his task,
　　Who, willing to give proof of diligence,
　　Seconds his teacher gladly, "Hope," said I,
　　"Is of the joy to come a sure expectance,
　　Th' effect of grace divine and merit preceding.
　　This light from many a star visits my heart,
　　But flow'd to me the first from him, who sang
　　The songs of the Supreme, himself supreme
　　Among his tuneful brethren. 'Let all hope
　　In thee,' so speak his anthem, 'who have known
　　Thy name;' and with my faith who know not that?
　　From thee, the next, distilling from his spring,
　　In thine epistle, fell on me the drops
　　So plenteously, that I on others shower
　　The influence of their dew." Whileas I spake,
　　A lamping, as of quick and vollied lightning,
　　Within the bosom of that mighty sheen,
　　Play'd tremulous; then forth these accents breath'd:
　　"Love for the virtue which attended me
　　E'en to the palm, and issuing from the field,
　　Glows vigorous yet within me, and inspires
　　To ask of thee, whom also it delights;
　　What promise thou from hope in chief dost win."
　　
　　"Both scriptures, new and ancient," I reply'd;
　　"Propose the mark (which even now I view)
　　For souls belov'd of God. Isaias saith,
　　
　　'That, in their own land, each one must be clad
　　In twofold vesture; and their proper lands this delicious life.'
　　In terms more full,
　　And clearer far, thy brother hath set forth
　　This revelation to us, where he tells
　　Of the white raiment destin'd to the saints."
　　And, as the words were ending, from above,
　　"They hope in thee," first heard we cried: whereto
　　Answer'd the carols all. Amidst them next,
　　A light of so clear amplitude emerg'd,
　　That winter's month were but a single day,
　　Were such a crystal in the Cancer's sign.
　　
　　Like as a virgin riseth up, and goes,
　　And enters on the mazes of the dance,
　　Though gay, yet innocent of worse intent,
　　Than to do fitting honour to the bride;
　　So I beheld the new effulgence come
　　Unto the other two, who in a ring
　　Wheel'd, as became their rapture. In the dance
　　And in the song it mingled. And the dame
　　Held on them fix'd her looks: e'en as the spouse
　　Silent and moveless. "This is he, who lay
　　Upon the bosom of our pelican:
　　This he, into whose keeping from the cross
　　The mighty charge was given." Thus she spake,
　　Yet therefore naught the more remov'd her Sight
　　From marking them, or ere her words began,
　　Or when they clos'd. As he, who looks intent,
　　And strives with searching ken, how he may see
　　The sun in his eclipse, and, through desire
　　Of seeing, loseth power of sight: so I
　　Peer'd on that last resplendence, while I heard:
　　"Why dazzlest thou thine eyes in seeking that,
　　Which here abides not? Earth my body is,
　　In earth: and shall be, with the rest, so long,
　　As till our number equal the decree
　　Of the Most High. The two that have ascended,
　　In this our blessed cloister, shine alone
　　With the two garments. So report below."
　　
　　As when, for ease of labour, or to shun
　　Suspected peril at a whistle's breath,
　　The oars, erewhile dash'd frequent in the wave,
　　All rest; the flamy circle at that voice
　　So rested, and the mingling sound was still,
　　Which from the trinal band soft-breathing rose.
　　I turn'd, but ah! how trembled in my thought,
　　When, looking at my side again to see
　　Beatrice, I descried her not, although
　　Not distant, on the happy coast she stood.

　　With dazzled eyes, whilst wond'ring I remain'd,
　　Forth of the beamy flame which dazzled me,
　　Issued a breath, that in attention mute
　　Detain'd me; and these words it spake: "'T were well,
　　That, long as till thy vision, on my form
　　O'erspent, regain its virtue, with discourse
　　Thou compensate the brief delay. Say then,
　　Beginning, to what point thy soul aspires:"
　　
　　"And meanwhile rest assur'd, that sight in thee
　　Is but o'erpowered a space, not wholly quench'd:
　　Since thy fair guide and lovely, in her look
　　Hath potency, the like to that which dwelt
　　In Ananias' hand.'' I answering thus:
　　"Be to mine eyes the remedy or late
　　Or early, at her pleasure; for they were
　　The gates, at which she enter'd, and did light
　　Her never dying fire. My wishes here
　　Are centered; in this palace is the weal,
　　That Alpha and Omega, is to all
　　The lessons love can read me." Yet again
　　The voice which had dispers'd my fear, when daz'd
　　With that excess, to converse urg'd, and spake:
　　"Behooves thee sift more narrowly thy terms,
　　And say, who level'd at this scope thy bow."
