CANTO VIIINow was the hour that wakens fond desireIn men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart,Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell,And pilgrim newly on his road with loveThrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far,That seems to mourn for the expiring day:When I, no longer taking heed to hearBegan, with wonder, from those spirits to markOne risen from its seat, which with its handAudience implor’d. Both palms it join’d and rais’d,Fixing its steadfast gaze towards the east,As telling God, “I care for naught beside.”“Te Lucis Ante,” so devoutly thenCame from its lip, and in so soft a strain,That all my sense in ravishment was lost.And the rest after, softly and devout,Follow’d through all the hymn, with upward gazeDirected to the bright supernal wheels.Here, reader! for the truth makes thine eyes keen:For of so subtle texture is this veil,That thou with ease mayst pass it through unmark’d.I saw that gentle band silently nextLook up, as if in expectation held,Pale and in lowly guise; and from on highI saw forth issuing descend beneathTwo angels with two flame-illumin’d swords,Broken and mutilated at their points.Green as the tender leaves but newly born,Their vesture was, the which by wings as greenBeaten, they drew behind them, fann’d in air.A little over us one took his stand,The other lighted on the’ Opposing hill,So that the troop were in the midst contain’d.Well I descried the whiteness on their heads;But in their visages the dazzled eyeWas lost, as faculty that by too muchIs overpower’d. “From Mary’s bosom bothAre come,” exclaim’d Sordello, “as a guardOver the vale, ganst him, who hither tends,The serpent.” Whence, not knowing by which pathHe came, I turn’d me round, and closely press’d,All frozen, to my leader’s trusted side.Sordello paus’d not: “To the valley now(For it is time) let us descend; and holdConverse with those great shadows: haply muchTheir sight may please ye.” Only three steps downMethinks I measur’d, ere I was beneath,And noted one who look’d as with desireTo know me. Time was now that air arrow dim;Yet not so dim, that ’twixt his eyes and mineIt clear’d not up what was conceal’d before.Mutually tow’rds each other we advanc’d.Nino, thou courteous judge! what joy I felt,When I perceiv’d thou wert not with the bad!No salutation kind on either partWas left unsaid. He then inquir’d: “How longSince thou arrived’st at the mountain’s foot,Over the distant waves?”—“O!” answer’d I,“Through the sad seats of woe this morn I came,And still in my first life, thus journeying on,The other strive to gain.” Soon as they heardMy words, he and Sordello backward drew,As suddenly amaz’d. To Virgil one,The other to a spirit turn’d, who nearWas seated, crying: “Conrad! up with speed:Come, see what of his grace high God hath will’d.”Then turning round to me: “By that rare markOf honour which thou ow’st to him, who hidesSo deeply his first cause, it hath no ford,When thou shalt he beyond the vast of waves.Tell my Giovanna, that for me she callThere, where reply to innocence is made.Her mother, I believe, loves me no more;Since she has chang’d the white and wimpled folds,Which she is doom’d once more with grief to wish.By her it easily may be perceiv’d,How long in women lasts the flame of love,If sight and touch do not relume it oft.For her so fair a burial will not makeThe viper which calls Milan to the field,As had been made by shrill Gallura’s bird.”He spoke, and in his visage took the stampOf that right seal, which with due temperatureGlows in the bosom. My insatiate eyesMeanwhile to heav’n had travel’d, even thereWhere the bright stars are slowest, as a wheelNearest the axle; when my guide inquir’d:“What there aloft, my son, has caught thy gaze?”I answer’d: “The three torches, with which hereThe pole is all on fire. “He then to me:“The four resplendent stars, thou saw’st this mornAre there beneath, and these ris’n in their stead.”While yet he spoke. Sordello to himselfDrew him, and cry’d: “Lo there our enemy!”And with his hand pointed that way to look.Along the side, where barrier none aroseAround the little vale, a serpent lay,Such haply as gave Eve the bitter food.Between the grass and flowers, the evil snakeCame on, reverting oft his lifted head;And, as a beast that smoothes its polish’d coat,Licking his hack. I saw not, nor can tell,How those celestial falcons from their seatMov’d, but in motion each one well descried,Hearing the air cut by their verdant plumes.The serpent fled; and to their stations backThe angels up return’d with equal flight.The Spirit (who to Nino, when he call’d,Had come), from viewing me with fixed ken,Through all that conflict, loosen’d not his sight.“So may the lamp, which leads thee up on high,Find, in thy destin’d lot, of wax so much,As may suffice thee to the enamel’s height.”It thus began: “If any certain newsOf Valdimagra and the neighbour partThou know’st, tell me, who once was mighty thereThey call’d me Conrad Malaspina, notThat old one, but from him I sprang. The loveI bore my people is now here refin’d.”“In your dominions,” I answer’d, “ne’er was I.But through all Europe where do those men dwell,To whom their glory is not manifest?The fame, that honours your illustrious house,Proclaims the nobles and proclaims the land;So that he knows it who was never there.I swear to you, so may my upward routeProsper! your honour’d nation not impairsThe value of her coffer and her sword.Nature and use give her such privilege,That while the world is twisted from his courseBy a bad head, she only walks aright,And has the evil way in scorn.” He then:“Now pass thee on: sev’n times the tired sunRevisits not the couch, which with four feetThe forked Aries covers, ere that kindOpinion shall be nail’d into thy brainWith stronger nails than other’s speech can drive,If the sure course of judgment be not stay’d.”
