CANTO XXIIIE’en as the bird, who midst the leafy bowerHas, in her nest, sat darkling through the night,With her sweet brood, impatient to descryTheir wished looks, and to bring home their food,In the fond quest unconscious of her toil:She, of the time prevenient, on the spray,That overhangs their couch, with wakeful gazeExpects the sun; nor ever, till the dawn,Removeth from the east her eager ken;So stood the dame erect, and bent her glanceWistfully on that region, where the sunAbateth most his speed; that, seeing herSuspense and wand’ring, I became as one,In whom desire is waken’d, and the hopeOf somewhat new to come fills with delight.Short space ensued; I was not held, I say,Long in expectance, when I saw the heav’nWax more and more resplendent; and, “Behold,”Cried Beatrice, “the triumphal hostsOf Christ, and all the harvest reap’d at lengthOf thy ascending up these spheres.” Meseem’d,That, while she spake her image all did burn,And in her eyes such fullness was of joy,And I am fain to pass unconstrued by.As in the calm full moon, when Trivia smiles,In peerless beauty, ’mid th’ eternal nympus,That paint through all its gulfs the blue profoundIn bright pre-eminence so saw I there,O’er million lamps a sun, from whom all drewTheir radiance as from ours the starry train:And through the living light so lustrous glow’dThe substance, that my ken endur’d it not.O Beatrice! sweet and precious guide!Who cheer’d me with her comfortable words!“Against the virtue, that o’erpow’reth thee,Avails not to resist. Here is the might,And here the wisdom, which did open layThe path, that had been yearned for so long,Betwixt the heav’n and earth.” Like to the fire,That, in a cloud imprison’d doth break outExpansive, so that from its womb enlarg’d,It falleth against nature to the ground;Thus in that heav’nly banqueting my soulOutgrew herself; and, in the transport lost.Holds now remembrance none of what she was.“Ope thou thine eyes, and mark me: thou hast seenThings, that empower thee to sustain my smile.”I was as one, when a forgotten dreamDoth come across him, and he strives in vainTo shape it in his fantasy again,Whenas that gracious boon was proffer’d me,Which never may be cancel’d from the book,Wherein the past is written. Now were allThose tongues to sound, that have on sweetest milkOf Polyhymnia and her sisters fedAnd fatten’d, not with all their help to boot,Unto the thousandth parcel of the truth,My song might shadow forth that saintly smile,flow merely in her saintly looks it wrought.And with such figuring of ParadiseThe sacred strain must leap, like one, that meetsA sudden interruption to his road.But he, who thinks how ponderous the theme,And that ’tis lain upon a mortal shoulder,May pardon, if it tremble with the burden.The track, our ventrous keel must furrow, brooksNo unribb’d pinnace, no self-sparing pilot.“Why doth my face,” said Beatrice, “thusEnamour thee, as that thou dost not turnUnto the beautiful garden, blossomingBeneath the rays of Christ? Here is the rose,Wherein the word divine was made incarnate;And here the lilies, by whose odour knownThe way of life was follow’d.” Prompt I heardHer bidding, and encounter once againThe strife of aching vision. As erewhile,Through glance of sunlight, stream’d through broken cloud,Mine eyes a flower-besprinkled mead have seen,Though veil’d themselves in shade; so saw I thereLegions of splendours, on whom burning raysShed lightnings from above, yet saw I notThe fountain whence they flow’d. O gracious virtue!Thou, whose broad stamp is on them, higher upThou didst exalt thy glory to give roomTo my o’erlabour’d sight: when at the nameOf that fair flower, whom duly I invokeBoth morn and eve, my soul, with all her mightCollected, on the goodliest ardour fix’d.And, as the bright dimensions of the starIn heav’n excelling, as once here on earthWere, in my eyeballs lively portray’d,Lo! from within the sky a cresset fell,Circling in fashion of a diadem,And girt the star, and hov’ring round it wheel’d.Whatever melody sounds sweetest here,And draws the spirit most unto itself,Might seem a rent cloud when it grates the thunder,Compar’d unto the sounding of that lyre,Wherewith the goodliest sapphire, that inlaysThe floor of heav’n, was crown’d. “Angelic LoveI am, who thus with hov’ring flight enwheelThe lofty rapture from that womb inspir’d,Where our desire did dwell: and round thee so,Lady of Heav’n! will hover; long as thouThy Son shalt follow, and diviner joyShall from thy presence gild the highest sphere.”Such close was to the circling melody:And, as it ended, all the other lightsTook up the strain, and echoed Mary’s name.The robe, that with its regal folds enwrapsThe world, and with the nearer breath of GodDoth burn and quiver, held so far retir’dIts inner hem and skirting over us,That yet no glimmer of its majestyHad stream’d unto me: therefore were mine eyesUnequal to pursue the crowned flame,That rose and sought its natal seed of fire;And like to babe, that stretches forth its armsFor very eagerness towards the breast,After the milk is taken; so outstretch’dTheir wavy summits all the fervent band,Through zealous love to Mary: then in viewThere halted, and “Regina Coeli” sangSo sweetly, the delight hath left me never.O what o’erflowing plenty is up-pil’dIn those rich-laden coffers, which belowSow’d the good seed, whose harvest now they keep.Here are the treasures tasted, that with tearsWere in the Babylonian exile won,When gold had fail’d them. Here in synod highOf ancient council with the new conven’d,Under the Son of Mary and of God,Victorious he his mighty triumph holds,To whom the keys of glory were assign’d.
