CANTO XXXIIn fashion, as a snow-white rose, lay thenBefore my view the saintly multitude,Which in his own blood Christ espous’d. MeanwhileThat other host, that soar aloft to gazeAnd celebrate his glory, whom they love,Hover’d around; and, like a troop of bees,Amid the vernal sweets alighting now,Now, clustering, where their fragrant labour glows,Flew downward to the mighty flow’r, or roseFrom the redundant petals, streaming backUnto the steadfast dwelling of their joy.Faces had they of flame, and wings of gold;The rest was whiter than the driven snow.And as they flitted down into the flower,From range to range, fanning their plumy loins,Whisper’d the peace and ardour, which they wonFrom that soft winnowing. Shadow none, the vastInterposition of such numerous flightCast, from above, upon the flower, or viewObstructed aught. For, through the universe,Wherever merited, celestial lightGlides freely, and no obstacle prevents.All there, who reign in safety and in bliss,Ages long past or new, on one sole markTheir love and vision fix’d. O trinal beamOf individual star, that charmst them thus,Vouchsafe one glance to gild our storm below!If the grim brood, from Arctic shores that roam’d,(Where helice, forever, as she wheels,Sparkles a mother’s fondness on her son)Stood in mute wonder ’mid the works of Rome,When to their view the Lateran aroseIn greatness more than earthly; I, who thenFrom human to divine had past, from timeUnto eternity, and out of FlorenceTo justice and to truth, how might I chooseBut marvel too? ’Twixt gladness and amaze,In sooth no will had I to utter aught,Or hear. And, as a pilgrim, when he restsWithin the temple of his vow, looks roundIn breathless awe, and hopes some time to tellOf all its goodly state: e’en so mine eyesCours’d up and down along the living light,Now low, and now aloft, and now around,Visiting every step. Looks I beheld,Where charity in soft persuasion sat,Smiles from within and radiance from above,And in each gesture grace and honour high.So rov’d my ken, and its general formAll Paradise survey’d: when round I turn’dWith purpose of my lady to inquireOnce more of things, that held my thought suspense,But answer found from other than I ween’d;For, Beatrice, when I thought to see,I saw instead a senior, at my side,Rob’d, as the rest, in glory. Joy benignGlow’d in his eye, and o’er his cheek diffus’d,With gestures such as spake a father’s love.And, “Whither is she vanish’d?” straight I ask’d.“By Beatrice summon’d,” he replied,“I come to aid thy wish. Looking aloftTo the third circle from the highest, thereBehold her on the throne, wherein her meritHath plac’d her.” Answering not, mine eyes I rais’d,And saw her, where aloof she sat, her browA wreath reflecting of eternal beams.Not from the centre of the sea so farUnto the region of the highest thunder,As was my ken from hers; and yet the formCame through that medium down, unmix’d and pure,“O Lady! thou in whom my hopes have rest!Who, for my safety, hast not scorn’d, in hellTo leave the traces of thy footsteps mark’d!For all mine eyes have seen, I, to thy powerAnd goodness, virtue owe and grace. Of slave,Thou hast to freedom brought me; and no means,For my deliverance apt, hast left untried.Thy liberal bounty still toward me keep.That, when my spirit, which thou madest whole,Is loosen’d from this body, it may findFavour with thee.” So I my suit preferr’d:And she, so distant, as appear’d, look’d down,And smil’d; then tow’rds th’ eternal fountain turn’d.And thus the senior, holy and rever’d:“That thou at length mayst happily concludeThy voyage (to which end I was dispatch’d,By supplication mov’d and holy love)Let thy upsoaring vision range, at large,This garden through: for so, by ray divineKindled, thy ken a higher flight shall mount;And from heav’n’s queen, whom fervent I adore,All gracious aid befriend us; for that IAm her own faithful Bernard.” Like a wight,Who haply from Croatia wends to seeOur Veronica, and the while ’tis shown,Hangs over it with never-sated gaze,And, all that he hath heard revolving, saithUnto himself in thought: “And didst thou lookE’en thus, O Jesus, my true Lord and God?And was this semblance thine?” So gaz’d I thenAdoring; for the charity of him,Who musing, in the world that peace enjoy’d,Stood lively before me. “Child of grace!”Thus he began: “thou shalt not knowledge gainOf this glad being, if thine eyes are heldStill in this depth below. But search aroundThe circles, to the furthest, till thou spySeated in state, the queen, that of this realmIs sovran.” Straight mine eyes I rais’d; and bright,As, at the birth of morn, the eastern climeAbove th’ horizon, where the sun declines;To mine eyes, that upward, as from valeTo mountain sped, at th’ extreme bound, a partExcell’d in lustre all the front oppos’d.And as the glow burns ruddiest o’er the wave,That waits the sloping beam, which PhaetonIll knew to guide, and on each part the lightDiminish’d fades, intensest in the midst;So burn’d the peaceful oriflamb, and slack’dOn every side the living flame decay’d.And in that midst their sportive pennons wav’dThousands of angels; in resplendence eachDistinct, and quaint adornment. At their gleeAnd carol, smil’d the Lovely One of heav’n,That joy was in the eyes of all the blest.Had I a tongue in eloquence as rich,As is the colouring in fancy’s loom,’Twere all too poor to utter the least partOf that enchantment. When he saw mine eyesIntent on her, that charm’d him, Bernard gaz’dWith so exceeding fondness, as infus’dArdour into my breast, unfelt before.
