CANTO XLooking into his first-born with the love,Which breathes from both eternal, the first MightIneffable, whence eye or mindCan roam, hath in such order all dispos’d,As none may see and fail to enjoy. Raise, then,O reader! to the lofty wheels, with me,Thy ken directed to the point, whereatOne motion strikes on th’ other. There beginThy wonder of the mighty Architect,Who loves his work so inwardly, his eyeDoth ever watch it. See, how thence obliqueBrancheth the circle, where the planets rollTo pour their wished influence on the world;Whose path not bending thus, in heav’n aboveMuch virtue would be lost, and here on earth,All power well nigh extinct: or, from directWere its departure distant more or less,I’ th’ universal order, great defectMust, both in heav’n and here beneath, ensue.Now rest thee, reader! on thy bench, and museAnticipative of the feast to come;So shall delight make thee not feel thy toil.Lo! I have set before thee, for thyselfFeed now: the matter I indite, henceforthDemands entire my thought. Join’d with the part,Which late we told of, the great ministerOf nature, that upon the world imprintsThe virtue of the heaven, and doles outTime for us with his beam, went circling onAlong the spires, where each hour sooner comes;And I was with him, weetless of ascent,As one, who till arriv’d, weets not his coming.For Beatrice, she who passeth onSo suddenly from good to better, timeCounts not the act, oh then how great must needsHave been her brightness! What she was i’ th’ sun(Where I had enter’d), not through change of hue,But light transparent—did I summon upGenius, art, practice—I might not so speak,It should be e’er imagin’d: yet believ’dIt may be, and the sight be justly crav’d.And if our fantasy fail of such height,What marvel, since no eye above the sunHath ever travel’d? Such are they dwell here,Fourth family of the Omnipotent Sire,Who of his spirit and of his offspring shows;And holds them still enraptur’d with the view.And thus to me Beatrice: “Thank, oh thank,The Sun of angels, him, who by his graceTo this perceptible hath lifted thee.”Never was heart in such devotion bound,And with complacency so absoluteDispos’d to render up itself to God,As mine was at those words: and so entireThe love for Him, that held me, it eclips’dBeatrice in oblivion. Naught displeas’dWas she, but smil’d thereat so joyously,That of her laughing eyes the radiance brakeAnd scatter’d my collected mind abroad.Then saw I a bright band, in livelinessSurpassing, who themselves did make the crown,And us their centre: yet more sweet in voice,Than in their visage beaming. Cinctur’d thus,Sometime Latona’s daughter we behold,When the impregnate air retains the thread,That weaves her zone. In the celestial court,Whence I return, are many jewels found,So dear and beautiful, they cannot brookTransporting from that realm: and of these lightsSuch was the song. Who doth not prune his wingTo soar up thither, let him look from thenceFor tidings from the dumb. When, singing thus,Those burning suns that circled round us thrice,As nearest stars around the fixed pole,Then seem’d they like to ladies, from the danceNot ceasing, but suspense, in silent pause,List’ning, till they have caught the strain anew:Suspended so they stood: and, from within,Thus heard I one, who spake: “Since with its beamThe grace, whence true love lighteth first his flame,That after doth increase by loving, shinesSo multiplied in thee, it leads thee upAlong this ladder, down whose hallow’d stepsNone e’er descend, and mount them not again,Who from his phial should refuse thee wineTo slake thy thirst, no less constrained were,Than water flowing not unto the sea.Thou fain wouldst hear, what plants are these, that bloomIn the bright garland, which, admiring, girdsThis fair dame round, who strengthens thee for heav’n.I then was of the lambs, that DominicLeads, for his saintly flock, along the way,Where well they thrive, not sworn with vanity.He, nearest on my right hand, brother was,And master to me: Albert of CologneIs this: and of Aquinum, Thomas I.If thou of all the rest wouldst be assur’d,Let thine eye, waiting on the words I speak,In circuit journey round the blessed wreath.That next resplendence issues from the smileOf Gratian, who to either forum lentSuch help, as favour wins in Paradise.The other, nearest, who adorns our quire,Was Peter, he that with the widow gaveTo holy church his treasure. The fifth light,Goodliest of all, is by such love inspired,That all your world craves tidings of its doom:Within, there is the lofty light, endow’dWith sapience so profound, if truth be truth,That with a ken of such wide amplitudeNo second hath arisen. Next beholdThat taper’s radiance, to whose view was shown,Clearliest, the nature and the ministryAngelical, while yet in flesh it dwelt.In the other little light serenely smilesThat pleader for the Christian temples, heWho did provide Augustin of his lore.Now, if thy mind’s eye pass from light to light,Upon my praises following, of the eighthThy thirst is next. The saintly soul, that showsThe world’s deceitfulness, to all who hear him,Is, with the sight of all the good, that is,Blest there. The limbs, whence it was driven, lieDown in Cieldauro, and from martyrdomAnd exile came it here. Lo! further on,Where flames the arduous Spirit of Isidore,Of Bede, and Richard, more than man, erewhile,In deep discernment. Lastly this, from whomThy look on me reverteth, was the beamOf one, whose spirit, on high musings bent,Rebuk’d the ling’ring tardiness of death.It is the eternal light of Sigebert,Who ’scap’d not envy, when of truth he argued,Reading in the straw-litter’d street.” Forthwith,As clock, that calleth up the spouse of GodTo win her bridegroom’s love at matin’s hour,Each part of other fitly drawn and urg’d,Sends out a tinkling sound, of note so sweet,Affection springs in well-disposed breast;Thus saw I move the glorious wheel, thus heardVoice answ’ring voice, so musical and soft,It can be known but where day endless shines.
