CANTO VIIIThe world was in its day of peril darkWont to believe the dotage of fond loveFrom the fair Cyprian deity, who rollsIn her third epicycle, shed on menBy stream of potent radiance: therefore theyOf elder time, in their old error blind,Not her alone with sacrifice ador’dAnd invocation, but like honours paidTo Cupid and Dione, deem’d of themHer mother, and her son, him whom they feign’dTo sit in Dido’s bosom: and from her,Whom I have sung preluding, borrow’d theyThe appellation of that star, which views,Now obvious and now averse, the sun.I was not ware that I was wafted upInto its orb; but the new lovelinessThat grac’d my lady, gave me ample proofThat we had entered there. And as in flameA sparkle is distinct, or voice in voiceDiscern’d, when one its even tenour keeps,The other comes and goes; so in that lightI other luminaries saw, that cours’dIn circling motion, rapid more or less,As their eternal phases each impels.Never was blast from vapour charged with cold,Whether invisible to eye or no,Descended with such speed, it had not seem’dTo linger in dull tardiness, compar’dTo those celestial lights, that tow’rds us came,Leaving the circuit of their joyous ring,Conducted by the lofty seraphim.And after them, who in the van appear’d,Such an hosanna sounded, as hath leftDesire, ne’er since extinct in me, to hearRenew’d the strain. Then parting from the restOne near us drew, and sole began: “We allAre ready at thy pleasure, well dispos’dTo do thee gentle service. We are they,To whom thou in the world erewhile didst Sing‘O ye! whose intellectual ministryMoves the third heaven!’ and in one orb we roll,One motion, one impulse, with those who rulePrincedoms in heaven; yet are of love so full,That to please thee ’twill be as sweet to rest.”After mine eyes had with meek reverenceSought the celestial guide, and were by herAssur’d, they turn’d again unto the lightWho had so largely promis’d, and with voiceThat bare the lively pressure of my zeal,“Tell who ye are,” I cried. Forthwith it grewIn size and splendour, through augmented joy;And thus it answer’d: “A short date belowThe world possess’d me. Had the time been more,Much evil, that will come, had never chanc’d.My gladness hides thee from me, which doth shineAround, and shroud me, as an animalIn its own silk enswath’d. Thou lov’dst me well,And had’st good cause; for had my sojourningBeen longer on the earth, the love I bare theeHad put forth more than blossoms. The left bank,That Rhone, when he hath mix’d with Sorga, laves.“In me its lord expected, and that hornOf fair Ausonia, with its boroughs old,Bari, and Croton, and Gaeta pil’d,From where the Trento disembogues his waves,With Verde mingled, to the salt sea-flood.Already on my temples beam’d the crown,Which gave me sov’reignty over the landBy Danube wash’d, whenas he strays beyondThe limits of his German shores. The realm,Where, on the gulf by stormy Eurus lash’d,Betwixt Pelorus and Pachynian heights,The beautiful Trinacria lies in gloom(Not through Typhaeus, but the vap’ry cloudBituminous upsteam’d), THAT too did lookTo have its scepter wielded by a raceOf monarchs, sprung through me from Charles and Rodolph;had not ill lording which doth spirit upThe people ever, in Palermo rais’dThe shout of ‘death,’ re-echo’d loud and long.Had but my brother’s foresight kenn’d as much,He had been warier that the greedy wantOf Catalonia might not work his bale.And truly need there is, that he forecast,Or other for him, lest more freight be laidOn his already over-laden bark.Nature in him, from bounty fall’n to thrift,Would ask the guard of braver arms, than suchAs only care to have their coffers fill’d.”