| |
| WHILE singly thus along the rim we walk’d, | |
| Oft the good master warn’d me: “Look thou | |
| Avail it that I caution thee.” The sun [well. | |
| Now all the western clime irradiate changed | |
| From azure tinct to white; and, as I pass’d, | 5 |
| My passing shadow made the umber’d flame | |
| Burn ruddier. At so strange a sight I mark’d | |
| That many a spirit marvel’d on his way. | |
| This bred occasion first to speak of me. | |
| “He seems,” said they, “no insubstantial frame:” | 10 |
| Then, to obtain what certainty they might, | |
| Stretch’d tow’rd me, careful not to overpass | |
| The burning pale. “O thou, who followest | |
| The others, haply not more slow than they, | |
| But moved by reverence; answer me, who burn | 15 |
| In thirst and fire: nor I alone, but these | |
| All for thine answer do more thirst, than doth | |
| Indian or Æthiop for the cooling stream. | |
| Tell us, how is it that thou makest thyself | |
| A wall against the sun, as thou not yet | 20 |
| Into the inextricable toils of death | |
| Hadst enter’d?” Thus spake one; and I had straight | |
| Declared me, if attention had not turn’d | |
| To new appearance. Meeting these, there came, | |
| Midway the burning path, a crowd, on whom | 25 |
| Earnestly gazing, from each part I view | |
| The shadows all press forward, severally | |
| Each snatch a hasty kiss, and then away. | |
| E’en so the emmets, ’mid their dusky troops, | |
| Peer closely one at other, to spy out | 30 |
| Their mutual road perchance, and how they thrive. | |
| That friendly greeting parted, ere despatch | |
| Of the first onward step, from either tribe | |
| Loud clamour rises: those, who newly come, | |
| Shout “Sodom and Gomorrah!” these, “The cow | 35 |
| Pasiphaë enter’d, that the beast she woo’d | |
| Might rush unto her luxury.” Then as cranes, | |
| That part toward the Riphæan mountains fly, | |
| Part toward the Lybic sands, these to avoid | |
| The ice, and those the sun; so hasteth off | 40 |
| One crowd, advances the other; and resume | |
| Their first song, weeping, and their several shout. | |
| Again drew near my side the very same, | |
| Who had erewhile besought me; and their looks | |
| Mark’d eagerness to listen. I, who twice | 45 |
| Their will had noted, spake: “O spirits! secure, | |
| Whene’er the time may be, of peaceful end; | |
| My limbs, nor crude, nor in mature old age, | |
| Have I left yonder: here they bear me, fed | |
| With blood, and sinew-strung. That I no more | 50 |
| May live in blindness, hence I tend aloft. | |
| There is a Dame on high, who wins for us | |
| This grace, by which my mortal through your realm | |
| I bear. But may your utmost wish soon meet | |
| Such full fruition, that the orb of heaven, | 55 |
| Fullest of love, and of most ample space, | |
| Receive you; as ye tell (upon my page | |
| Henceforth to stand recorded) who ye are; | |
| And what this multitude, that at your backs | |
| Have pass’d behind us.” As one, mountain-bred, | 60 |
| Rugged and clownish, if some city’s walls | |
| He chance to enter, round him stares agape, | |
| Confounded and struck dumb; e’en such appear’d | |
| Each spirit. But when rid of that amaze, | |
| (Not long the inmate of a noble heart,) | 65 |
| He, who before had question’d thus resumed: | |
| “O blessed! who, for death preparing, takest | |
| Experience of our limits, in thy bark; | |
| Their crime, who not with us proceed, was that | |
| For which, as he did triumph, Cæsar heard | 70 |
| The shout of ‘queen,’ to taunt him. Hence their cry | |
| Of ‘Sodom,’ as they parted; to rebuke | |
| Themselves, and aid the burning by their shame. | |
| Our sinning was hermaphrodite: but we, | |
| Because the law of human kind we broke, | 75 |
| Following like beasts our vile concupiscence, | |
| Hence parting from them, to our own disgrace | |
| Record the name of her, by whom the beast | |
| In bestial tire was acted. Now our deeds | |
| Thou know’st, and how we sinn’d. If thou by name | 80 |
| Wouldst haply know us, time permits not now | |
| To tell so much, nor can I. Of myself | |
| Learn what thou wishest. Guinicelli I; | |
| Who having truly sorrow’d ere my last, | |
| Already cleanse me.” With such pious joy, | 85 |
| As the two sons upon their mother gazed | |
| From sad Lycurgus 1 rescued; such my joy | |
| (Save that I more repress’d it) when I heard | |
| From his own lips the name of him pronounced, | |
| Who was a father to me, and to those | 90 |
| My betters, who have ever used the sweet | |
| And pleasant rhymes of love. So naught I heard, | |
| Nor spake; but long time thoughtfully I went, | |
| Gazing on him; and, only for the fire, | |
| Approached not nearer. When my eyes were fed | 95 |
| By looking on him; with such solemn pledge, | |
| As forces credence, I devoted me | |
| Unto his service wholly. In reply | |
| He thus bespake me: “What from thee I hear | |
| Is graved so deeply on my mind, the waves | 100 |
| Of Lethe shall not wash it off, nor make | |
| A whit less lively. But as now thy oath | |
| Has seal’d the truth, declare what cause impels | |
| That love, which both thy looks and speech bewray.” | |
| “Those dulcet lays,” I answer’d; “which, as long | 105 |
| As of our tongue the beauty does not fade, | |
| Shall make us love the very ink that traced them.” | |
| “Brother!” he cried, and pointed at the shade | |
| Before him, “there is one, whose mother speech | |
| Doth owe to him a fairer ornament. | 110 |
| He 2 in love ditties, and the tales of prose, | |
| Without a rival stands; and lets the fools | |
| Talk on, who think the songster of Limoges 3 | |
| O’ertops him. Rumour and the popular voice | |
| They look to, more than truth; and so confirm | 115 |
| Opinion, ere by art or reason taught. | |
| Thus many of the elder time cried up | |
| Guittone, giving him the prize, till truth | |
| By strength of numbers vanquish’d. If thou own | |
| So ample privilege, as to have gain’d | 120 |
| Free entrance to the cloister, whereof Christ | |
| Is Abbot of the college; say to him | |
| One paternoster for me, far as needs | |
| For dwellers in this world, where power to sin | |
| No longer tempts us.” Haply to make way | 125 |
| For one that follow’d next, when that was said, | |
| He vanish’d through the fire, as through the wave | |
| A fish, that glances diving to the deep. | |
| I, to the spirit he had shown me, drew | |
| A little onward, and besought his name, | 130 |
| For which my heart, I said, kept gracious room. | |
| He frankly thus began: “Thy courtesy 4 | |
| So wins on me, I have nor power nor will | |
| To hide me. I am Arnault; and with songs, | |
| Sorely waymenting for my folly past, | 135 |
| Thorough this ford of fire I wade, and see | |
| The day, I hope for, smiling in my view. | |
| I pray ye by the worth that guides ye up | |
| Unto the summit of the scale, in time | |
| Remember ye my sufferings.” With such words | 140 |
| He disappear’d in the refining flame. | |
