| |
| HIS glory, by whose might all things are moved, | |
| Pierces the universe, and in one part | |
| Sheds more resplendence, elsewhere less. In | |
| That largeliest of His light partakes, was I, [Heaven | |
| Witness of things, which, to relate again, | 5 |
| Surpasseth power of him who comes from thence; | |
| For that, so near approaching its desire, | |
| Out intellect is to such depth absorb’d, | |
| That memory cannot follow. Nathless all, | |
| That in my thoughts I of that sacred realm | 10 |
| Could store, shall now be matter of my song. | |
| Benign Apollo! this last labour aid; | |
| And make me such a vessel of thy worth, | |
| As thy own laurel claims, of me beloved. | |
| Thus far 1 hath one of steep Parnassus’ brows | 15 |
| Sufficed me; henceforth, there is need of both | |
| For my remaining enterprise. Do thou 2 | |
| Enter into my bosom, and there breathe | |
| So, as when Marsyas by thy hand was dragg’d | |
| Forth from his limbs, unsheathed. O power divine! | 20 |
| If thou to me of thine impart so much, | |
| That of that happy realm the shadow’d form | |
| Traced in my thoughts I may set forth to view; | |
| Thou shalt behold me of thy favour’d tree | |
| Come to the foot, and crown myself with leaves: | 25 |
| For to that honour thou, and my high theme | |
| Will fit me. If but seldom, mighty Sire! | |
| To grace his triumph, gathers thence a wreath | |
| Cæsar, or bard, (more shame for human wills | |
| Depraved), joy to the Delphic god must spring | 30 |
| From the Peneian foliage, when one breast | |
| Is with such thirst inspired. From a small spark | |
| Great flame hath risen: after me, perchance, | |
| Others with better voice may pray, and gain, | |
| From the Cyrrhæan city, answer kind. | 35 |
| Through divers passages, the world’s bright lamp | |
| Rises to mortals; but through that 3 which joins | |
| Four circles with the threefold cross, in best | |
| Course, and in happiest constellation 4 set, | |
| He comes; and, to the worldly wax, best gives | 40 |
| Its temper and impression. Morning there, 5 | |
| Here eve was well-nigh by such passage made; | |
| And whiteness had o’erspread that hemisphere, | |
| Blackness the other part; when to the left 6 | |
| I saw Beatrice turn’d, and on the sun | 45 |
| Gazing, as never eagle fix’d his ken. | |
| As from the first a second beam is wont | |
| To issue, and reflected upward rise, | |
| Even as a pilgrim bent on his return; | |
| So of her act, that through the eyesight pass’d | 50 |
| Into my fancy, mine was form’d: and straight, | |
| Beyond our mortal wont, I fix’d mine eyes | |
| Upon the sun. Much is allow’d us there, | |
| That here exceeds our power; thanks to the place | |
| Made for the dwelling of the human kind. | 55 |
| I suffer’d it not long; and yet so long, | |
| That I beheld it bickering sparks around, | |
| As iron that comes boiling from the fire. | |
| And suddenly upon the day appear’d | |
| A day new-risen; as he, who hath the power, | 60 |
| Had with another sun bedeck’d the sky. | |
| Her eyes fast fix’d on the eternal wheels, | |
| Beatrice stood unmoved; and I with ken | |
| Fix’d upon her, from upward gaze removed, | |
| At her aspect, such inwardly became | 65 |
| As Glaucus, when he tasted of the herb | |
| That made him peer among the ocean gods: | |
| Words may not tell of that trans-human change; | |
| And therefore let the example serve, though weak, | |
| For those whom grace hath better proof in store. | 70 |
| If I were only what thou didst create, | |
| Then newly, Love! by whom the Heaven is ruled; | |
| Thou know’st, who by Thy light didst bear me up. | |
| Whenas the wheel which Thou dost ever guide, | |
| Desired Spirit! with its harmony, | 75 |
| Temper’d of Thee and measured, charm’d mine ear, | |
| Then seem’d to me so much of Heaven to blaze | |
| With the sun’s flame, that rain or flood ne’er made | |
| A lake so broad. The newness of the sound, | |
| And that great light, inflamed me with desire, | 80 |
| Keener than e’er was felt, to know their cause. | |
| Whence she, who saw me, clearly as myself, | |
| To calm my troubled mind, before I ask’d, | |
| Open’d her lips, and gracious thus began: | |
| “With false imagination thou thyself | 85 |
| Makest dull; so that thou seest not the thing, | |
| Which thou hadst seen, had that been shaken off. | |
| Thou art not on the earth as thou believest; | |
| For lightning, scaped from its own proper place, | |
| Ne’er ran, as thou has hither now return’d.” | 90 |
| Although divested of my first-raised doubt | |
| By those brief words accompanied with smiles, | |
| Yet in new doubt was I entangled more, | |
| And said: “Already satisfied, I rest | |
| From admiration deep; but now admire | 95 |
| How I above those lighter bodies rise.” | |
| Whence, after utterance of a piteous sigh, | |
| She toward me bent her eyes, with such a look, | |
| As on her frenzied child a mother casts; | |
| Then thus began: “Among themselves all things | 100 |
| Have order; and from hence the form, 7 which makes | |
| The universe resemble God. In this | |
| The higher creatures see the printed steps | |
| Of that eternal worth, which is the end | |
| Whither the line is drawn. 8 All natures lean, | 105 |
| In this their order, diversely; some more, | |
| Some less approaching to their primal source. | |
| Thus they to different havens are moved on | |
| Through the vast sea of being, and each one | |
| With instinct given, that bears it in its course: | 110 |
| This to the lunar sphere directs the fire; | |
| This moves the hearts of mortal animals; | |
| This the brute earth together knits, and binds. | |
| Nor only creatures, void of intellect, | |
| Are aim’d at by this bow; but even those, | 115 |
| That have intelligence and love, are pierced. | |
| That Providence, who so well orders all, | |
| With her own light makes ever calm the Heaven, 9 | |
| In which the substance, that hath greatest speed, 10 | |
| Is turn’d: and thither now, as to our seat | 120 |
| Predestined, we are carried by the force | |
| Of that strong cord, that never looses dart | |
| But at fair aim and glad. Yet is it true, | |
| That as, oft-times, but ill accords the form | |
| To the design of art, through sluggishness | 125 |
| Or unreplying matter; so this course | |
| Is sometimes quitted by the creature, who | |
| Hath power, directed thus, to bend elsewhere; | |
| As from a cloud the fire is seen to fall, | |
| From its original impulse warp’d, to earth, | 130 |
| By vitious fondness. Thou no more admire | |
| Thy soaring (if I rightly deem) that lapse | |
| Of torrent downward from a mountain’s height. | |
| There would in thee for wonder be more cause, | |
| If, free of hindrance, thou hadst stay’d below, | 135 |
| As living fire unmoved upon the earth.” | |
| So said, she turn’d toward the Heaven her face. | |