　　
　　"Philosophy," said I, ''hath arguments,
　　And this place hath authority enough
　　'T' imprint in me such love: for, of constraint,
　　Good, inasmuch as we perceive the good,
　　Kindles our love, and in degree the more,
　　As it comprises more of goodness in 't.
　　The essence then, where such advantage is,
　　That each good, found without it, is naught else
　　But of his light the beam, must needs attract
　　The soul of each one, loving, who the truth
　　Discerns, on which this proof is built. Such truth
　　Learn I from him, who shows me the first love
　　Of all intelligential substances
　　Eternal: from his voice I learn, whose word
　　Is truth, that of himself to Moses saith,
　　'I will make all my good before thee pass.'
　　Lastly from thee I learn, who chief proclaim'st,
　　E'en at the outset of thy heralding,
　　In mortal ears the mystery of heav'n."
　　
　　"Through human wisdom, and th' authority
　　Therewith agreeing," heard I answer'd, "keep
　　The choicest of thy love for God. But say,
　　If thou yet other cords within thee feel'st
　　That draw thee towards him; so that thou report
　　How many are the fangs, with which this love
　　Is grappled to thy soul." I did not miss,
　　To what intent the eagle of our Lord
　　Had pointed his demand; yea noted well
　　Th' avowal, which he led to; and resum'd:
　　"All grappling bonds, that knit the heart to God,
　　Confederate to make fast our clarity.
　　The being of the world, and mine own being,
　　The death which he endur'd that I should live,
　　And that, which all the faithful hope, as I do,
　　To the foremention'd lively knowledge join'd,
　　Have from the sea of ill love sav'd my bark,
　　And on the coast secur'd it of the right.
　　As for the leaves, that in the garden bloom,
　　My love for them is great, as is the good
　　Dealt by th' eternal hand, that tends them all."
　　
　　I ended, and therewith a song most sweet
　　Rang through the spheres; and "Holy, holy, holy,"
　　Accordant with the rest my lady sang.
　　And as a sleep is broken and dispers'd
　　Through sharp encounter of the nimble light,
　　With the eye's spirit running forth to meet
　　The ray, from membrane on to the membrane urg'd;
　　And the upstartled wight loathes that he sees;
　　So, at his sudden waking, he misdeems
　　Of all around him, till assurance waits
　　On better judgment: thus the saintly came
　　Drove from before mine eyes the motes away,
　　With the resplendence of her own, that cast
　　Their brightness downward, thousand miles below.
　　Whence I my vision, clearer shall before,
　　Recover'd; and, well nigh astounded, ask'd
　　Of a fourth light, that now with us I saw.
　　
　　And Beatrice: "The first diving soul,
　　That ever the first virtue fram'd, admires
　　Within these rays his Maker." Like the leaf,
　　That bows its lithe top till the blast is blown;
　　By its own virtue rear'd then stands aloof;
　　So I, the whilst she said, awe-stricken bow'd.
　　Then eagerness to speak embolden'd me;
　　And I began: "O fruit! that wast alone
　　Mature, when first engender'd! Ancient father!
　　That doubly seest in every wedded bride
　　Thy daughter by affinity and blood!
　　Devoutly as I may, I pray thee hold
　　Converse with me: my will thou seest; and I,
　　More speedily to hear thee, tell it not."
　　
　　It chanceth oft some animal bewrays,
　　Through the sleek cov'ring of his furry coat.
　　The fondness, that stirs in him and conforms
　　His outside seeming to the cheer within:
　　And in like guise was Adam's spirit mov'd
　　To joyous mood, that through the covering shone,
　　Transparent, when to pleasure me it spake:
　　"No need thy will be told, which I untold
　　Better discern, than thou whatever thing
　　Thou holdst most certain: for that will I see
　　In Him, who is truth's mirror, and Himself
　　Parhelion unto all things, and naught else
　　To him. This wouldst thou hear; how long since God
　　Plac'd me high garden, from whose hounds
　　She led me up in this ladder, steep and long;
　　What space endur'd my season of delight;
　　Whence truly sprang the wrath that banish'd me;
　　And what the language, which I spake and fram'd
　　Not that I tasted of the tree, my son,
　　Was in itself the cause of that exile,
　　But only my transgressing of the mark
　　Assign'd me. There, whence at thy lady's hest
　　The Mantuan mov'd him, still was I debarr'd
　　This council, till the sun had made complete,
　　Four thousand and three hundred rounds and twice,
　　His annual journey; and, through every light
　　In his broad pathway, saw I him return,
　　Thousand save sev'nty times, the whilst I dwelt
　　Upon the earth. The language I did use
　　Was worn away, or ever Nimrod's race
　　Their unaccomplishable work began.