E’en as the bird, who midst the leafy bowerHas, in her nest, sat darkling through the night,With her sweet brood, impatient to descryTheir wished looks, and to bring home their food,In the fond quest unconscious of her toil:She, of the time prevenient, on the spray,That overhangs their couch, with wakeful gazeExpects the sun; nor ever, till the dawn,Removeth from the east her eager ken;So stood the dame erect, and bent her glanceWistfully on that region, where the sunAbateth most his speed; that, seeing herSuspense and wand’ring, I became as one,In whom desire is waken’d, and the hopeOf somewhat new to come fills with delight.
Short space ensued; I was not held, I say,Long in expectance, when I saw the heav’nWax more and more resplendent; and, “Behold,”Cried Beatrice, “the triumphal hostsOf Christ, and all the harvest reap’d at lengthOf thy ascending up these spheres.” Meseem’d,That, while she spake her image all did burn,And in her eyes such fullness was of joy,And I am fain to pass unconstrued by.
As in the calm full moon, when Trivia smiles,In peerless beauty, ’mid th’ eternal nympus,That paint through all its gulfs the blue profoundIn bright pre-eminence so saw I there,O’er million lamps a sun, from whom all drewTheir radiance as from ours the starry train:And through the living light so lustrous glow’dThe substance, that my ken endur’d it not.
O Beatrice! sweet and precious guide!Who cheer’d me with her comfortable words!“Against the virtue, that o’erpow’reth thee,Avails not to resist. Here is the might,And here the wisdom, which did open layThe path, that had been yearned for so long,Betwixt the heav’n and earth.” Like to the fire,That, in a cloud imprison’d doth break outExpansive, so that from its womb enlarg’d,It falleth against nature to the ground;Thus in that heav’nly banqueting my soulOutgrew herself; and, in the transport lost.Holds now remembrance none of what she was.
“Ope thou thine eyes, and mark me: thou hast seenThings, that empower thee to sustain my smile.”
I was as one, when a forgotten dreamDoth come across him, and he strives in vainTo shape it in his fantasy again,Whenas that gracious boon was proffer’d me,Which never may be cancel’d from the book,Wherein the past is written. Now were allThose tongues to sound, that have on sweetest milkOf Polyhymnia and her sisters fedAnd fatten’d, not with all their help to boot,Unto the thousandth parcel of the truth,My song might shadow forth that saintly smile,flow merely in her saintly looks it wrought.And with such figuring of ParadiseThe sacred strain must leap, like one, that meetsA sudden interruption to his road.But he, who thinks how ponderous the theme,And that ’tis lain upon a mortal shoulder,May pardon, if it tremble with the burden.The track, our ventrous keel must furrow, brooksNo unribb’d pinnace, no self-sparing pilot.
“Why doth my face,” said Beatrice, “thusEnamour thee, as that thou dost not turnUnto the beautiful garden, blossomingBeneath the rays of Christ? Here is the rose,Wherein the word divine was made incarnate;And here the lilies, by whose odour knownThe way of life was follow’d.” Prompt I heardHer bidding, and encounter once againThe strife of aching vision. As erewhile,Through glance of sunlight, stream’d through broken cloud,Mine eyes a flower-besprinkled mead have seen,Though veil’d themselves in shade; so saw I thereLegions of splendours, on whom burning raysShed lightnings from above, yet saw I notThe fountain whence they flow’d. O gracious virtue!Thou, whose broad stamp is on them, higher upThou didst exalt thy glory to give roomTo my o’erlabour’d sight: when at the nameOf that fair flower, whom duly I invokeBoth morn and eve, my soul, with all her mightCollected, on the goodliest ardour fix’d.And, as the bright dimensions of the starIn heav’n excelling, as once here on earthWere, in my eyeballs lively portray’d,Lo! from within the sky a cresset fell,Circling in fashion of a diadem,And girt the star, and hov’ring round it wheel’d.
Whatever melody sounds sweetest here,And draws the spirit most unto itself,Might seem a rent cloud when it grates the thunder,Compar’d unto the sounding of that lyre,Wherewith the goodliest sapphire, that inlaysThe floor of heav’n, was crown’d. “Angelic LoveI am, who thus with hov’ring flight enwheelThe lofty rapture from that womb inspir’d,Where our desire did dwell: and round thee so,Lady of Heav’n! will hover; long as thouThy Son shalt follow, and diviner joyShall from thy presence gild the highest sphere.”
Such close was to the circling melody:And, as it ended, all the other lightsTook up the strain, and echoed Mary’s name.
The robe, that with its regal folds enwrapsThe world, and with the nearer breath of GodDoth burn and quiver, held so far retir’dIts inner hem and skirting over us,That yet no glimmer of its majestyHad stream’d unto me: therefore were mine eyesUnequal to pursue the crowned flame,That rose and sought its natal seed of fire;And like to babe, that stretches forth its armsFor very eagerness towards the breast,After the milk is taken; so outstretch’dTheir wavy summits all the fervent band,Through zealous love to Mary: then in viewThere halted, and “Regina Coeli” sangSo sweetly, the delight hath left me never.
O what o’erflowing plenty is up-pil’dIn those rich-laden coffers, which belowSow’d the good seed, whose harvest now they keep.
Here are the treasures tasted, that with tearsWere in the Babylonian exile won,When gold had fail’d them. Here in synod highOf ancient council with the new conven’d,Under the Son of Mary and of God,Victorious he his mighty triumph holds,To whom the keys of glory were assign’d.