CANTO XXXI“O Thou!” her words she thus without delayResuming, turn’d their point on me, to whomThey but with lateral edge seem’d harsh before,“Say thou, who stand’st beyond the holy stream,If this be true. A charge so grievous needsThine own avowal.” On my facultySuch strange amazement hung, the voice expir’dImperfect, ere its organs gave it birth.A little space refraining, then she spake:“What dost thou muse on? Answer me. The waveOn thy remembrances of evil yetHath done no injury.” A mingled senseOf fear and of confusion, from my lipsDid such a “Yea” produce, as needed helpOf vision to interpret. As when breaksIn act to be discharg’d, a cross-bow bentBeyond its pitch, both nerve and bow o’erstretch’d,The flagging weapon feebly hits the mark;Thus, tears and sighs forth gushing, did I burstBeneath the heavy load, and thus my voiceWas slacken’d on its way. She straight began:“When my desire invited thee to loveThe good, which sets a bound to our aspirings,What bar of thwarting foss or linked chainDid meet thee, that thou so should’st quit the hopeOf further progress, or what bait of easeOr promise of allurement led thee onElsewhere, that thou elsewhere should’st rather wait?”A bitter sigh I drew, then scarce found voiceTo answer, hardly to these sounds my lipsGave utterance, wailing: “Thy fair looks withdrawn,Things present, with deceitful pleasures, turn’dMy steps aside.” She answering spake: “Hadst thouBeen silent, or denied what thou avow’st,Thou hadst not hid thy sin the more: such eyeObserves it. But whene’er the sinner’s cheekBreaks forth into the precious-streaming tearsOf self-accusing, in our court the wheelOf justice doth run counter to the edge.Howe’er that thou may’st profit by thy shameFor errors past, and that henceforth more strengthMay arm thee, when thou hear’st the Siren-voice,Lay thou aside the motive to this grief,And lend attentive ear, while I unfoldHow opposite a way my buried fleshShould have impell’d thee. Never didst thou spyIn art or nature aught so passing sweet,As were the limbs, that in their beauteous frameEnclos’d me, and are scatter’d now in dust.If sweetest thing thus fail’d thee with my death,What, afterward, of mortal should thy wishHave tempted? When thou first hadst felt the dartOf perishable things, in my departingFor better realms, thy wing thou should’st have prun’dTo follow me, and never stoop’d againTo ’bide a second blow for a slight girl,Or other gaud as transient and as vain.The new and inexperienc’d bird awaits,Twice it may be, or thrice, the fowler’s aim;But in the sight of one, whose plumes are full,In vain the net is spread, the arrow wing’d.”I stood, as children silent and asham’dStand, list’ning, with their eyes upon the earth,Acknowledging their fault and self-condemn’d.And she resum’d: “If, but to hear thus pains thee,Raise thou thy beard, and lo! what sight shall do!”With less reluctance yields a sturdy holm,Rent from its fibers by a blast, that blowsFrom off the pole, or from Iarbas’ land,Than I at her behest my visage rais’d:And thus the face denoting by the beard,I mark’d the secret sting her words convey’d.No sooner lifted I mine aspect up,Than downward sunk that vision I beheldOf goodly creatures vanish; and mine eyesYet unassur’d and wavering, bent their lightOn Beatrice. Towards the animal,Who joins two natures in one form, she turn’d,And, even under shadow of her veil,And parted by the verdant rill, that flow’dBetween, in loveliness appear’d as muchHer former self surpassing, as on earthAll others she surpass’d. Remorseful goadsShot sudden through me. Each thing else, the moreIts love had late beguil’d me, now the moreI Was loathsome. On my heart so keenly smoteThe bitter consciousness, that on the groundO’erpower’d I fell: and what my state was then,She knows who was the cause. When now my strengthFlow’d back, returning outward from the heart,The lady, whom alone I first had seen,I found above me. “Loose me not,” she cried:“Loose not thy hold;” and lo! had dragg’d me highAs to my neck into the stream, while she,Still as she drew me after, swept along,Swift as a shuttle, bounding o’er the wave.The blessed shore approaching then was heardSo sweetly, “Tu asperges me,” that IMay not remember, much less tell the sound.The beauteous dame, her arms expanding, clasp’dMy temples, and immerg’d me, where ’twas fitThe wave should drench me: and thence raising up,Within the fourfold dance of lovely nymphsPresented me so lav’d, and with their armThey each did cover me. “Here are we nymphs,And in the heav’n are stars. Or ever earthWas visited of Beatrice, weAppointed for her handmaids, tended on her.We to her eyes will lead thee; but the lightOf gladness that is in them, well to scan,Those yonder three, of deeper ken than ours,Thy sight shall quicken.” Thus began their song;And then they led me to the Gryphon’s breast,While, turn’d toward us, Beatrice stood.