　　For naught, that man inclines to, ere was lasting,
　　Left by his reason free, and variable,
　　As is the sky that sways him. That he speaks,
　　Is nature's prompting: whether thus or thus,
　　She leaves to you, as ye do most affect it.
　　Ere I descended into hell's abyss,
　　El was the name on earth of the Chief Good,
　　Whose joy enfolds me: Eli then 't was call'd
　　And so beseemeth: for, in mortals, use
　　Is as the leaf upon the bough; that goes,
　　And other comes instead. Upon the mount
　　Most high above the waters, all my life,
　　Both innocent and guilty, did but reach
　　From the first hour, to that which cometh next
　　(As the sun changes quarter), to the sixth."

　　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;
　　One universal smile it seem'd of all things,
　　Joy past compare, gladness unutterable,
　　Imperishable life of peace and love,
　　Exhaustless riches and unmeasur'd bliss.
　　
　　Before mine eyes stood the four torches lit;
　　And that, 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 interchang'd their plumes. Silence ensued,
　　Through the blest quire, by Him, who here appoints
　　Vicissitude of ministry, enjoin'd;
　　When thus I heard: "Wonder not, if my hue
　　Be chang'd; for, while I speak, these shalt thou see
　　All in like manner change with me. My place
　　He who usurps on earth (my place, ay, mine,
　　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,
　　At eve or morning, paints an adverse cloud,
　　Then saw I sprinkled over all the sky.
　　And as th' unblemish'd dame, who in herself
　　Secure of censure, yet at bare report
　　Of other's failing, shrinks with maiden fear;
　　So Beatrice in her semblance chang'd:
　　And such eclipse in heav'n 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.
　　"Not to this end was Christ's spouse with my blood,
　　With that of Linus, and of Cletus fed:
　　That she might serve for purchase of base gold:
　　But for the purchase of this happy life
　　Did Sextus, Pius, and Callixtus bleed,
　　And Urban, they, whose doom was not without
　　Much weeping seal'd. No purpose was of our
　　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,
　　Which were vouchsaf'd me, should for ensign serve
　　Unto the banners, that do levy war
　　On the baptiz'd: nor I, for sigil-mark
　　Set upon sold and lying privileges;
　　Which makes me oft to bicker and turn red.
　　In shepherd's clothing greedy wolves below
　　Range wide o'er all the pastures. Arm of God!
　　Why longer sleepst thou? Caorsines and Gascona
　　Prepare to quaff our blood. O good beginning
　　To what a vile conclusion must thou stoop!
　　But the high providence, which did defend
　　Through Scipio the world's glory unto Rome,
　　Will not delay its succour: and thou, son,
　　Who through thy mortal weight shall yet again
　　Return below, open thy lips, nor hide
　　What is by me not hidden." As a Hood
　　Of frozen vapours streams adown the air,
　　What time the she-goat with her skiey horn
　　Touches the sun; so saw I there stream wide
　　The vapours, who with us had linger'd late
　　And with glad triumph deck th' 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
　　On upward gazing, said, "Look down and see
　　What circuit thou hast compass'd." From the hour
　　When I before had cast my view beneath,
　　All the first region overpast I saw,
　　Which from the midmost to the bound'ry winds;
　　That onward thence from Gades I beheld
　　The unwise passage of Laertes' son,
　　And hitherward the shore, where thou, Europa!
　　Mad'st thee a joyful burden: and yet more
　　Of this dim spot had seen, but that the sun,
　　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
　　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
　　Through greedy eyes to take the soul withal,
　　Were to her beauty nothing. Its boon influence
　　From the fair nest of Leda rapt me forth,
　　And wafted on into the swiftest heav'n.
　　
　　What place for entrance Beatrice chose,
　　I may not say, so uniform was all,
　　Liveliest and loftiest. She my secret wish
　　Divin'd; 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
　　Starts; motionless the centre, and the rest
　　All mov'd around. Except the soul divine,
　　Place in this heav'n is none, the soul divine,
　　Wherein the love, which ruleth o'er its orb,
　　Is kindled, and the virtue that it sheds;
　　One circle, light and love, enclasping it,
　　As this doth clasp the others; and to Him,
　　Who draws the bound, its limit only known.
