| |
| NOW in his word, sole, ruminating, joy’d | |
| That blessed spirit and I fed on mine, | |
| Tempering the sweet with bitter. She meanwhile, | |
| Who led me unto God, admonish’d: “Muse | |
| On other thoughts: bethink thee, that near Him | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| The mind remounts not without aid. Thus much | |
| Yet may I speak; that, as I gazed on her, | |
| Affection found no room for other wish. | |
| While the everlasting pleasure, that did full | |
| On Beatrice shine, with second view | 15 |
| From her fair countenance my gladden’d soul | |
| Contended; 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 | 20 |
| The affection mark’d, when that its sway hath ta’en | |
| The spirit wholly; thus the hallow’d light, 1 | |
| 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, 2 whose life | 25 |
| Is from its top, whose fruit is ever fair | |
| And leaf unwithering, blessed spirits abide, | |
| That were below, ere they arrived in Heaven, | |
| So mighty in renown, as every muse | |
| Might grace her triumph with them. On the horns | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| Ere it was done: then, at the naming, saw, | |
| Of the great Maccabee, 3 another move | |
| With whirling speed; and gladness was the scourge | |
| Unto that top. The next for Charlemain | |
| And for the peer Orlando, two my gaze | 40 |
| Pursued, intently, as the eye pursues | |
| A falcon flying. Last, along the cross, | |
| William, and Renard, 4 and Duke Godfrey 5 drew | |
| My ken, and Robert Guiscard. 6 And the soul | |
| Who spake with me, among the other lights | 45 |
| Did move away, and mix; and with the quire | |
| Of heavenly songsters proved his tuneful skill. | |
| To Beatrice on my right I bent, | |
| Looking for intimation, or by word | |
| Or act, what next behoved; and did descry | 50 |
| Such mere effulgence in her eyes, such joy, | |
| It pass’d 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 perceived, | 55 |
| Of my ascent, together with the Heaven, | |
| 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 | 60 |
| 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 | 65 |
| 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, | 70 |
| The saintly creatures flying, sang; and made | |
| Now D, now I, now L, figured i’ the air | |
| First singing to their notes they moved; then, one | |
| Becoming of these signs, a little while | |
| Did rest them, and were mute. O nymph divine | 75 |
| Of Pegasean race! who souls, which thou | |
| Inspirest, makest glorious and long-lived, 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 | 80 |
| 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, | 85 |
| 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, | 90 |
| 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 the unwise; | |
| Thus more than thousand twinkling lustres hence | 95 |
| 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, livelily | 100 |
| Graved in that streaky fire. Who painteth there, 7 | |
| 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, 8 that seem’d | 105 |
| Erewhile, with lilied crowning, well content | |
| To over-canopy the M, moved forth, | |
| Following gently the impress of the bird. | |
| Sweet star; what glorious and thick-studded gems | |
| Declared to me our justice on the earth | 110 |
| To be the effluence of that Heaven, 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, | 115 |
| To vitiate thy beam; so that once more 9 | |
| 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! | 120 |
| O beg ye grace for those, that are, on earth, | |
| All after ill example gone astray. | |
| War once had for his instrument the sword: | |
| But now ’tis made, taking the bread away, 10 | |
| Which the good Father locks from none.—And thou, | 125 |
| That writest but to cancel, 11 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, 12 that lived in solitude remote, | 130 |
| And for a dance was dragg’d to martyrdom, | |
| I wist not of the Fisherman nor Paul.” | |
