CANTO XXVIIThen “Glory to the Father, to the Son,And to the Holy Spirit,” rang aloudThroughout all Paradise, that with the songMy spirit reel’d, so passing sweet the strain:And what I saw was equal ecstasy;One universal smile it seem’d of all things,Joy past compare, gladness unutterable,Imperishable life of peace and love,Exhaustless riches and unmeasur’d bliss.Before mine eyes stood the four torches lit;And that, which first had come, began to waxIn brightness, and in semblance such became,As Jove might be, if he and Mars were birds,And interchang’d their plumes. Silence ensued,Through the blest quire, by Him, who here appointsVicissitude of ministry, enjoin’d;When thus I heard: “Wonder not, if my hueBe chang’d; for, while I speak, these shalt thou seeAll in like manner change with me. My placeHe who usurps on earth (my place, ay, mine,Which in the presence of the Son of GodIs void), the same hath made my cemeteryA common sewer of puddle and of blood:The more below his triumph, who from henceMalignant fell.” Such colour, as the sun,At eve or morning, paints an adverse cloud,Then saw I sprinkled over all the sky.And as th’ unblemish’d dame, who in herselfSecure of censure, yet at bare reportOf other’s failing, shrinks with maiden fear;So Beatrice in her semblance chang’d:And such eclipse in heav’n methinks was seen,When the Most Holy suffer’d. Then the wordsProceeded, with voice, alter’d from itselfSo clean, the semblance did not alter more.“Not to this end was Christ’s spouse with my blood,With that of Linus, and of Cletus fed:That she might serve for purchase of base gold:But for the purchase of this happy lifeDid Sextus, Pius, and Callixtus bleed,And Urban, they, whose doom was not withoutMuch weeping seal’d. No purpose was of ourThat on the right hand of our successorsPart of the Christian people should be set,And part upon their left; nor that the keys,Which were vouchsaf’d me, should for ensign serveUnto the banners, that do levy warOn the baptiz’d: nor I, for sigil-markSet upon sold and lying privileges;Which makes me oft to bicker and turn red.In shepherd’s clothing greedy wolves belowRange wide o’er all the pastures. Arm of God!Why longer sleepst thou? Caorsines and GasconaPrepare to quaff our blood. O good beginningTo what a vile conclusion must thou stoop!But the high providence, which did defendThrough Scipio the world’s glory unto Rome,Will not delay its succour: and thou, son,Who through thy mortal weight shall yet againReturn below, open thy lips, nor hideWhat is by me not hidden.” As a HoodOf frozen vapours streams adown the air,What time the she-goat with her skiey hornTouches the sun; so saw I there stream wideThe vapours, who with us had linger’d lateAnd with glad triumph deck th’ ethereal cope.Onward my sight their semblances pursued;So far pursued, as till the space betweenFrom its reach sever’d them: whereat the guideCelestial, marking me no more intentOn upward gazing, said, “Look down and seeWhat circuit thou hast compass’d.” From the hourWhen I before had cast my view beneath,All the first region overpast I saw,Which from the midmost to the bound’ry winds;That onward thence from Gades I beheldThe unwise passage of Laertes’ son,And hitherward the shore, where thou, Europa!Mad’st thee a joyful burden: and yet moreOf this dim spot had seen, but that the sun,A constellation off and more, had ta’enHis progress in the zodiac underneath.Then by the spirit, that doth never leaveIts amorous dalliance with my lady’s looks,Back with redoubled ardour were mine eyesLed unto her: and from her radiant smiles,Whenas I turn’d me, pleasure so divineDid lighten on me, that whatever baitOr art or nature in the human flesh,Or in its limn’d resemblance, can combineThrough greedy eyes to take the soul withal,Were to her beauty nothing. Its boon influenceFrom the fair nest of Leda rapt me forth,And wafted on into the swiftest heav’n.What place for entrance Beatrice chose,I may not say, so uniform was all,Liveliest and loftiest. She my secret wishDivin’d; and with such gladness, that God’s loveSeem’d from her visage shining, thus began:“Here is the goal, whence motion on his raceStarts; motionless the centre, and the restAll mov’d around. Except the soul divine,Place in this heav’n is none, the soul divine,Wherein the love, which ruleth o’er its orb,Is kindled, and the virtue that it sheds;One circle, light and love, enclasping it,As this doth clasp the others; and to Him,Who draws the bound, its limit only known.Measur’d itself by none, it doth divideMotion to all, counted unto them forth,As by the fifth or half ye count forth ten.The vase, wherein time’s roots are plung’d, thou seest,Look elsewhere for the leaves. O mortal lust!That canst not lift thy head above the wavesWhich whelm and sink thee down! The will in manBears goodly blossoms; but its ruddy promiseIs, by the dripping of perpetual rain,Made mere abortion: faith and innocenceAre met with but in babes, each taking leaveEre cheeks with down are sprinkled; he, that fasts,While yet a stammerer, with his tongue let looseGluts every food alike in every moon.One yet a babbler, loves and listens toHis mother; but no sooner hath free useOf speech, than he doth wish her in her grave.So suddenly doth the fair child of him,Whose welcome is the morn and eve his parting,To negro blackness change her virgin white.“Thou, to abate thy wonder, note that noneBears rule in earth, and its frail familyAre therefore wand’rers. Yet before the date,When through the hundredth in his reck’ning dropsPale January must be shor’d asideFrom winter’s calendar, these heav’nly spheresShall roar so loud, that fortune shall be fainTo turn the poop, where she hath now the prow;So that the fleet run onward; and true fruit,Expected long, shall crown at last the bloom!”