　　Measur'd itself by none, it doth divide
　　Motion to all, counted unto them forth,
　　As by the fifth or half ye count forth ten.
　　The vase, wherein time's roots are plung'd, 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
　　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,
　　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.
　　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
　　Are therefore wand'rers. Yet before the date,
　　When through the hundredth in his reck'ning drops
　　Pale January must be shor'd aside
　　From winter's calendar, these heav'nly spheres
　　Shall roar so loud, that fortune shall be fain
　　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!"

　　So she who doth imparadise my soul,
　　Had drawn the veil from off our pleasant life,
　　And bar'd the truth of poor mortality;
　　When lo! as one who, in a mirror, spies
　　The shining of a flambeau at his back,
　　Lit sudden ore he deem of its approach,
　　And turneth to resolve him, if the glass
　　Have told him true, and sees the record faithful
　　As note is to its metre; even thus,
　　I well remember, did befall to me,
　　Looking upon the beauteous eyes, whence love
　　Had made the leash to take me. As I turn'd;
　　And that, which, in their circles, none who spies,
　　Can miss of, in itself apparent, struck
　　On mine; a point I saw, that darted light
　　So sharp, no lid, unclosing, may bear up
　　Against its keenness. The least star we view
　　From hence, had seem'd a moon, set by its side,
　　As star by side of star. And so far off,
　　Perchance, as is the halo from the light
　　Which paints it, when most dense the vapour spreads,
　　There wheel'd about the point a circle of fire,
　　More rapid than the motion, which first girds
　　The world. Then, circle after circle, round
　　Enring'd each other; till the seventh reach'd
　　Circumference so ample, that its bow,
　　Within the span of Juno's messenger,
　　lied scarce been held entire. Beyond the sev'nth,
　　Follow'd yet other two. And every one,
　　As more in number distant from the first,
　　Was tardier in motion; and that glow'd
　　With flame most pure, that to the sparkle' of truth
　　Was nearest, as partaking most, methinks,
　　Of its reality. The guide belov'd
　　Saw me in anxious thought suspense, and spake:
　　"Heav'n, and all nature, hangs upon that point.
　　The circle thereto most conjoin'd observe;
　　And know, that by intenser love its course
　　Is to this swiftness wing'd." To whom I thus:
　　"It were enough; nor should I further seek,
　　Had I but witness'd order, in the world
　　Appointed, such as in these wheels is seen.
　　But in the sensible world such diff'rence is,
　　That is each round shows more divinity,
　　As each is wider from the centre. Hence,
　　If in this wondrous and angelic temple,
　　That hath for confine only light and love,
　　My wish may have completion I must know,
　　Wherefore such disagreement is between
　　Th' exemplar and its copy: for myself,
　　Contemplating, I fail to pierce the cause."
　　
　　"It is no marvel, if thy fingers foil'd
　　Do leave the knot untied: so hard 't is grown
　　For want of tenting." Thus she said: "But take,"
　　She added, "if thou wish thy cure, my words,
　　And entertain them subtly. Every orb
　　Corporeal, doth proportion its extent
　　Unto the virtue through its parts diffus'd.
　　The greater blessedness preserves the more.
　　The greater is the body (if all parts
　　Share equally) the more is to preserve.
　　Therefore the circle, whose swift course enwheels
　　The universal frame answers to that,
　　Which is supreme in knowledge and in love
　　Thus by the virtue, not the seeming, breadth
　　Of substance, measure, thou shalt see the heav'ns,
　　Each to the' intelligence that ruleth it,
　　Greater to more, and smaller unto less,
　　Suited in strict and wondrous harmony."
　　
　　As when the sturdy north blows from his cheek
　　A blast, that scours the sky, forthwith our air,
　　Clear'd of the rack, that hung on it before,
　　Glitters; and, With his beauties all unveil'd,
　　The firmament looks forth serene, and smiles;
　　Such was my cheer, when Beatrice drove
　　With clear reply the shadows back, and truth
　　Was manifested, as a star in heaven.
　　And when the words were ended, not unlike
　　To iron in the furnace, every cirque
　　Ebullient shot forth scintillating fires:
　　And every sparkle shivering to new blaze,
　　In number did outmillion the account
　　Reduplicate upon the chequer'd board.
