CANTO XXVIt was an hour, when he who climbs, had needTo walk uncrippled: for the sun had nowTo Taurus the meridian circle left,And to the Scorpion left the night. As oneThat makes no pause, but presses on his road,Whate’er betide him, if some urgent needImpel: so enter’d we upon our way,One before other; for, but singly, noneThat steep and narrow scale admits to climb.E’en as the young stork lifteth up his wingThrough wish to fly, yet ventures not to quitThe nest, and drops it; so in me desireOf questioning my guide arose, and fell,Arriving even to the act, that marksA man prepar’d for speech. Him all our hasteRestrain’d not, but thus spake the sire belov’d:Fear not to speed the shaft, that on thy lipStands trembling for its flight.” Encourag’d thusI straight began: “How there can leanness come,Where is no want of nourishment to feed?”“If thou,” he answer’d, “hadst remember’d thee,How Meleager with the wasting brandWasted alike, by equal fires consm’d,This would not trouble thee: and hadst thou thought,How in the mirror your reflected formWith mimic motion vibrates, what now seemsHard, had appear’d no harder than the pulpOf summer fruit mature. But that thy willIn certainty may find its full repose,Lo Statius here! on him I call, and prayThat he would now be healer of thy wound.”“If in thy presence I unfold to himThe secrets of heaven’s vengeance, let me pleadThine own injunction, to exculpate me.”So Statius answer’d, and forthwith began:“Attend my words, O son, and in thy mindReceive them: so shall they be light to clearThe doubt thou offer’st. Blood, concocted well,Which by the thirsty veins is ne’er imbib’d,And rests as food superfluous, to be ta’enFrom the replenish’d table, in the heartDerives effectual virtue, that informsThe several human limbs, as being that,Which passes through the veins itself to make them.Yet more concocted it descends, where shameForbids to mention: and from thence distilsIn natural vessel on another’s blood.Then each unite together, one dispos’dT’ endure, to act the other, through meet frameOf its recipient mould: that being reach’d,It ’gins to work, coagulating first;Then vivifies what its own substance caus’dTo bear. With animation now indued,The active virtue (differing from a plantNo further, than that this is on the wayAnd at its limit that) continues yetTo operate, that now it moves, and feels,As sea sponge clinging to the rock: and thereAssumes th’ organic powers its seed convey’d.‘This is the period, son! at which the virtue,That from the generating heart proceeds,Is pliant and expansive; for each limbIs in the heart by forgeful nature plann’d.How babe of animal becomes, remainsFor thy consid’ring. At this point, more wise,Than thou hast err’d, making the soul disjoin’dFrom passive intellect, because he sawNo organ for the latter’s use assign’d.“Open thy bosom to the truth that comes.Know soon as in the embryo, to the brain,Articulation is complete, then turnsThe primal Mover with a smile of joyOn such great work of nature, and imbreathesNew spirit replete with virtue, that what hereActive it finds, to its own substance draws,And forms an individual soul, that lives,And feels, and bends reflective on itself.And that thou less mayst marvel at the word,Mark the sun’s heat, how that to wine doth change,Mix’d with the moisture filter’d through the vine.“When Lachesis hath spun the thread, the soulTakes with her both the human and divine,Memory, intelligence, and will, in actFar keener than before, the other powersInactive all and mute. No pause allow’d,In wond’rous sort self-moving, to one strandOf those, where the departed roam, she falls,Here learns her destin’d path. Soon as the placeReceives her, round the plastic virtue beams,Distinct as in the living limbs before:And as the air, when saturate with showers,The casual beam refracting, decks itselfWith many a hue; so here the ambient airWeareth that form, which influence of the soulImprints on it; and like the flame, that whereThe fire moves, thither follows, so henceforthThe new form on the spirit follows still:Hence hath it semblance, and is shadow call’d,With each sense even to the sight endued:Hence speech is ours, hence laughter, tears, and sighsWhich thou mayst oft have witness’d on the mountTh’ obedient shadow fails not to presentWhatever varying passion moves within us.And this the cause of what thou marvel’st at.”Now the last flexure of our way we reach’d,And to the right hand turning, other careAwaits us. Here the rocky precipiceHurls forth redundant flames, and from the rimA blast upblown, with forcible rebuffDriveth them back, sequester’d from its bound.Behoov’d us, one by one, along the side,That border’d on the void, to pass; and IFear’d on one hand the fire, on th’ other fear’dHeadlong to fall: when thus th’ instructor warn’d:“Strict rein must in this place direct the eyes.A little swerving and the way is lost.”Then from the bosom of the burning mass,“O God of mercy!” heard I sung; and feltNo less desire to turn. And when I sawSpirits along the flame proceeding, IBetween their footsteps and mine own was fainTo share by turns my view. At the hymn’s closeThey shouted loud, “I do not know a man;”Then in low voice again took up the strain,Which once more ended, “To the wood,” they cried,“Ran Dian, and drave forth Callisto, stungWith Cytherea’s poison:” then return’dUnto their song; then marry a pair extoll’d,Who liv’d in virtue chastely, and the bandsOf wedded love. Nor from that task, I ween,Surcease they; whilesoe’er the scorching fireEnclasps them. Of such skill appliance needsTo medicine the wound, that healeth last.
