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

Paradise

Canto XXV ARGUMENT.—St. James questions our Poet concerning Hope. Next St. John appears; and, on perceiving that Dante looks intently on him, informs him that he, St. John, had left his body resolved into earth, upon the earth, and that Christ and the Virgin alone had come with their bodies into Heaven.

IF e’er the sacred poem, that hath made

Both Heaven and earth copartners in its toil,

And with lean abstinence, through many a year,

Faded my brow, be destined 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 moved a light, at view whereof

My Lady, full of gladness, spake to me:

“Lo! lo! behold the peer of mickle might,

That makes Galicia throng’d with visitants.”

As when the ring-dove by his mate alights;

In circles, each about the other wheels,

And, murmuring, coos 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 shrined!

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 well thou know’st, who figurest it as oft,

As Jesus, to ye three, more brightly shone.”

“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

Assured 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 e’er thy death,

In the most secret council with His lords

Shouldst be confronted, so that having view’d

The glories of our court, thou mayest 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 ’tis of him

Recorded in the Sun, whose liberal orb

Enlightened 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 inquired,

Not for more knowledge, but that he may tell

How dear thou hold’st 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, practised 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,

The 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 spake his anthem, ‘who have known

Thy name;’ and, with my faith, who knows 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 volley’d lightning,

Within the bosom of that mighty sheen

Play’d tremulous; then forth these accents breathed:

“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 replied,

“Propose the mark (which even now I view)

For souls beloved of God. Isaias saith,

‘That, in their own land, each one must be clad

In two-fold vesture;’ and their proper land

Is 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 destined 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 emerged,

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 removed her sight

From marking them: or e’er her words began,

Or when they closed. 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 described her not; although,

Not distant, on the happy coast she stood.