“My liege, it doth enhance the joy thy wordsInfuse into me, mighty as it is,To think my gladness manifest to thee,As to myself, who own it, when thou lookstInto the source and limit of all good,There, where thou markest that which thou dost speak,Thence priz’d of me the more. Glad thou hast made me.Now make intelligent, clearing the doubtThy speech hath raised in me; for much I muse,How bitter can spring up, when sweet is sown.”I thus inquiring; he forthwith replied:“If I have power to show one truth, soon thatShall face thee, which thy questioning declaresBehind thee now conceal’d. The Good, that guidesAnd blessed makes this realm, which thou dost mount,Ordains its providence to be the virtueIn these great bodies: nor th’ all perfect MindUpholds their nature merely, but in themTheir energy to save: for nought, that liesWithin the range of that unerring bow,But is as level with the destin’d aim,As ever mark to arrow’s point oppos’d.Were it not thus, these heavens, thou dost visit,Would their effect so work, it would not beArt, but destruction; and this may not chance,If th’ intellectual powers, that move these stars,Fail not, or who, first faulty made them fail.Wilt thou this truth more clearly evidenc’d?”To whom I thus: “It is enough: no fear,I see, lest nature in her part should tire.”He straight rejoin’d: “Say, were it worse for man,If he liv’d not in fellowship on earth?”“Yea,” answer’d I; “nor here a reason needs.”“And may that be, if different estatesGrow not of different duties in your life?Consult your teacher, and he tells you ‘no.’”Thus did he come, deducing to this point,And then concluded: “For this cause behooves,The roots, from whence your operations come,Must differ. Therefore one is Solon born;Another, Xerxes; and MelchisidecA third; and he a fourth, whose airy voyageCost him his son. In her circuitous course,Nature, that is the seal to mortal wax,Doth well her art, but no distinctions owns’Twixt one or other household. Hence befallsThat Esau is so wide of Jacob: henceQuirinus of so base a father springs,He dates from Mars his lineage. Were it notThat providence celestial overrul’d,Nature, in generation, must the pathTrac’d by the generator, still pursueUnswervingly. Thus place I in thy sightThat, which was late behind thee. But, in signOf more affection for thee, ’tis my willThou wear this corollary. Nature everFinding discordant fortune, like all seedOut of its proper climate, thrives but ill.And were the world below content to markAnd work on the foundation nature lays,It would not lack supply of excellence.But ye perversely to religion strainHim, who was born to gird on him the sword,And of the fluent phrasemen make your king;Therefore your steps have wander’d from the paths.”
The world was in its day of peril darkWont to believe the dotage of fond loveFrom the fair Cyprian deity, who rollsIn her third epicycle, shed on menBy stream of potent radiance: therefore theyOf elder time, in their old error blind,Not her alone with sacrifice ador’dAnd invocation, but like honours paidTo Cupid and Dione, deem’d of themHer mother, and her son, him whom they feign’dTo sit in Dido’s bosom: and from her,Whom I have sung preluding, borrow’d theyThe appellation of that star, which views,Now obvious and now averse, the sun.
I was not ware that I was wafted upInto its orb; but the new lovelinessThat grac’d my lady, gave me ample proofThat we had entered there. And as in flameA sparkle is distinct, or voice in voiceDiscern’d, when one its even tenour keeps,The other comes and goes; so in that lightI other luminaries saw, that cours’dIn circling motion, rapid more or less,As their eternal phases each impels.
Never was blast from vapour charged with cold,Whether invisible to eye or no,Descended with such speed, it had not seem’dTo linger in dull tardiness, compar’dTo those celestial lights, that tow’rds us came,Leaving the circuit of their joyous ring,Conducted by the lofty seraphim.And after them, who in the van appear’d,Such an hosanna sounded, as hath leftDesire, ne’er since extinct in me, to hearRenew’d the strain. Then parting from the restOne near us drew, and sole began: “We allAre ready at thy pleasure, well dispos’dTo do thee gentle service. We are they,To whom thou in the world erewhile didst Sing‘O ye! whose intellectual ministryMoves the third heaven!’ and in one orb we roll,One motion, one impulse, with those who rulePrincedoms in heaven; yet are of love so full,That to please thee ’twill be as sweet to rest.”