It was an hour, when he who climbs, had needTo walk uncrippled: for the sun had nowTo Taurus the meridian circle left,And to the Scorpion left the night. As oneThat makes no pause, but presses on his road,Whate’er betide him, if some urgent needImpel: so enter’d we upon our way,One before other; for, but singly, noneThat steep and narrow scale admits to climb.
E’en as the young stork lifteth up his wingThrough wish to fly, yet ventures not to quitThe nest, and drops it; so in me desireOf questioning my guide arose, and fell,Arriving even to the act, that marksA man prepar’d for speech. Him all our hasteRestrain’d not, but thus spake the sire belov’d:Fear not to speed the shaft, that on thy lipStands trembling for its flight.” Encourag’d thusI straight began: “How there can leanness come,Where is no want of nourishment to feed?”
“If thou,” he answer’d, “hadst remember’d thee,How Meleager with the wasting brandWasted alike, by equal fires consm’d,This would not trouble thee: and hadst thou thought,How in the mirror your reflected formWith mimic motion vibrates, what now seemsHard, had appear’d no harder than the pulpOf summer fruit mature. But that thy willIn certainty may find its full repose,Lo Statius here! on him I call, and prayThat he would now be healer of thy wound.”
“If in thy presence I unfold to himThe secrets of heaven’s vengeance, let me pleadThine own injunction, to exculpate me.”So Statius answer’d, and forthwith began:“Attend my words, O son, and in thy mindReceive them: so shall they be light to clearThe doubt thou offer’st. Blood, concocted well,Which by the thirsty veins is ne’er imbib’d,And rests as food superfluous, to be ta’enFrom the replenish’d table, in the heartDerives effectual virtue, that informsThe several human limbs, as being that,Which passes through the veins itself to make them.Yet more concocted it descends, where shameForbids to mention: and from thence distilsIn natural vessel on another’s blood.Then each unite together, one dispos’dT’ endure, to act the other, through meet frameOf its recipient mould: that being reach’d,It ’gins to work, coagulating first;Then vivifies what its own substance caus’dTo bear. With animation now indued,The active virtue (differing from a plantNo further, than that this is on the wayAnd at its limit that) continues yetTo operate, that now it moves, and feels,As sea sponge clinging to the rock: and thereAssumes th’ organic powers its seed convey’d.‘This is the period, son! at which the virtue,That from the generating heart proceeds,Is pliant and expansive; for each limbIs in the heart by forgeful nature plann’d.How babe of animal becomes, remainsFor thy consid’ring. At this point, more wise,Than thou hast err’d, making the soul disjoin’dFrom passive intellect, because he sawNo organ for the latter’s use assign’d.
“Open thy bosom to the truth that comes.Know soon as in the embryo, to the brain,Articulation is complete, then turnsThe primal Mover with a smile of joyOn such great work of nature, and imbreathesNew spirit replete with virtue, that what hereActive it finds, to its own substance draws,And forms an individual soul, that lives,And feels, and bends reflective on itself.And that thou less mayst marvel at the word,Mark the sun’s heat, how that to wine doth change,Mix’d with the moisture filter’d through the vine.
“When Lachesis hath spun the thread, the soulTakes with her both the human and divine,Memory, intelligence, and will, in actFar keener than before, the other powersInactive all and mute. No pause allow’d,In wond’rous sort self-moving, to one strandOf those, where the departed roam, she falls,Here learns her destin’d path. Soon as the placeReceives her, round the plastic virtue beams,Distinct as in the living limbs before:And as the air, when saturate with showers,The casual beam refracting, decks itselfWith many a hue; so here the ambient airWeareth that form, which influence of the soulImprints on it; and like the flame, that whereThe fire moves, thither follows, so henceforthThe new form on the spirit follows still:Hence hath it semblance, and is shadow call’d,With each sense even to the sight endued:Hence speech is ours, hence laughter, tears, and sighsWhich thou mayst oft have witness’d on the mountTh’ obedient shadow fails not to presentWhatever varying passion moves within us.And this the cause of what thou marvel’st at.”
Now the last flexure of our way we reach’d,And to the right hand turning, other careAwaits us. Here the rocky precipiceHurls forth redundant flames, and from the rimA blast upblown, with forcible rebuffDriveth them back, sequester’d from its bound.
Behoov’d us, one by one, along the side,That border’d on the void, to pass; and IFear’d on one hand the fire, on th’ other fear’dHeadlong to fall: when thus th’ instructor warn’d:“Strict rein must in this place direct the eyes.A little swerving and the way is lost.”
Then from the bosom of the burning mass,“O God of mercy!” heard I sung; and feltNo less desire to turn. And when I sawSpirits along the flame proceeding, IBetween their footsteps and mine own was fainTo share by turns my view. At the hymn’s closeThey shouted loud, “I do not know a man;”Then in low voice again took up the strain,Which once more ended, “To the wood,” they cried,“Ran Dian, and drave forth Callisto, stungWith Cytherea’s poison:” then return’dUnto their song; then marry a pair extoll’d,Who liv’d in virtue chastely, and the bandsOf wedded love. Nor from that task, I ween,Surcease they; whilesoe’er the scorching fireEnclasps them. Of such skill appliance needsTo medicine the wound, that healeth last.