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Dante Alighieri (1265–1321). The Divine Comedy.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Purgatory

Canto XII ARGUMENT.—Dante, being desired by Virgil to look down on the ground which they are treading, observes that it is wrought over with imagery exhibiting various instances of pride recorded in history and fable. They leave the first cornice, and are ushered to the next by an angel who points out the way.

WITH equal pace, as oxen in the yoke,

I, with that laden spirit, journey’d on,

Long as the mild instructor suffer’d me;

But, when he bade me quit him, and proceed,

(For “Here,” said he, “behoves with sail and oars

Each man, as best he may, push on his bark,”)

Upright, as one disposed for speed, I raised

My body, still in thought submissive bow’d.

I now my leader’s track not loth pursued;

And each had shown how light we fared along,

When thus he warned me: “Bend thine eyesight down,

For thou, to ease the way, shalt find it good

To ruminate the bed beneath thy feet.”

As, in memorial of the buried, drawn

Upon earth-level tombs, the sculptured form

Of what was once, appears, (at sight whereof

Tears often stream forth, by remembrance waked,

Whose sacred stings the piteous often feel),

So saw I there, but with more curious skill

Of portraiture o’erwrought, whate’er of space

From forth the mountain stretches. On one part

Him I beheld, above all creatures erst

Created noblest, lightening fall from Heaven:

On the other side, with bolt celestial pierced,

Briareus; cumbering earth he lay, through dint

Of mortal ice-stroke. The Thymbræan god,

With Mars, I saw, and Pallas, round their sire,

Arm’d still, and gazing on the giants’ limbs

Strewn o’er the ethereal field. Nimrod I saw:

At foot of the stupendous work he stood,

As if bewilder’d, looking on the crowd

Leagued in his proud attempt on Sennaar’s plain.

O Niobe! in what a trance of woe

Thee I beheld, upon that highway drawn,

Seven sons on either side thee slain. O Saul!

How ghastly didst thou look, on thine own sword

Expiring, in Gilboa, from that hour

Ne’er visited with rain from heaven, or dew.

O fond Arachne! thee I also saw,

Half spider now, in anguish, crawling up

The unfinish’d web thou weaved’st to thy bane.

O Rehoboam! here thy shape doth seem

Louring no more defiance; but fear-smote,

With none to chase him, in his chariot whirl’d.

Was shown beside upon the solid floor,

How dear Alcmæon forced his mother rate

That ornament, in evil hour received:

How, in the temple, on Sennacherib fell

His sons, and how a corpse they left him there.

Was shown the scath, and cruel mangling made

By Tomyris on Cyrus, when she cried,

“Blood thou didst thirst for: take thy fill of blood.”

Was shown how routed in the battle fled

The Assyrians, Holofernes slain, and e’en

The relics of the carnage. Troy I mark’d,

In ashes and in caverns. Oh! how fallen,

How abject, Ilion, was thy semblance there.

What master of the pencil or the style

Had traced the shades and lines, that might have made

The subtlest workman wonder? Dead, the dead;

The living seem’d alive: with clearer view,

His eye beheld not, who beheld the truth,

Than mine what I did tread on, while I went

Low bending. Now swell out, and with stiff necks

Pass on, ye sons of Eve! vale not your looks,

Lest they descry the evil of your path.

I noted not (so busied was my thought)

How much we now had circled of the mount;

And of his course yet more the sun had spent;

When he, who with still wakeful caution went,

Admonish’d: “Raise thou up thy head: for know

Time is not now for slow suspense. Behold,

That way, an Angel hasting toward us. Lo,

When duly the sixth handmaid doth return

From service on the day. Wear thou, in look

And gesture, seemly grace of reverent awe;

That gladly he may forward us aloft.

Consider that this day ne’er dawns again.”

Time’s loss he had so often warn’d me ’gainst,

I could not miss the scope at which he aim’d.

The goodly shape approach’d us, snowy white

In vesture, and with visage casting streams

Of tremulous lustre like the matin star.

His arms he open’d, then his wings; and spake:

“Onward! the steps, behold, are near; and now

The ascent is without difficulty gain’d.”

A scanty few are they, who, when they hear

Such tidings, hasten. O, ye race of men!

Though born to soar, why suffer ye a wind

So slight to baffle ye? He led us on

Where the rock parted; here, against my front,

Did beat his wings; then promised I should fare

In safety on my way. As to ascend

That steep, upon whose brow the chapel stands,

(O’er Rubaconte, looking lordly down

On the well-guided city), up the right

The impetuous rise is broken by the steps

Carved in that old and simple age, when still

The registry and label rested safe;

Thus is the acclivity relieved, which here,

Precipitous, from the other circuit falls:

But, on each hand, the tall cliff presses close.

As, entering, there we turn’d, voices, in strain

Ineffable, sang: “Blessed are the poor

In spirit.” Ah! how far unlike to these

The straits of Hell: here songs to usher us,

There shrieks of woe. We climb the holy stairs:

And lighter to myself by far I seem’d

Than on the plain before; whence thus I spake:

“Say, master, of what heavy thing have I

Been lighten’d; that scarce aught the sense of toil

Affects me journeying?” He in few replied:

“When sin’s broad characters, that yet remain

Upon thy temples, though well nigh effaced,

Shall be, as one is, all clean razed out;

Then shall thy feet by heartiness of will

Be so o’ercome, they not alone shall feel

No sense of labor, but delight much more

Shall wait them, urged along their upward way.”

Then like to one, upon whose head is placed

Somewhat he deems not of, but from the becks

Of others, as they pass him by; his hand

Lends therefore help to assure him, searches, finds,

And well performs such office as the eye

Wants power to execute; so stretching forth

The fingers of my right hand, did I find

Six only of the letters, which his sword,

Who bare the keys, had traced upon my brow.

The leader, as he mark’d mine action, smiled.