CANTO XXVIf e’er the sacred poem that hath madeBoth heav’n and earth copartners in its toil,And with lean abstinence, through many a year,Faded my brow, be destin’d to prevailOver the cruelty, which bars me forthOf the fair sheep-fold, where a sleeping lambThe wolves set on and fain had worried me,With other voice and fleece of other grainI shall forthwith return, and, standing upAt my baptismal font, shall claim the wreathDue to the poet’s temples: for I thereFirst enter’d on the faith which maketh soulsAcceptable to God: and, for its sake,Peter had then circled my forehead thus.Next from the squadron, whence had issued forthThe first fruit of Christ’s vicars on the earth,Toward us mov’d a light, at view whereofMy Lady, full of gladness, spake to me:“Lo! lo! behold the peer of mickle might,That makes Falicia throng’d with visitants!”As when the ring-dove by his mate alights,In circles each about the other wheels,And murmuring cooes his fondness; thus saw IOne, of the other great and glorious prince,With kindly greeting hail’d, extolling bothTheir heavenly banqueting; but when an endWas to their gratulation, silent, each,Before me sat they down, so burning bright,I could not look upon them. Smiling then,Beatrice spake: “O life in glory shrin’d!”Who didst the largess of our kingly courtSet down with faithful pen! let now thy voiceOf hope the praises in this height resound.For thou, who figur’st them in shapes, as clear,As Jesus stood before thee, well can’st speak them.”“Lift up thy head, and be thou strong in trust:For that, which hither from the mortal worldArriveth, must be ripen’d in our beam.”Such cheering accents from the second flameAssur’d me; and mine eyes I lifted upUnto the mountains that had bow’d them lateWith over-heavy burden. “Sith our LiegeWills of his grace that thou, or ere thy death,In the most secret council, with his lordsShouldst be confronted, so that having view’dThe glories of our court, thou mayst therewithThyself, and all who hear, invigorateWith hope, that leads to blissful end; declare,What is that hope, how it doth flourish in thee,And whence thou hadst it?” Thus proceeding still,The second light: and she, whose gentle loveMy soaring pennons in that lofty flightEscorted, thus preventing me, rejoin’d:Among her sons, not one more full of hope,Hath the church militant: so ’t is of himRecorded in the sun, whose liberal orbEnlighteneth all our tribe: and ere his termOf warfare, hence permitted he is come,From Egypt to Jerusalem, to see.The other points, both which thou hast inquir’d,Not for more knowledge, but that he may tellHow dear thou holdst the virtue, these to himLeave I; for he may answer thee with ease,And without boasting, so God give him grace.”Like to the scholar, practis’d in his task,Who, willing to give proof of diligence,Seconds his teacher gladly, “Hope,” said I,“Is of the joy to come a sure expectance,Th’ effect of grace divine and merit preceding.This light from many a star visits my heart,But flow’d to me the first from him, who sangThe songs of the Supreme, himself supremeAmong his tuneful brethren. ‘Let all hopeIn thee,’ so speak his anthem, ‘who have knownThy name;’ and with my faith who know not that?From thee, the next, distilling from his spring,In thine epistle, fell on me the dropsSo plenteously, that I on others showerThe influence of their dew.” Whileas I spake,A lamping, as of quick and vollied lightning,Within the bosom of that mighty sheen,Play’d tremulous; then forth these accents breath’d:“Love for the virtue which attended meE’en to the palm, and issuing from the field,Glows vigorous yet within me, and inspiresTo ask of thee, whom also it delights;What promise thou from hope in chief dost win.”“Both scriptures, new and ancient,” I reply’d;“Propose the mark (which even now I view)For souls belov’d of God. Isaias saith,‘That, in their own land, each one must be cladIn twofold vesture; and their proper lands this delicious life.’In terms more full,And clearer far, thy brother hath set forthThis revelation to us, where he tellsOf the white raiment destin’d to the saints.”And, as the words were ending, from above,“They hope in thee,” first heard we cried: wheretoAnswer’d the carols all. Amidst them next,A light of so clear amplitude emerg’d,That winter’s month were but a single day,Were such a crystal in the Cancer’s sign.Like as a virgin riseth up, and goes,And enters on the mazes of the dance,Though gay, yet innocent of worse intent,Than to do fitting honour to the bride;So I beheld the new effulgence comeUnto the other two, who in a ringWheel’d, as became their rapture. In the danceAnd in the song it mingled. And the dameHeld on them fix’d her looks: e’en as the spouseSilent and moveless. “This is he, who layUpon the bosom of our pelican:This he, into whose keeping from the crossThe mighty charge was given.” Thus she spake,Yet therefore naught the more remov’d her SightFrom marking them, or ere her words began,Or when they clos’d. As he, who looks intent,And strives with searching ken, how he may seeThe sun in his eclipse, and, through desireOf seeing, loseth power of sight: so IPeer’d on that last resplendence, while I heard:“Why dazzlest thou thine eyes in seeking that,Which here abides not? Earth my body is,In earth: and shall be, with the rest, so long,As till our number equal the decreeOf the Most High. The two that have ascended,In this our blessed cloister, shine aloneWith the two garments. So report below.”As when, for ease of labour, or to shunSuspected peril at a whistle’s breath,The oars, erewhile dash’d frequent in the wave,All rest; the flamy circle at that voiceSo rested, and the mingling sound was still,Which from the trinal band soft-breathing rose.I turn’d, but ah! how trembled in my thought,When, looking at my side again to seeBeatrice, I descried her not, althoughNot distant, on the happy coast she stood.