Then “Glory to the Father, to the Son,And to the Holy Spirit,” rang aloudThroughout all Paradise, that with the songMy spirit reel’d, so passing sweet the strain:And what I saw was equal ecstasy;One universal smile it seem’d of all things,Joy past compare, gladness unutterable,Imperishable life of peace and love,Exhaustless riches and unmeasur’d bliss.
Before mine eyes stood the four torches lit;And that, which first had come, began to waxIn brightness, and in semblance such became,As Jove might be, if he and Mars were birds,And interchang’d their plumes. Silence ensued,Through the blest quire, by Him, who here appointsVicissitude of ministry, enjoin’d;When thus I heard: “Wonder not, if my hueBe chang’d; for, while I speak, these shalt thou seeAll in like manner change with me. My placeHe who usurps on earth (my place, ay, mine,Which in the presence of the Son of GodIs void), the same hath made my cemeteryA common sewer of puddle and of blood:The more below his triumph, who from henceMalignant fell.” Such colour, as the sun,At eve or morning, paints an adverse cloud,Then saw I sprinkled over all the sky.And as th’ unblemish’d dame, who in herselfSecure of censure, yet at bare reportOf other’s failing, shrinks with maiden fear;So Beatrice in her semblance chang’d:And such eclipse in heav’n methinks was seen,When the Most Holy suffer’d. Then the wordsProceeded, with voice, alter’d from itselfSo clean, the semblance did not alter more.“Not to this end was Christ’s spouse with my blood,With that of Linus, and of Cletus fed:That she might serve for purchase of base gold:But for the purchase of this happy lifeDid Sextus, Pius, and Callixtus bleed,And Urban, they, whose doom was not withoutMuch weeping seal’d. No purpose was of ourThat on the right hand of our successorsPart of the Christian people should be set,And part upon their left; nor that the keys,Which were vouchsaf’d me, should for ensign serveUnto the banners, that do levy warOn the baptiz’d: nor I, for sigil-markSet upon sold and lying privileges;Which makes me oft to bicker and turn red.In shepherd’s clothing greedy wolves belowRange wide o’er all the pastures. Arm of God!Why longer sleepst thou? Caorsines and GasconaPrepare to quaff our blood. O good beginningTo what a vile conclusion must thou stoop!But the high providence, which did defendThrough Scipio the world’s glory unto Rome,Will not delay its succour: and thou, son,Who through thy mortal weight shall yet againReturn below, open thy lips, nor hideWhat is by me not hidden.” As a HoodOf frozen vapours streams adown the air,What time the she-goat with her skiey hornTouches the sun; so saw I there stream wideThe vapours, who with us had linger’d lateAnd with glad triumph deck th’ ethereal cope.Onward my sight their semblances pursued;So far pursued, as till the space betweenFrom its reach sever’d them: whereat the guideCelestial, marking me no more intentOn upward gazing, said, “Look down and seeWhat circuit thou hast compass’d.” From the hourWhen I before had cast my view beneath,All the first region overpast I saw,Which from the midmost to the bound’ry winds;That onward thence from Gades I beheldThe unwise passage of Laertes’ son,And hitherward the shore, where thou, Europa!Mad’st thee a joyful burden: and yet moreOf this dim spot had seen, but that the sun,A constellation off and more, had ta’enHis progress in the zodiac underneath.
Then by the spirit, that doth never leaveIts amorous dalliance with my lady’s looks,Back with redoubled ardour were mine eyesLed unto her: and from her radiant smiles,Whenas I turn’d me, pleasure so divineDid lighten on me, that whatever baitOr art or nature in the human flesh,Or in its limn’d resemblance, can combineThrough greedy eyes to take the soul withal,Were to her beauty nothing. Its boon influenceFrom the fair nest of Leda rapt me forth,And wafted on into the swiftest heav’n.
What place for entrance Beatrice chose,I may not say, so uniform was all,Liveliest and loftiest. She my secret wishDivin’d; and with such gladness, that God’s loveSeem’d from her visage shining, thus began:“Here is the goal, whence motion on his raceStarts; motionless the centre, and the restAll mov’d around. Except the soul divine,Place in this heav’n is none, the soul divine,Wherein the love, which ruleth o’er its orb,Is kindled, and the virtue that it sheds;One circle, light and love, enclasping it,As this doth clasp the others; and to Him,Who draws the bound, its limit only known.Measur’d itself by none, it doth divideMotion to all, counted unto them forth,As by the fifth or half ye count forth ten.The vase, wherein time’s roots are plung’d, thou seest,Look elsewhere for the leaves. O mortal lust!That canst not lift thy head above the wavesWhich whelm and sink thee down! The will in manBears goodly blossoms; but its ruddy promiseIs, by the dripping of perpetual rain,Made mere abortion: faith and innocenceAre met with but in babes, each taking leaveEre cheeks with down are sprinkled; he, that fasts,While yet a stammerer, with his tongue let looseGluts every food alike in every moon.One yet a babbler, loves and listens toHis mother; but no sooner hath free useOf speech, than he doth wish her in her grave.So suddenly doth the fair child of him,Whose welcome is the morn and eve his parting,To negro blackness change her virgin white.
“Thou, to abate thy wonder, note that noneBears rule in earth, and its frail familyAre therefore wand’rers. Yet before the date,When through the hundredth in his reck’ning dropsPale January must be shor’d asideFrom winter’s calendar, these heav’nly spheresShall roar so loud, that fortune shall be fainTo turn the poop, where she hath now the prow;So that the fleet run onward; and true fruit,Expected long, shall crown at last the bloom!”