“Spare not thy vision. We have stationed theeBefore the emeralds, whence love erewhileHath drawn his weapons on thee.” As they spake,A thousand fervent wishes rivetedMine eyes upon her beaming eyes, that stoodStill fix’d toward the Gryphon motionless.As the sun strikes a mirror, even thusWithin those orbs the twofold being, shone,For ever varying, in one figure nowReflected, now in other. Reader! museHow wond’rous in my sight it seem’d to markA thing, albeit steadfast in itself,Yet in its imag’d semblance mutable.Full of amaze, and joyous, while my soulFed on the viand, whereof still desireGrows with satiety, the other threeWith gesture, that declar’d a loftier line,Advanc’d: to their own carol on they cameDancing in festive ring angelical.“Turn, Beatrice!” was their song: “O turnThy saintly sight on this thy faithful one,Who to behold thee many a wearisome paceHath measur’d. Gracious at our pray’r vouchsafeUnveil to him thy cheeks: that he may markThy second beauty, now conceal’d.” O splendour!O sacred light eternal! who is heSo pale with musing in Pierian shades,Or with that fount so lavishly imbued,Whose spirit should not fail him in th’ essayTo represent thee such as thou didst seem,When under cope of the still-chiming heavenThou gav’st to open air thy charms reveal’d.
“O Thou!” her words she thus without delayResuming, turn’d their point on me, to whomThey but with lateral edge seem’d harsh before,“Say thou, who stand’st beyond the holy stream,If this be true. A charge so grievous needsThine own avowal.” On my facultySuch strange amazement hung, the voice expir’dImperfect, ere its organs gave it birth.
A little space refraining, then she spake:“What dost thou muse on? Answer me. The waveOn thy remembrances of evil yetHath done no injury.” A mingled senseOf fear and of confusion, from my lipsDid such a “Yea” produce, as needed helpOf vision to interpret. As when breaksIn act to be discharg’d, a cross-bow bentBeyond its pitch, both nerve and bow o’erstretch’d,The flagging weapon feebly hits the mark;Thus, tears and sighs forth gushing, did I burstBeneath the heavy load, and thus my voiceWas slacken’d on its way. She straight began:“When my desire invited thee to loveThe good, which sets a bound to our aspirings,What bar of thwarting foss or linked chainDid meet thee, that thou so should’st quit the hopeOf further progress, or what bait of easeOr promise of allurement led thee onElsewhere, that thou elsewhere should’st rather wait?”
A bitter sigh I drew, then scarce found voiceTo answer, hardly to these sounds my lipsGave utterance, wailing: “Thy fair looks withdrawn,Things present, with deceitful pleasures, turn’dMy steps aside.” She answering spake: “Hadst thouBeen silent, or denied what thou avow’st,Thou hadst not hid thy sin the more: such eyeObserves it. But whene’er the sinner’s cheekBreaks forth into the precious-streaming tearsOf self-accusing, in our court the wheelOf justice doth run counter to the edge.Howe’er that thou may’st profit by thy shameFor errors past, and that henceforth more strengthMay arm thee, when thou hear’st the Siren-voice,Lay thou aside the motive to this grief,And lend attentive ear, while I unfoldHow opposite a way my buried fleshShould have impell’d thee. Never didst thou spyIn art or nature aught so passing sweet,As were the limbs, that in their beauteous frameEnclos’d me, and are scatter’d now in dust.If sweetest thing thus fail’d thee with my death,What, afterward, of mortal should thy wishHave tempted? When thou first hadst felt the dartOf perishable things, in my departingFor better realms, thy wing thou should’st have prun’dTo follow me, and never stoop’d againTo ’bide a second blow for a slight girl,Or other gaud as transient and as vain.The new and inexperienc’d bird awaits,Twice it may be, or thrice, the fowler’s aim;But in the sight of one, whose plumes are full,In vain the net is spread, the arrow wing’d.”