Now was the hour that wakens fond desireIn men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart,Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell,And pilgrim newly on his road with loveThrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far,That seems to mourn for the expiring day:When I, no longer taking heed to hearBegan, with wonder, from those spirits to markOne risen from its seat, which with its handAudience implor’d. Both palms it join’d and rais’d,Fixing its steadfast gaze towards the east,As telling God, “I care for naught beside.”
“Te Lucis Ante,” so devoutly thenCame from its lip, and in so soft a strain,That all my sense in ravishment was lost.And the rest after, softly and devout,Follow’d through all the hymn, with upward gazeDirected to the bright supernal wheels.
Here, reader! for the truth makes thine eyes keen:For of so subtle texture is this veil,That thou with ease mayst pass it through unmark’d.
I saw that gentle band silently nextLook up, as if in expectation held,Pale and in lowly guise; and from on highI saw forth issuing descend beneathTwo angels with two flame-illumin’d swords,Broken and mutilated at their points.Green as the tender leaves but newly born,Their vesture was, the which by wings as greenBeaten, they drew behind them, fann’d in air.A little over us one took his stand,The other lighted on the’ Opposing hill,So that the troop were in the midst contain’d.
Well I descried the whiteness on their heads;But in their visages the dazzled eyeWas lost, as faculty that by too muchIs overpower’d. “From Mary’s bosom bothAre come,” exclaim’d Sordello, “as a guardOver the vale, ganst him, who hither tends,The serpent.” Whence, not knowing by which pathHe came, I turn’d me round, and closely press’d,All frozen, to my leader’s trusted side.
Sordello paus’d not: “To the valley now(For it is time) let us descend; and holdConverse with those great shadows: haply muchTheir sight may please ye.” Only three steps downMethinks I measur’d, ere I was beneath,And noted one who look’d as with desireTo know me. Time was now that air arrow dim;Yet not so dim, that ’twixt his eyes and mineIt clear’d not up what was conceal’d before.Mutually tow’rds each other we advanc’d.Nino, thou courteous judge! what joy I felt,When I perceiv’d thou wert not with the bad!
No salutation kind on either partWas left unsaid. He then inquir’d: “How longSince thou arrived’st at the mountain’s foot,Over the distant waves?”—“O!” answer’d I,“Through the sad seats of woe this morn I came,And still in my first life, thus journeying on,The other strive to gain.” Soon as they heardMy words, he and Sordello backward drew,As suddenly amaz’d. To Virgil one,The other to a spirit turn’d, who nearWas seated, crying: “Conrad! up with speed:Come, see what of his grace high God hath will’d.”Then turning round to me: “By that rare markOf honour which thou ow’st to him, who hidesSo deeply his first cause, it hath no ford,When thou shalt he beyond the vast of waves.Tell my Giovanna, that for me she callThere, where reply to innocence is made.Her mother, I believe, loves me no more;Since she has chang’d the white and wimpled folds,Which she is doom’d once more with grief to wish.By her it easily may be perceiv’d,How long in women lasts the flame of love,If sight and touch do not relume it oft.For her so fair a burial will not makeThe viper which calls Milan to the field,As had been made by shrill Gallura’s bird.”
He spoke, and in his visage took the stampOf that right seal, which with due temperatureGlows in the bosom. My insatiate eyesMeanwhile to heav’n had travel’d, even thereWhere the bright stars are slowest, as a wheelNearest the axle; when my guide inquir’d:“What there aloft, my son, has caught thy gaze?”
I answer’d: “The three torches, with which hereThe pole is all on fire. “He then to me:“The four resplendent stars, thou saw’st this mornAre there beneath, and these ris’n in their stead.”
While yet he spoke. Sordello to himselfDrew him, and cry’d: “Lo there our enemy!”And with his hand pointed that way to look.
Along the side, where barrier none aroseAround the little vale, a serpent lay,Such haply as gave Eve the bitter food.Between the grass and flowers, the evil snakeCame on, reverting oft his lifted head;And, as a beast that smoothes its polish’d coat,Licking his hack. I saw not, nor can tell,How those celestial falcons from their seatMov’d, but in motion each one well descried,Hearing the air cut by their verdant plumes.The serpent fled; and to their stations backThe angels up return’d with equal flight.
The Spirit (who to Nino, when he call’d,Had come), from viewing me with fixed ken,Through all that conflict, loosen’d not his sight.
“So may the lamp, which leads thee up on high,Find, in thy destin’d lot, of wax so much,As may suffice thee to the enamel’s height.”It thus began: “If any certain newsOf Valdimagra and the neighbour partThou know’st, tell me, who once was mighty thereThey call’d me Conrad Malaspina, notThat old one, but from him I sprang. The loveI bore my people is now here refin’d.”
“In your dominions,” I answer’d, “ne’er was I.But through all Europe where do those men dwell,To whom their glory is not manifest?The fame, that honours your illustrious house,Proclaims the nobles and proclaims the land;So that he knows it who was never there.I swear to you, so may my upward routeProsper! your honour’d nation not impairsThe value of her coffer and her sword.Nature and use give her such privilege,That while the world is twisted from his courseBy a bad head, she only walks aright,And has the evil way in scorn.” He then:“Now pass thee on: sev’n times the tired sunRevisits not the couch, which with four feetThe forked Aries covers, ere that kindOpinion shall be nail’d into thy brainWith stronger nails than other’s speech can drive,If the sure course of judgment be not stay’d.”