　　Then heard I echoing on from choir to choir,
　　"Hosanna," to the fixed point, that holds,
　　And shall for ever hold them to their place,
　　From everlasting, irremovable.
　　
　　Musing awhile I stood: and she, who saw
　　by inward meditations, thus began:
　　"In the first circles, they, whom thou beheldst,
　　Are seraphim and cherubim. Thus swift
　　Follow their hoops, in likeness to the point,
　　Near as they can, approaching; and they can
　　The more, the loftier their vision. Those,
　　That round them fleet, gazing the Godhead next,
　　Are thrones; in whom the first trine ends. And all
　　Are blessed, even as their sight descends
　　Deeper into the truth, wherein rest is
　　For every mind. Thus happiness hath root
　　In seeing, not in loving, which of sight
　　Is aftergrowth. And of the seeing such
　　The meed, as unto each in due degree
　　Grace and good-will their measure have assign'd.
　　The other trine, that with still opening buds
　　In this eternal springtide blossom fair,
　　Fearless of bruising from the nightly ram,
　　Breathe up in warbled melodies threefold
　　Hosannas blending ever, from the three
　　Transmitted. hierarchy of gods, for aye
　　Rejoicing, dominations first, next then
　　Virtues, and powers the third. The next to whom
　　Are princedoms and archangels, with glad round
　　To tread their festal ring; and last the band
　　Angelical, disporting in their sphere.
　　All, as they circle in their orders, look
　　Aloft, and downward with such sway prevail,
　　That all with mutual impulse tend to God.
　　These once a mortal view beheld. Desire
　　In Dionysius so intently wrought,
　　That he, as I have done rang'd them; and nam'd
　　Their orders, marshal'd in his thought. From him
　　Dissentient, one refus'd his sacred read.
　　But soon as in this heav'n his doubting eyes
　　Were open'd, Gregory at his error smil'd
　　Nor marvel, that a denizen of earth
　　Should scan such secret truth; for he had learnt
　　Both this and much beside of these our orbs,
　　From an eye-witness to heav'n's mysteries."

　　No longer than what time Latona's twins
　　Cover'd of Libra and the fleecy star,
　　Together both, girding the' horizon hang,
　　In even balance from the zenith pois'd,
　　Till from that verge, each, changing hemisphere,
　　Part the nice level; e'en so brief a space
　　Did Beatrice's silence hold. A smile
　　Bat painted on her cheek; and her fix'd gaze
　　Bent on the point, at which my vision fail'd:
　　When thus her words resuming she began:
　　"I speak, nor what thou wouldst inquire demand;
　　For I have mark'd it, where all time and place
　　Are present. Not for increase to himself
　　Of good, which may not be increas'd, but forth
　　To manifest his glory by its beams,
　　Inhabiting his own eternity,
　　Beyond time's limit or what bound soe'er
　　To circumscribe his being, as he will'd,
　　Into new natures, like unto himself,
　　Eternal Love unfolded. Nor before,
　　As if in dull inaction torpid lay.
　　For not in process of before or aft
　　Upon these waters mov'd the Spirit of God.
　　Simple and mix'd, both form and substance, forth
　　To perfect being started, like three darts
　　Shot from a bow three-corded. And as ray
　　In crystal, glass, and amber, shines entire,
　　E'en at the moment of its issuing; thus
　　Did, from th' eternal Sovran, beam entire
　　His threefold operation, at one act
　　Produc'd coeval. Yet in order each
　　Created his due station knew: those highest,
　　Who pure intelligence were made: mere power
　　The lowest: in the midst, bound with strict league,
　　Intelligence and power, unsever'd bond.
　　Long tract of ages by the angels past,
　　Ere the creating of another world,
　　Describ'd on Jerome's pages thou hast seen.
　　But that what I disclose to thee is true,
　　Those penmen, whom the Holy Spirit mov'd
　　In many a passage of their sacred book
　　Attest; as thou by diligent search shalt find
　　And reason in some sort discerns the same,
　　Who scarce would grant the heav'nly ministers
　　Of their perfection void, so long a space.
　　Thus when and where these spirits of love were made,
　　Thou know'st, and how: and knowing hast allay'd
　　Thy thirst, which from the triple question rose.
　　Ere one had reckon'd twenty, e'en so soon
　　Part of the angels fell: and in their fall
　　Confusion to your elements ensued.
