CANTO XIXBefore my sight appear’d, with open wings,The beauteous image, in fruition sweetGladdening the thronged spirits. Each did seemA little ruby, whereon so intenseThe sun-beam glow’d that to mine eyes it cameIn clear refraction. And that, which nextBefalls me to portray, voice hath not utter’d,Nor hath ink written, nor in fantasyWas e’er conceiv’d. For I beheld and heardThe beak discourse; and, what intention form’dOf many, singly as of one express,Beginning: “For that I was just and piteous,l am exalted to this height of glory,The which no wish exceeds: and there on earthHave I my memory left, e’en by the badCommended, while they leave its course untrod.”Thus is one heat from many embers felt,As in that image many were the loves,And one the voice, that issued from them all.Whence I address them: “O perennial flowersOf gladness everlasting! that exhaleIn single breath your odours manifold!Breathe now; and let the hunger be appeas’d,That with great craving long hath held my soul,Finding no food on earth. This well I know,That if there be in heav’n a realm, that showsIn faithful mirror the celestial Justice,Yours without veil reflects it. Ye discernThe heed, wherewith I do prepare myselfTo hearken; ye the doubt that urges meWith such inveterate craving.” Straight I saw,Like to a falcon issuing from the hood,That rears his head, and claps him with his wings,His beauty and his eagerness bewraying.So saw I move that stately sign, with praiseOf grace divine inwoven and high songOf inexpressive joy. “He,” it began,“Who turn’d his compass on the world’s extreme,And in that space so variously hath wrought,Both openly, and in secret, in such wiseCould not through all the universe displayImpression of his glory, that the WordOf his omniscience should not still remainIn infinite excess. In proof whereof,He first through pride supplanted, who was sumOf each created being, waited notFor light celestial, and abortive fell.Whence needs each lesser nature is but scantReceptacle unto that Good, which knowsNo limit, measur’d by itself alone.Therefore your sight, of th’ omnipresent MindA single beam, its origin must ownSurpassing far its utmost potency.The ken, your world is gifted with, descendsIn th’ everlasting Justice as low down,As eye doth in the sea; which though it markThe bottom from the shore, in the wide mainDiscerns it not; and ne’ertheless it is,But hidden through its deepness. Light is none,Save that which cometh from the pure sereneOf ne’er disturbed ether: for the rest,’Tis darkness all, or shadow of the flesh,Or else its poison. Here confess reveal’dThat covert, which hath hidden from thy searchThe living justice, of the which thou mad’stSuch frequent question; for thou saidst—‘A manIs born on Indus’ banks, and none is thereWho speaks of Christ, nor who doth read nor write,And all his inclinations and his acts,As far as human reason sees, are good,And he offendeth not in word or deed.But unbaptiz’d he dies, and void of faith.Where is the justice that condemns him? whereHis blame, if he believeth not?’—What then,And who art thou, that on the stool wouldst sitTo judge at distance of a thousand milesWith the short-sighted vision of a span?To him, who subtilizes thus with me,There would assuredly be room for doubtEven to wonder, did not the safe wordOf scripture hold supreme authority.“O animals of clay! O spirits gross IThe primal will, that in itself is good,Hath from itself, the chief Good, ne’er been mov’d.Justice consists in consonance with it,Derivable by no created good,Whose very cause depends upon its beam.”As on her nest the stork, that turns aboutUnto her young, whom lately she hath fed,While they with upward eyes do look on her;So lifted I my gaze; and bending soThe ever-blessed image wav’d its wings,Lab’ring with such deep counsel. Wheeling roundIt warbled, and did say: “As are my notesTo thee, who understand’st them not, such isTh’ eternal judgment unto mortal ken.”Then still abiding in that ensign rang’d,Wherewith the Romans over-awed the world,Those burning splendours of the Holy SpiritTook up the strain; and thus it spake again:“None ever hath ascended to this realm,Who hath not a believer been in Christ,Either before or after the blest limbsWere nail’d upon the wood. But lo! of thoseWho call ‘Christ, Christ,’ there shall be many found,In judgment, further off from him by far,Than such, to whom his name was never known.Christians like these the Ethiop shall condemn:When that the two assemblages shall part;One rich eternally, the other poor.“What may the Persians say unto your kings,When they shall see that volume, in the whichAll their dispraise is written, spread to view?There amidst Albert’s works shall that be read,Which will give speedy motion to the pen,When Prague shall mourn her desolated realm.There shall be read the woe, that he doth workWith his adulterate money on the Seine,Who by the tusk will perish: there be readThe thirsting pride, that maketh fool alikeThe English and Scot, impatient of their bound.There shall be seen the Spaniard’s luxury,The delicate living there of the Bohemian,Who still to worth has been a willing stranger.The halter of Jerusalem shall seeA unit for his virtue, for his vicesNo less a mark than million. He, who guardsThe isle of fire by old Anchises honour’dShall find his avarice there and cowardice;And better to denote his littleness,The writing must be letters maim’d, that speakMuch in a narrow space. All there shall knowHis uncle and his brother’s filthy doings,Who so renown’d a nation and two crownsHave bastardized. And they, of PortugalAnd Norway, there shall be expos’d with himOf Ratza, who hath counterfeited illThe coin of Venice. O blest Hungary!If thou no longer patiently abid’stThy ill-entreating! and, O blest Navarre!If with thy mountainous girdle thou wouldst arm theeIn earnest of that day, e’en now are heardWailings and groans in Famagosta’s streetsAnd Nicosia’s, grudging at their beast,Who keepeth even footing with the rest.”