I stood, as children silent and asham’dStand, list’ning, with their eyes upon the earth,Acknowledging their fault and self-condemn’d.And she resum’d: “If, but to hear thus pains thee,Raise thou thy beard, and lo! what sight shall do!”
With less reluctance yields a sturdy holm,Rent from its fibers by a blast, that blowsFrom off the pole, or from Iarbas’ land,Than I at her behest my visage rais’d:And thus the face denoting by the beard,I mark’d the secret sting her words convey’d.
No sooner lifted I mine aspect up,Than downward sunk that vision I beheldOf goodly creatures vanish; and mine eyesYet unassur’d and wavering, bent their lightOn Beatrice. Towards the animal,Who joins two natures in one form, she turn’d,And, even under shadow of her veil,And parted by the verdant rill, that flow’dBetween, in loveliness appear’d as muchHer former self surpassing, as on earthAll others she surpass’d. Remorseful goadsShot sudden through me. Each thing else, the moreIts love had late beguil’d me, now the moreI Was loathsome. On my heart so keenly smoteThe bitter consciousness, that on the groundO’erpower’d I fell: and what my state was then,She knows who was the cause. When now my strengthFlow’d back, returning outward from the heart,The lady, whom alone I first had seen,I found above me. “Loose me not,” she cried:“Loose not thy hold;” and lo! had dragg’d me highAs to my neck into the stream, while she,Still as she drew me after, swept along,Swift as a shuttle, bounding o’er the wave.
The blessed shore approaching then was heardSo sweetly, “Tu asperges me,” that IMay not remember, much less tell the sound.The beauteous dame, her arms expanding, clasp’dMy temples, and immerg’d me, where ’twas fitThe wave should drench me: and thence raising up,Within the fourfold dance of lovely nymphsPresented me so lav’d, and with their armThey each did cover me. “Here are we nymphs,And in the heav’n are stars. Or ever earthWas visited of Beatrice, weAppointed for her handmaids, tended on her.We to her eyes will lead thee; but the lightOf gladness that is in them, well to scan,Those yonder three, of deeper ken than ours,Thy sight shall quicken.” Thus began their song;And then they led me to the Gryphon’s breast,While, turn’d toward us, Beatrice stood.“Spare not thy vision. We have stationed theeBefore the emeralds, whence love erewhileHath drawn his weapons on thee.” As they spake,A thousand fervent wishes rivetedMine eyes upon her beaming eyes, that stoodStill fix’d toward the Gryphon motionless.As the sun strikes a mirror, even thusWithin those orbs the twofold being, shone,For ever varying, in one figure nowReflected, now in other. Reader! museHow wond’rous in my sight it seem’d to markA thing, albeit steadfast in itself,Yet in its imag’d semblance mutable.
Full of amaze, and joyous, while my soulFed on the viand, whereof still desireGrows with satiety, the other threeWith gesture, that declar’d a loftier line,Advanc’d: to their own carol on they cameDancing in festive ring angelical.
“Turn, Beatrice!” was their song: “O turnThy saintly sight on this thy faithful one,Who to behold thee many a wearisome paceHath measur’d. Gracious at our pray’r vouchsafeUnveil to him thy cheeks: that he may markThy second beauty, now conceal’d.” O splendour!O sacred light eternal! who is heSo pale with musing in Pierian shades,Or with that fount so lavishly imbued,Whose spirit should not fail him in th’ essayTo represent thee such as thou didst seem,When under cope of the still-chiming heavenThou gav’st to open air thy charms reveal’d.