Looking into his first-born with the love,Which breathes from both eternal, the first MightIneffable, whence eye or mindCan roam, hath in such order all dispos’d,As none may see and fail to enjoy. Raise, then,O reader! to the lofty wheels, with me,Thy ken directed to the point, whereatOne motion strikes on th’ other. There beginThy wonder of the mighty Architect,Who loves his work so inwardly, his eyeDoth ever watch it. See, how thence obliqueBrancheth the circle, where the planets rollTo pour their wished influence on the world;Whose path not bending thus, in heav’n aboveMuch virtue would be lost, and here on earth,All power well nigh extinct: or, from directWere its departure distant more or less,I’ th’ universal order, great defectMust, both in heav’n and here beneath, ensue.
Now rest thee, reader! on thy bench, and museAnticipative of the feast to come;So shall delight make thee not feel thy toil.Lo! I have set before thee, for thyselfFeed now: the matter I indite, henceforthDemands entire my thought. Join’d with the part,Which late we told of, the great ministerOf nature, that upon the world imprintsThe virtue of the heaven, and doles outTime for us with his beam, went circling onAlong the spires, where each hour sooner comes;And I was with him, weetless of ascent,As one, who till arriv’d, weets not his coming.
For Beatrice, she who passeth onSo suddenly from good to better, timeCounts not the act, oh then how great must needsHave been her brightness! What she was i’ th’ sun(Where I had enter’d), not through change of hue,But light transparent—did I summon upGenius, art, practice—I might not so speak,It should be e’er imagin’d: yet believ’dIt may be, and the sight be justly crav’d.And if our fantasy fail of such height,What marvel, since no eye above the sunHath ever travel’d? Such are they dwell here,Fourth family of the Omnipotent Sire,Who of his spirit and of his offspring shows;And holds them still enraptur’d with the view.And thus to me Beatrice: “Thank, oh thank,The Sun of angels, him, who by his graceTo this perceptible hath lifted thee.”
Never was heart in such devotion bound,And with complacency so absoluteDispos’d to render up itself to God,As mine was at those words: and so entireThe love for Him, that held me, it eclips’dBeatrice in oblivion. Naught displeas’dWas she, but smil’d thereat so joyously,That of her laughing eyes the radiance brakeAnd scatter’d my collected mind abroad.
Then saw I a bright band, in livelinessSurpassing, who themselves did make the crown,And us their centre: yet more sweet in voice,Than in their visage beaming. Cinctur’d thus,Sometime Latona’s daughter we behold,When the impregnate air retains the thread,That weaves her zone. In the celestial court,Whence I return, are many jewels found,So dear and beautiful, they cannot brookTransporting from that realm: and of these lightsSuch was the song. Who doth not prune his wingTo soar up thither, let him look from thenceFor tidings from the dumb. When, singing thus,Those burning suns that circled round us thrice,As nearest stars around the fixed pole,Then seem’d they like to ladies, from the danceNot ceasing, but suspense, in silent pause,List’ning, till they have caught the strain anew:Suspended so they stood: and, from within,Thus heard I one, who spake: “Since with its beamThe grace, whence true love lighteth first his flame,That after doth increase by loving, shinesSo multiplied in thee, it leads thee upAlong this ladder, down whose hallow’d stepsNone e’er descend, and mount them not again,Who from his phial should refuse thee wineTo slake thy thirst, no less constrained were,Than water flowing not unto the sea.Thou fain wouldst hear, what plants are these, that bloomIn the bright garland, which, admiring, girdsThis fair dame round, who strengthens thee for heav’n.I then was of the lambs, that DominicLeads, for his saintly flock, along the way,Where well they thrive, not sworn with vanity.He, nearest on my right hand, brother was,And master to me: Albert of CologneIs this: and of Aquinum, Thomas I.If thou of all the rest wouldst be assur’d,Let thine eye, waiting on the words I speak,In circuit journey round the blessed wreath.That next resplendence issues from the smileOf Gratian, who to either forum lentSuch help, as favour wins in Paradise.The other, nearest, who adorns our quire,Was Peter, he that with the widow gaveTo holy church his treasure. The fifth light,Goodliest of all, is by such love inspired,That all your world craves tidings of its doom:Within, there is the lofty light, endow’dWith sapience so profound, if truth be truth,That with a ken of such wide amplitudeNo second hath arisen. Next beholdThat taper’s radiance, to whose view was shown,Clearliest, the nature and the ministryAngelical, while yet in flesh it dwelt.In the other little light serenely smilesThat pleader for the Christian temples, heWho did provide Augustin of his lore.Now, if thy mind’s eye pass from light to light,Upon my praises following, of the eighthThy thirst is next. The saintly soul, that showsThe world’s deceitfulness, to all who hear him,Is, with the sight of all the good, that is,Blest there. The limbs, whence it was driven, lieDown in Cieldauro, and from martyrdomAnd exile came it here. Lo! further on,Where flames the arduous Spirit of Isidore,Of Bede, and Richard, more than man, erewhile,In deep discernment. Lastly this, from whomThy look on me reverteth, was the beamOf one, whose spirit, on high musings bent,Rebuk’d the ling’ring tardiness of death.It is the eternal light of Sigebert,Who ’scap’d not envy, when of truth he argued,Reading in the straw-litter’d street.” Forthwith,As clock, that calleth up the spouse of GodTo win her bridegroom’s love at matin’s hour,Each part of other fitly drawn and urg’d,Sends out a tinkling sound, of note so sweet,Affection springs in well-disposed breast;Thus saw I move the glorious wheel, thus heardVoice answ’ring voice, so musical and soft,It can be known but where day endless shines.