After mine eyes had with meek reverenceSought the celestial guide, and were by herAssur’d, they turn’d again unto the lightWho had so largely promis’d, and with voiceThat bare the lively pressure of my zeal,“Tell who ye are,” I cried. Forthwith it grewIn size and splendour, through augmented joy;And thus it answer’d: “A short date belowThe world possess’d me. Had the time been more,Much evil, that will come, had never chanc’d.My gladness hides thee from me, which doth shineAround, and shroud me, as an animalIn its own silk enswath’d. Thou lov’dst me well,And had’st good cause; for had my sojourningBeen longer on the earth, the love I bare theeHad put forth more than blossoms. The left bank,That Rhone, when he hath mix’d with Sorga, laves.
“In me its lord expected, and that hornOf fair Ausonia, with its boroughs old,Bari, and Croton, and Gaeta pil’d,From where the Trento disembogues his waves,With Verde mingled, to the salt sea-flood.Already on my temples beam’d the crown,Which gave me sov’reignty over the landBy Danube wash’d, whenas he strays beyondThe limits of his German shores. The realm,Where, on the gulf by stormy Eurus lash’d,Betwixt Pelorus and Pachynian heights,The beautiful Trinacria lies in gloom(Not through Typhaeus, but the vap’ry cloudBituminous upsteam’d), THAT too did lookTo have its scepter wielded by a raceOf monarchs, sprung through me from Charles and Rodolph;had not ill lording which doth spirit upThe people ever, in Palermo rais’dThe shout of ‘death,’ re-echo’d loud and long.Had but my brother’s foresight kenn’d as much,He had been warier that the greedy wantOf Catalonia might not work his bale.And truly need there is, that he forecast,Or other for him, lest more freight be laidOn his already over-laden bark.Nature in him, from bounty fall’n to thrift,Would ask the guard of braver arms, than suchAs only care to have their coffers fill’d.”
“My liege, it doth enhance the joy thy wordsInfuse into me, mighty as it is,To think my gladness manifest to thee,As to myself, who own it, when thou lookstInto the source and limit of all good,There, where thou markest that which thou dost speak,Thence priz’d of me the more. Glad thou hast made me.Now make intelligent, clearing the doubtThy speech hath raised in me; for much I muse,How bitter can spring up, when sweet is sown.”
I thus inquiring; he forthwith replied:“If I have power to show one truth, soon thatShall face thee, which thy questioning declaresBehind thee now conceal’d. The Good, that guidesAnd blessed makes this realm, which thou dost mount,Ordains its providence to be the virtueIn these great bodies: nor th’ all perfect MindUpholds their nature merely, but in themTheir energy to save: for nought, that liesWithin the range of that unerring bow,But is as level with the destin’d aim,As ever mark to arrow’s point oppos’d.Were it not thus, these heavens, thou dost visit,Would their effect so work, it would not beArt, but destruction; and this may not chance,If th’ intellectual powers, that move these stars,Fail not, or who, first faulty made them fail.Wilt thou this truth more clearly evidenc’d?”
To whom I thus: “It is enough: no fear,I see, lest nature in her part should tire.”
He straight rejoin’d: “Say, were it worse for man,If he liv’d not in fellowship on earth?”
“Yea,” answer’d I; “nor here a reason needs.”
“And may that be, if different estatesGrow not of different duties in your life?Consult your teacher, and he tells you ‘no.’”
Thus did he come, deducing to this point,And then concluded: “For this cause behooves,The roots, from whence your operations come,Must differ. Therefore one is Solon born;Another, Xerxes; and MelchisidecA third; and he a fourth, whose airy voyageCost him his son. In her circuitous course,Nature, that is the seal to mortal wax,Doth well her art, but no distinctions owns’Twixt one or other household. Hence befallsThat Esau is so wide of Jacob: henceQuirinus of so base a father springs,He dates from Mars his lineage. Were it notThat providence celestial overrul’d,Nature, in generation, must the pathTrac’d by the generator, still pursueUnswervingly. Thus place I in thy sightThat, which was late behind thee. But, in signOf more affection for thee, ’tis my willThou wear this corollary. Nature everFinding discordant fortune, like all seedOut of its proper climate, thrives but ill.And were the world below content to markAnd work on the foundation nature lays,It would not lack supply of excellence.But ye perversely to religion strainHim, who was born to gird on him the sword,And of the fluent phrasemen make your king;Therefore your steps have wander’d from the paths.”