　　The others kept their station: and this task,
　　Whereon thou lookst, began with such delight,
　　That they surcease not ever, day nor night,
　　Their circling. Of that fatal lapse the cause
　　Was the curst pride of him, whom thou hast seen
　　Pent with the world's incumbrance. Those, whom here
　　Thou seest, were lowly to confess themselves
　　Of his free bounty, who had made them apt
　　For ministries so high: therefore their views
　　Were by enlight'ning grace and their own merit
　　Exalted; so that in their will confirm'd
　　They stand, nor feel to fall. For do not doubt,
　　But to receive the grace, which heav'n vouchsafes,
　　Is meritorious, even as the soul
　　With prompt affection welcometh the guest.
　　Now, without further help, if with good heed
　　My words thy mind have treasur'd, thou henceforth
　　This consistory round about mayst scan,
　　And gaze thy fill. But since thou hast on earth
　　Heard vain disputers, reasoners in the schools,
　　Canvas the' angelic nature, and dispute
　　Its powers of apprehension, memory, choice;
　　Therefore, 't is well thou take from me the truth,
　　Pure and without disguise, which they below,
　　Equivocating, darken and perplex.
　　
　　"Know thou, that, from the first, these substances,
　　Rejoicing in the countenance of God,
　　Have held unceasingly their view, intent
　　Upon the glorious vision, from the which
　　Naught absent is nor hid: where then no change
　　Of newness with succession interrupts,
　　Remembrance there needs none to gather up
　　Divided thought and images remote
　　
　　"So that men, thus at variance with the truth
　　Dream, though their eyes be open; reckless some
　　Of error; others well aware they err,
　　To whom more guilt and shame are justly due.
　　Each the known track of sage philosophy
　　Deserts, and has a byway of his own:
　　So much the restless eagerness to shine
　　And love of singularity prevail.
　　Yet this, offensive as it is, provokes
　　Heav'n's anger less, than when the book of God
　　Is forc'd to yield to man's authority,
　　Or from its straightness warp'd: no reck'ning made
　　What blood the sowing of it in the world
　　Has cost; what favour for himself he wins,
　　Who meekly clings to it. The aim of all
　　Is how to shine: e'en they, whose office is
　　To preach the Gospel, let the gospel sleep,
　　And pass their own inventions off instead.
　　One tells, how at Christ's suffering the wan moon
　　Bent back her steps, and shadow'd o'er the sun
　　With intervenient disk, as she withdrew:
　　Another, how the light shrouded itself
　　Within its tabernacle, and left dark
　　The Spaniard and the Indian, with the Jew.
　　Such fables Florence in her pulpit hears,
　　Bandied about more frequent, than the names
　　Of Bindi and of Lapi in her streets.
　　The sheep, meanwhile, poor witless ones, return
　　From pasture, fed with wind: and what avails
　　For their excuse, they do not see their harm?
　　Christ said not to his first conventicle,
　　'Go forth and preach impostures to the world,'
　　But gave them truth to build on; and the sound
　　Was mighty on their lips; nor needed they,
　　Beside the gospel, other spear or shield,
　　To aid them in their warfare for the faith.
　　The preacher now provides himself with store
　　Of jests and gibes; and, so there be no lack
　　Of laughter, while he vents them, his big cowl
　　Distends, and he has won the meed he sought:
　　Could but the vulgar catch a glimpse the while
　　Of that dark bird which nestles in his hood,
　　They scarce would wait to hear the blessing said.
　　Which now the dotards hold in such esteem,
　　That every counterfeit, who spreads abroad
　　The hands of holy promise, finds a throng
　　Of credulous fools beneath. Saint Anthony
　　Fattens with this his swine, and others worse
　　Than swine, who diet at his lazy board,
　　Paying with unstamp'd metal for their fare.
　　
　　"But (for we far have wander'd) let us seek
　　The forward path again; so as the way
　　Be shorten'd with the time. No mortal tongue
　　Nor thought of man hath ever reach'd so far,
　　That of these natures he might count the tribes.
　　What Daniel of their thousands hath reveal'd
　　With finite number infinite conceals.
　　The fountain at whose source these drink their beams,
　　With light supplies them in as many modes,
　　As there are splendours, that it shines on: each
　　According to the virtue it conceives,
　　Differing in love and sweet affection.
　　Look then how lofty and how huge in breadth
　　The' eternal might, which, broken and dispers'd
　　Over such countless mirrors, yet remains
　　Whole in itself and one, as at the first."