In fashion, as a snow-white rose, lay thenBefore my view the saintly multitude,Which in his own blood Christ espous’d. MeanwhileThat other host, that soar aloft to gazeAnd celebrate his glory, whom they love,Hover’d around; and, like a troop of bees,Amid the vernal sweets alighting now,Now, clustering, where their fragrant labour glows,Flew downward to the mighty flow’r, or roseFrom the redundant petals, streaming backUnto the steadfast dwelling of their joy.Faces had they of flame, and wings of gold;The rest was whiter than the driven snow.And as they flitted down into the flower,From range to range, fanning their plumy loins,Whisper’d the peace and ardour, which they wonFrom that soft winnowing. Shadow none, the vastInterposition of such numerous flightCast, from above, upon the flower, or viewObstructed aught. For, through the universe,Wherever merited, celestial lightGlides freely, and no obstacle prevents.
All there, who reign in safety and in bliss,Ages long past or new, on one sole markTheir love and vision fix’d. O trinal beamOf individual star, that charmst them thus,Vouchsafe one glance to gild our storm below!
If the grim brood, from Arctic shores that roam’d,(Where helice, forever, as she wheels,Sparkles a mother’s fondness on her son)Stood in mute wonder ’mid the works of Rome,When to their view the Lateran aroseIn greatness more than earthly; I, who thenFrom human to divine had past, from timeUnto eternity, and out of FlorenceTo justice and to truth, how might I chooseBut marvel too? ’Twixt gladness and amaze,In sooth no will had I to utter aught,Or hear. And, as a pilgrim, when he restsWithin the temple of his vow, looks roundIn breathless awe, and hopes some time to tellOf all its goodly state: e’en so mine eyesCours’d up and down along the living light,Now low, and now aloft, and now around,Visiting every step. Looks I beheld,Where charity in soft persuasion sat,Smiles from within and radiance from above,And in each gesture grace and honour high.
So rov’d my ken, and its general formAll Paradise survey’d: when round I turn’dWith purpose of my lady to inquireOnce more of things, that held my thought suspense,But answer found from other than I ween’d;For, Beatrice, when I thought to see,I saw instead a senior, at my side,Rob’d, as the rest, in glory. Joy benignGlow’d in his eye, and o’er his cheek diffus’d,With gestures such as spake a father’s love.And, “Whither is she vanish’d?” straight I ask’d.
“By Beatrice summon’d,” he replied,“I come to aid thy wish. Looking aloftTo the third circle from the highest, thereBehold her on the throne, wherein her meritHath plac’d her.” Answering not, mine eyes I rais’d,And saw her, where aloof she sat, her browA wreath reflecting of eternal beams.Not from the centre of the sea so farUnto the region of the highest thunder,As was my ken from hers; and yet the formCame through that medium down, unmix’d and pure,
“O Lady! thou in whom my hopes have rest!Who, for my safety, hast not scorn’d, in hellTo leave the traces of thy footsteps mark’d!For all mine eyes have seen, I, to thy powerAnd goodness, virtue owe and grace. Of slave,Thou hast to freedom brought me; and no means,For my deliverance apt, hast left untried.Thy liberal bounty still toward me keep.That, when my spirit, which thou madest whole,Is loosen’d from this body, it may findFavour with thee.” So I my suit preferr’d:And she, so distant, as appear’d, look’d down,And smil’d; then tow’rds th’ eternal fountain turn’d.
And thus the senior, holy and rever’d:“That thou at length mayst happily concludeThy voyage (to which end I was dispatch’d,By supplication mov’d and holy love)Let thy upsoaring vision range, at large,This garden through: for so, by ray divineKindled, thy ken a higher flight shall mount;And from heav’n’s queen, whom fervent I adore,All gracious aid befriend us; for that IAm her own faithful Bernard.” Like a wight,Who haply from Croatia wends to seeOur Veronica, and the while ’tis shown,Hangs over it with never-sated gaze,And, all that he hath heard revolving, saithUnto himself in thought: “And didst thou lookE’en thus, O Jesus, my true Lord and God?And was this semblance thine?” So gaz’d I thenAdoring; for the charity of him,Who musing, in the world that peace enjoy’d,Stood lively before me. “Child of grace!”Thus he began: “thou shalt not knowledge gainOf this glad being, if thine eyes are heldStill in this depth below. But search aroundThe circles, to the furthest, till thou spySeated in state, the queen, that of this realmIs sovran.” Straight mine eyes I rais’d; and bright,As, at the birth of morn, the eastern climeAbove th’ horizon, where the sun declines;To mine eyes, that upward, as from valeTo mountain sped, at th’ extreme bound, a partExcell’d in lustre all the front oppos’d.And as the glow burns ruddiest o’er the wave,That waits the sloping beam, which PhaetonIll knew to guide, and on each part the lightDiminish’d fades, intensest in the midst;So burn’d the peaceful oriflamb, and slack’dOn every side the living flame decay’d.And in that midst their sportive pennons wav’dThousands of angels; in resplendence eachDistinct, and quaint adornment. At their gleeAnd carol, smil’d the Lovely One of heav’n,That joy was in the eyes of all the blest.
Had I a tongue in eloquence as rich,As is the colouring in fancy’s loom,’Twere all too poor to utter the least partOf that enchantment. When he saw mine eyesIntent on her, that charm’d him, Bernard gaz’dWith so exceeding fondness, as infus’dArdour into my breast, unfelt before.