Before my sight appear’d, with open wings,The beauteous image, in fruition sweetGladdening the thronged spirits. Each did seemA little ruby, whereon so intenseThe sun-beam glow’d that to mine eyes it cameIn clear refraction. And that, which nextBefalls me to portray, voice hath not utter’d,Nor hath ink written, nor in fantasyWas e’er conceiv’d. For I beheld and heardThe beak discourse; and, what intention form’dOf many, singly as of one express,Beginning: “For that I was just and piteous,l am exalted to this height of glory,The which no wish exceeds: and there on earthHave I my memory left, e’en by the badCommended, while they leave its course untrod.”Thus is one heat from many embers felt,As in that image many were the loves,And one the voice, that issued from them all.Whence I address them: “O perennial flowersOf gladness everlasting! that exhaleIn single breath your odours manifold!Breathe now; and let the hunger be appeas’d,That with great craving long hath held my soul,Finding no food on earth. This well I know,That if there be in heav’n a realm, that showsIn faithful mirror the celestial Justice,Yours without veil reflects it. Ye discernThe heed, wherewith I do prepare myselfTo hearken; ye the doubt that urges meWith such inveterate craving.” Straight I saw,Like to a falcon issuing from the hood,That rears his head, and claps him with his wings,His beauty and his eagerness bewraying.So saw I move that stately sign, with praiseOf grace divine inwoven and high songOf inexpressive joy. “He,” it began,“Who turn’d his compass on the world’s extreme,And in that space so variously hath wrought,Both openly, and in secret, in such wiseCould not through all the universe displayImpression of his glory, that the WordOf his omniscience should not still remainIn infinite excess. In proof whereof,He first through pride supplanted, who was sumOf each created being, waited notFor light celestial, and abortive fell.Whence needs each lesser nature is but scantReceptacle unto that Good, which knowsNo limit, measur’d by itself alone.Therefore your sight, of th’ omnipresent MindA single beam, its origin must ownSurpassing far its utmost potency.The ken, your world is gifted with, descendsIn th’ everlasting Justice as low down,As eye doth in the sea; which though it markThe bottom from the shore, in the wide mainDiscerns it not; and ne’ertheless it is,But hidden through its deepness. Light is none,Save that which cometh from the pure sereneOf ne’er disturbed ether: for the rest,’Tis darkness all, or shadow of the flesh,Or else its poison. Here confess reveal’dThat covert, which hath hidden from thy searchThe living justice, of the which thou mad’stSuch frequent question; for thou saidst—‘A manIs born on Indus’ banks, and none is thereWho speaks of Christ, nor who doth read nor write,And all his inclinations and his acts,As far as human reason sees, are good,And he offendeth not in word or deed.But unbaptiz’d he dies, and void of faith.Where is the justice that condemns him? whereHis blame, if he believeth not?’—What then,And who art thou, that on the stool wouldst sitTo judge at distance of a thousand milesWith the short-sighted vision of a span?To him, who subtilizes thus with me,There would assuredly be room for doubtEven to wonder, did not the safe wordOf scripture hold supreme authority.“O animals of clay! O spirits gross IThe primal will, that in itself is good,Hath from itself, the chief Good, ne’er been mov’d.Justice consists in consonance with it,Derivable by no created good,Whose very cause depends upon its beam.”As on her nest the stork, that turns aboutUnto her young, whom lately she hath fed,While they with upward eyes do look on her;So lifted I my gaze; and bending soThe ever-blessed image wav’d its wings,Lab’ring with such deep counsel. Wheeling roundIt warbled, and did say: “As are my notesTo thee, who understand’st them not, such isTh’ eternal judgment unto mortal ken.”Then still abiding in that ensign rang’d,Wherewith the Romans over-awed the world,Those burning splendours of the Holy SpiritTook up the strain; and thus it spake again:“None ever hath ascended to this realm,Who hath not a believer been in Christ,Either before or after the blest limbsWere nail’d upon the wood. But lo! of thoseWho call ‘Christ, Christ,’ there shall be many found,In judgment, further off from him by far,Than such, to whom his name was never known.Christians like these the Ethiop shall condemn:When that the two assemblages shall part;One rich eternally, the other poor.“What may the Persians say unto your kings,When they shall see that volume, in the whichAll their dispraise is written, spread to view?There amidst Albert’s works shall that be read,Which will give speedy motion to the pen,When Prague shall mourn her desolated realm.There shall be read the woe, that he doth workWith his adulterate money on the Seine,Who by the tusk will perish: there be readThe thirsting pride, that maketh fool alikeThe English and Scot, impatient of their bound.There shall be seen the Spaniard’s luxury,The delicate living there of the Bohemian,Who still to worth has been a willing stranger.The halter of Jerusalem shall seeA unit for his virtue, for his vicesNo less a mark than million. He, who guardsThe isle of fire by old Anchises honour’dShall find his avarice there and cowardice;And better to denote his littleness,The writing must be letters maim’d, that speakMuch in a narrow space. All there shall knowHis uncle and his brother’s filthy doings,Who so renown’d a nation and two crownsHave bastardized. And they, of PortugalAnd Norway, there shall be expos’d with himOf Ratza, who hath counterfeited illThe coin of Venice. O blest Hungary!If thou no longer patiently abid’stThy ill-entreating! and, O blest Navarre!If with thy mountainous girdle thou wouldst arm theeIn earnest of that day, e’en now are heardWailings and groans in Famagosta’s streetsAnd Nicosia’s, grudging at their beast,Who keepeth even footing with the rest.”