If e’er the sacred poem that hath madeBoth heav’n and earth copartners in its toil,And with lean abstinence, through many a year,Faded my brow, be destin’d to prevailOver the cruelty, which bars me forthOf the fair sheep-fold, where a sleeping lambThe wolves set on and fain had worried me,With other voice and fleece of other grainI shall forthwith return, and, standing upAt my baptismal font, shall claim the wreathDue to the poet’s temples: for I thereFirst enter’d on the faith which maketh soulsAcceptable to God: and, for its sake,Peter had then circled my forehead thus.Next from the squadron, whence had issued forthThe first fruit of Christ’s vicars on the earth,Toward us mov’d a light, at view whereofMy Lady, full of gladness, spake to me:“Lo! lo! behold the peer of mickle might,That makes Falicia throng’d with visitants!”As when the ring-dove by his mate alights,In circles each about the other wheels,And murmuring cooes his fondness; thus saw IOne, of the other great and glorious prince,With kindly greeting hail’d, extolling bothTheir heavenly banqueting; but when an endWas to their gratulation, silent, each,Before me sat they down, so burning bright,I could not look upon them. Smiling then,Beatrice spake: “O life in glory shrin’d!”Who didst the largess of our kingly courtSet down with faithful pen! let now thy voiceOf hope the praises in this height resound.For thou, who figur’st them in shapes, as clear,As Jesus stood before thee, well can’st speak them.”“Lift up thy head, and be thou strong in trust:For that, which hither from the mortal worldArriveth, must be ripen’d in our beam.”Such cheering accents from the second flameAssur’d me; and mine eyes I lifted upUnto the mountains that had bow’d them lateWith over-heavy burden. “Sith our LiegeWills of his grace that thou, or ere thy death,In the most secret council, with his lordsShouldst be confronted, so that having view’dThe glories of our court, thou mayst therewithThyself, and all who hear, invigorateWith hope, that leads to blissful end; declare,What is that hope, how it doth flourish in thee,And whence thou hadst it?” Thus proceeding still,The second light: and she, whose gentle loveMy soaring pennons in that lofty flightEscorted, thus preventing me, rejoin’d:Among her sons, not one more full of hope,Hath the church militant: so ’t is of himRecorded in the sun, whose liberal orbEnlighteneth all our tribe: and ere his termOf warfare, hence permitted he is come,From Egypt to Jerusalem, to see.The other points, both which thou hast inquir’d,Not for more knowledge, but that he may tellHow dear thou holdst the virtue, these to himLeave I; for he may answer thee with ease,And without boasting, so God give him grace.”Like to the scholar, practis’d in his task,Who, willing to give proof of diligence,Seconds his teacher gladly, “Hope,” said I,“Is of the joy to come a sure expectance,Th’ effect of grace divine and merit preceding.This light from many a star visits my heart,But flow’d to me the first from him, who sangThe songs of the Supreme, himself supremeAmong his tuneful brethren. ‘Let all hopeIn thee,’ so speak his anthem, ‘who have knownThy name;’ and with my faith who know not that?From thee, the next, distilling from his spring,In thine epistle, fell on me the dropsSo plenteously, that I on others showerThe influence of their dew.” Whileas I spake,A lamping, as of quick and vollied lightning,Within the bosom of that mighty sheen,Play’d tremulous; then forth these accents breath’d:“Love for the virtue which attended meE’en to the palm, and issuing from the field,Glows vigorous yet within me, and inspiresTo ask of thee, whom also it delights;What promise thou from hope in chief dost win.”“Both scriptures, new and ancient,” I reply’d;“Propose the mark (which even now I view)For souls belov’d of God. Isaias saith,‘That, in their own land, each one must be cladIn twofold vesture; and their proper lands this delicious life.’In terms more full,And clearer far, thy brother hath set forthThis revelation to us, where he tellsOf the white raiment destin’d to the saints.”And, as the words were ending, from above,“They hope in thee,” first heard we cried: wheretoAnswer’d the carols all. Amidst them next,A light of so clear amplitude emerg’d,That winter’s month were but a single day,Were such a crystal in the Cancer’s sign.Like as a virgin riseth up, and goes,And enters on the mazes of the dance,Though gay, yet innocent of worse intent,Than to do fitting honour to the bride;So I beheld the new effulgence comeUnto the other two, who in a ringWheel’d, as became their rapture. In the danceAnd in the song it mingled. And the dameHeld on them fix’d her looks: e’en as the spouseSilent and moveless. “This is he, who layUpon the bosom of our pelican:This he, into whose keeping from the crossThe mighty charge was given.” Thus she spake,Yet therefore naught the more remov’d her SightFrom marking them, or ere her words began,Or when they clos’d. As he, who looks intent,And strives with searching ken, how he may seeThe sun in his eclipse, and, through desireOf seeing, loseth power of sight: so IPeer’d on that last resplendence, while I heard:“Why dazzlest thou thine eyes in seeking that,Which here abides not? Earth my body is,In earth: and shall be, with the rest, so long,As till our number equal the decreeOf the Most High. The two that have ascended,In this our blessed cloister, shine aloneWith the two garments. So report below.”As when, for ease of labour, or to shunSuspected peril at a whistle’s breath,The oars, erewhile dash’d frequent in the wave,All rest; the flamy circle at that voiceSo rested, and the mingling sound was still,Which from the trinal band soft-breathing rose.I turn’d, but ah! how trembled in my thought,When, looking at my side again to seeBeatrice, I descried her not, althoughNot distant, on the happy coast she stood.