CANTO XVTrue love, that ever shows itself as clearIn kindness, as loose appetite in wrong,Silenced that lyre harmonious, and still’dThe sacred chords, that are by heav’n’s right handUnwound and tighten’d, flow to righteous prayersShould they not hearken, who, to give me willFor praying, in accordance thus were mute?He hath in sooth good cause for endless grief,Who, for the love of thing that lasteth not,Despoils himself forever of that love.As oft along the still and pure serene,At nightfall, glides a sudden trail of fire,Attracting with involuntary heedThe eye to follow it, erewhile at rest,And seems some star that shifted place in heav’n,Only that, whence it kindles, none is lost,And it is soon extinct; thus from the horn,That on the dexter of the cross extends,Down to its foot, one luminary ranFrom mid the cluster shone there; yet no gemDropp’d from its foil; and through the beamy listLike flame in alabaster, glow’d its course.So forward stretch’d him (if of credence aughtOur greater muse may claim) the pious ghostOf old Anchises, in the’ Elysian bower,When he perceiv’d his son. “O thou, my blood!O most exceeding grace divine! to whom,As now to thee, hath twice the heav’nly gateBeen e’er unclos’d?” so spake the light; whence ITurn’d me toward him; then unto my dameMy sight directed, and on either sideAmazement waited me; for in her eyesWas lighted such a smile, I thought that mineHad div’d unto the bottom of my graceAnd of my bliss in Paradise. ForthwithTo hearing and to sight grateful alike,The spirit to his proem added thingsI understood not, so profound he spake;Yet not of choice but through necessityMysterious; for his high conception scar’dBeyond the mark of mortals. When the flightOf holy transport had so spent its rage,That nearer to the level of our thoughtThe speech descended, the first sounds I heardWere, “Best he thou, Triunal Deity!That hast such favour in my seed vouchsaf’d!”Then follow’d: “No unpleasant thirst, tho’ long,Which took me reading in the sacred book,Whose leaves or white or dusky never change,Thou hast allay’d, my son, within this light,From whence my voice thou hear’st; more thanks to her.Who for such lofty mounting has with plumesBegirt thee. Thou dost deem thy thoughts to meFrom him transmitted, who is first of all,E’en as all numbers ray from unity;And therefore dost not ask me who I am,Or why to thee more joyous I appear,Than any other in this gladsome throng.The truth is as thou deem’st; for in this hueBoth less and greater in that mirror look,In which thy thoughts, or ere thou think’st, are shown.But, that the love, which keeps me wakeful ever,Urging with sacred thirst of sweet desire,May be contended fully, let thy voice,Fearless, and frank and jocund, utter forthThy will distinctly, utter forth the wish,Whereto my ready answer stands decreed.”I turn’d me to Beatrice; and she heardEre I had spoken, smiling, an assent,That to my will gave wings; and I began“To each among your tribe, what time ye kenn’dThe nature, in whom naught unequal dwells,Wisdom and love were in one measure dealt;For that they are so equal in the sun,From whence ye drew your radiance and your heat,As makes all likeness scant. But will and means,In mortals, for the cause ye well discern,With unlike wings are fledge. A mortal IExperience inequality like this,And therefore give no thanks, but in the heart,For thy paternal greeting. This howe’erI pray thee, living topaz! that ingemm’stThis precious jewel, let me hear thy name.”“I am thy root, O leaf! whom to expectEven, hath pleas’d me: “thus the prompt replyPrefacing, next it added; “he, of whomThy kindred appellation comes, and who,These hundred years and more, on its first ledgeHath circuited the mountain, was my sonAnd thy great grandsire. Well befits, his longEndurance should he shorten’d by thy deeds.“Florence, within her ancient limit-mark,Which calls her still to matin prayers and noon,Was chaste and sober, and abode in peace.She had no armlets and no head-tires then,No purfled dames, no zone, that caught the eyeMore than the person did. Time was not yet,When at his daughter’s birth the sire grew pale.For fear the age and dowry should exceedOn each side just proportion. House was noneVoid of its family; nor yet had comeHardanapalus, to exhibit featsOf chamber prowess. Montemalo yetO’er our suburban turret rose; as muchTo be surpass in fall, as in its rising.I saw Bellincione Berti walk abroadIn leathern girdle and a clasp of bone;And, with no artful colouring on her cheeks,His lady leave the glass. The sons I sawOf Nerli and of Vecchio well contentWith unrob’d jerkin; and their good dames handlingThe spindle and the flax; O happy they!Each sure of burial in her native land,And none left desolate a-bed for France!One wak’d to tend the cradle, hushing itWith sounds that lull’d the parent’s infancy:Another, with her maidens, drawing offThe tresses from the distaff, lectur’d themOld tales of Troy and Fesole and Rome.A Salterello and Cianghella weHad held as strange a marvel, as ye wouldA Cincinnatus or Cornelia now.“In such compos’d and seemly fellowship,Such faithful and such fair equality,In so sweet household, Mary at my birthBestow’d me, call’d on with loud cries; and thereIn your old baptistery, I was madeChristian at once and Cacciaguida; as wereMy brethren, Eliseo and Moronto.“From Valdipado came to me my spouse,And hence thy surname grew. I follow’d thenThe Emperor Conrad; and his knighthood heDid gird on me; in such good part he tookMy valiant service. After him I wentTo testify against that evil law,Whose people, by the shepherd’s fault, possessYour right, usurping. There, by that foul crewWas I releas’d from the deceitful world,Whose base affection many a spirit soils,And from the martyrdom came to this peace.”
True love, that ever shows itself as clearIn kindness, as loose appetite in wrong,Silenced that lyre harmonious, and still’dThe sacred chords, that are by heav’n’s right handUnwound and tighten’d, flow to righteous prayersShould they not hearken, who, to give me willFor praying, in accordance thus were mute?He hath in sooth good cause for endless grief,Who, for the love of thing that lasteth not,Despoils himself forever of that love.
As oft along the still and pure serene,At nightfall, glides a sudden trail of fire,Attracting with involuntary heedThe eye to follow it, erewhile at rest,And seems some star that shifted place in heav’n,Only that, whence it kindles, none is lost,And it is soon extinct; thus from the horn,That on the dexter of the cross extends,Down to its foot, one luminary ranFrom mid the cluster shone there; yet no gemDropp’d from its foil; and through the beamy listLike flame in alabaster, glow’d its course.
So forward stretch’d him (if of credence aughtOur greater muse may claim) the pious ghostOf old Anchises, in the’ Elysian bower,When he perceiv’d his son. “O thou, my blood!O most exceeding grace divine! to whom,As now to thee, hath twice the heav’nly gateBeen e’er unclos’d?” so spake the light; whence ITurn’d me toward him; then unto my dameMy sight directed, and on either sideAmazement waited me; for in her eyesWas lighted such a smile, I thought that mineHad div’d unto the bottom of my graceAnd of my bliss in Paradise. ForthwithTo hearing and to sight grateful alike,The spirit to his proem added thingsI understood not, so profound he spake;Yet not of choice but through necessityMysterious; for his high conception scar’dBeyond the mark of mortals. When the flightOf holy transport had so spent its rage,That nearer to the level of our thoughtThe speech descended, the first sounds I heardWere, “Best he thou, Triunal Deity!That hast such favour in my seed vouchsaf’d!”Then follow’d: “No unpleasant thirst, tho’ long,Which took me reading in the sacred book,Whose leaves or white or dusky never change,Thou hast allay’d, my son, within this light,From whence my voice thou hear’st; more thanks to her.Who for such lofty mounting has with plumesBegirt thee. Thou dost deem thy thoughts to meFrom him transmitted, who is first of all,E’en as all numbers ray from unity;And therefore dost not ask me who I am,Or why to thee more joyous I appear,Than any other in this gladsome throng.The truth is as thou deem’st; for in this hueBoth less and greater in that mirror look,In which thy thoughts, or ere thou think’st, are shown.But, that the love, which keeps me wakeful ever,Urging with sacred thirst of sweet desire,May be contended fully, let thy voice,Fearless, and frank and jocund, utter forthThy will distinctly, utter forth the wish,Whereto my ready answer stands decreed.”
I turn’d me to Beatrice; and she heardEre I had spoken, smiling, an assent,That to my will gave wings; and I began“To each among your tribe, what time ye kenn’dThe nature, in whom naught unequal dwells,Wisdom and love were in one measure dealt;For that they are so equal in the sun,From whence ye drew your radiance and your heat,As makes all likeness scant. But will and means,In mortals, for the cause ye well discern,With unlike wings are fledge. A mortal IExperience inequality like this,And therefore give no thanks, but in the heart,For thy paternal greeting. This howe’erI pray thee, living topaz! that ingemm’stThis precious jewel, let me hear thy name.”
“I am thy root, O leaf! whom to expectEven, hath pleas’d me: “thus the prompt replyPrefacing, next it added; “he, of whomThy kindred appellation comes, and who,These hundred years and more, on its first ledgeHath circuited the mountain, was my sonAnd thy great grandsire. Well befits, his longEndurance should he shorten’d by thy deeds.
“Florence, within her ancient limit-mark,Which calls her still to matin prayers and noon,Was chaste and sober, and abode in peace.She had no armlets and no head-tires then,No purfled dames, no zone, that caught the eyeMore than the person did. Time was not yet,When at his daughter’s birth the sire grew pale.For fear the age and dowry should exceedOn each side just proportion. House was noneVoid of its family; nor yet had comeHardanapalus, to exhibit featsOf chamber prowess. Montemalo yetO’er our suburban turret rose; as muchTo be surpass in fall, as in its rising.I saw Bellincione Berti walk abroadIn leathern girdle and a clasp of bone;And, with no artful colouring on her cheeks,His lady leave the glass. The sons I sawOf Nerli and of Vecchio well contentWith unrob’d jerkin; and their good dames handlingThe spindle and the flax; O happy they!Each sure of burial in her native land,And none left desolate a-bed for France!One wak’d to tend the cradle, hushing itWith sounds that lull’d the parent’s infancy:Another, with her maidens, drawing offThe tresses from the distaff, lectur’d themOld tales of Troy and Fesole and Rome.A Salterello and Cianghella weHad held as strange a marvel, as ye wouldA Cincinnatus or Cornelia now.
“In such compos’d and seemly fellowship,Such faithful and such fair equality,In so sweet household, Mary at my birthBestow’d me, call’d on with loud cries; and thereIn your old baptistery, I was madeChristian at once and Cacciaguida; as wereMy brethren, Eliseo and Moronto.
“From Valdipado came to me my spouse,And hence thy surname grew. I follow’d thenThe Emperor Conrad; and his knighthood heDid gird on me; in such good part he tookMy valiant service. After him I wentTo testify against that evil law,Whose people, by the shepherd’s fault, possessYour right, usurping. There, by that foul crewWas I releas’d from the deceitful world,Whose base affection many a spirit soils,And from the martyrdom came to this peace.”