CANTO IINow had the sun to that horizon reach’d,That covers, with the most exalted pointOf its meridian circle, Salem’s walls,And night, that opposite to him her orbSounds, from the stream of Ganges issued forth,Holding the scales, that from her hands are dropp’dWhen she reigns highest: so that where I was,Aurora’s white and vermeil-tinctur’d cheekTo orange turn’d as she in age increas’d.Meanwhile we linger’d by the water’s brink,Like men, who, musing on their road, in thoughtJourney, while motionless the body rests.When lo! as near upon the hour of dawn,Through the thick vapours Mars with fiery beamGlares down in west, over the ocean floor;So seem’d, what once again I hope to view,A light so swiftly coming through the sea,No winged course might equal its career.From which when for a space I had withdrawnThine eyes, to make inquiry of my guide,Again I look’d and saw it grown in sizeAnd brightness: thou on either side appear’dSomething, but what I knew not of bright hue,And by degrees from underneath it cameAnother. My preceptor silent yetStood, while the brightness, that we first discern’d,Open’d the form of wings: then when he knewThe pilot, cried aloud, “Down, down; bend lowThy knees; behold God’s angel: fold thy hands:Now shalt thou see true Ministers indeed.”Lo how all human means he sets at naught!So that nor oar he needs, nor other sailExcept his wings, between such distant shores.Lo how straight up to heaven he holds them rear’d,Winnowing the air with those eternal plumes,That not like mortal hairs fall off or change!”As more and more toward us came, more brightAppear’d the bird of God, nor could the eyeEndure his splendor near: I mine bent down.He drove ashore in a small bark so swiftAnd light, that in its course no wave it drank.The heav’nly steersman at the prow was seen,Visibly written blessed in his looks.Within a hundred spirits and more there sat.“In Exitu Israel de Aegypto;”All with one voice together sang, with whatIn the remainder of that hymn is writ.Then soon as with the sign of holy crossHe bless’d them, they at once leap’d out on land,The swiftly as he came return’d. The crew,There left, appear’d astounded with the place,Gazing around as one who sees new sights.From every side the sun darted his beams,And with his arrowy radiance from mid heav’nHad chas’d the Capricorn, when that strange tribeLifting their eyes towards us: “If ye know,Declare what path will Lead us to the mount.”Them Virgil answer’d. “Ye suppose perchanceUs well acquainted with this place: but here,We, as yourselves, are strangers. Not long erstWe came, before you but a little space,By other road so rough and hard, that nowThe’ ascent will seem to us as play.” The spirits,Who from my breathing had perceiv’d I liv’d,Grew pale with wonder. As the multitudeFlock round a herald, sent with olive branch,To hear what news he brings, and in their hasteTread one another down, e’en so at sightOf me those happy spirits were fix’d, each oneForgetful of its errand, to depart,Where cleans’d from sin, it might be made all fair.Then one I saw darting before the restWith such fond ardour to embrace me, ITo do the like was mov’d. O shadows vainExcept in outward semblance! thrice my handsI clasp’d behind it, they as oft return’dEmpty into my breast again. SurpriseI needs must think was painted in my looks,For that the shadow smil’d and backward drew.To follow it I hasten’d, but with voiceOf sweetness it enjoin’d me to desist.Then who it was I knew, and pray’d of it,To talk with me, it would a little pause.It answered: “Thee as in my mortal frameI lov’d, so loos’d forth it I love thee still,And therefore pause; but why walkest thou here?”“Not without purpose once more to return,Thou find’st me, my Casella, where I amJourneying this way;” I said, “but how of theeHath so much time been lost?” He answer’d straight:“No outrage hath been done to me, if heWho when and whom he chooses takes, me oftThis passage hath denied, since of just willHis will he makes. These three months past indeed,He, whose chose to enter, with free leaveHath taken; whence I wand’ring by the shoreWhere Tyber’s wave grows salt, of him gain’d kindAdmittance, at that river’s mouth, tow’rd whichHis wings are pointed, for there always throngAll such as not to Archeron descend.”Then I: “If new laws have not quite destroy’dMemory and use of that sweet song of love,That while all my cares had power to ’swage;Please thee with it a little to consoleMy spirit, that incumber’d with its frame,Travelling so far, of pain is overcome.”“Love that discourses in my thoughts.” He thenBegan in such soft accents, that withinThe sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guideAnd all who came with him, so well were pleas’d,That seem’d naught else might in their thoughts have room.Fast fix’d in mute attention to his notesWe stood, when lo! that old man venerableExclaiming, “How is this, ye tardy spirits?What negligence detains you loit’ring here?Run to the mountain to cast off those scales,That from your eyes the sight of God conceal.”As a wild flock of pigeons, to their foodCollected, blade or tares, without their prideAccustom’d, and in still and quiet sort,If aught alarm them, suddenly desertTheir meal, assail’d by more important care;So I that new-come troop beheld, the songDeserting, hasten to the mountain’s side,As one who goes yet where he tends knows not.Nor with less hurried step did we depart.
Now had the sun to that horizon reach’d,That covers, with the most exalted pointOf its meridian circle, Salem’s walls,And night, that opposite to him her orbSounds, from the stream of Ganges issued forth,Holding the scales, that from her hands are dropp’dWhen she reigns highest: so that where I was,Aurora’s white and vermeil-tinctur’d cheekTo orange turn’d as she in age increas’d.Meanwhile we linger’d by the water’s brink,Like men, who, musing on their road, in thoughtJourney, while motionless the body rests.When lo! as near upon the hour of dawn,Through the thick vapours Mars with fiery beamGlares down in west, over the ocean floor;So seem’d, what once again I hope to view,A light so swiftly coming through the sea,No winged course might equal its career.From which when for a space I had withdrawnThine eyes, to make inquiry of my guide,Again I look’d and saw it grown in sizeAnd brightness: thou on either side appear’dSomething, but what I knew not of bright hue,And by degrees from underneath it cameAnother. My preceptor silent yetStood, while the brightness, that we first discern’d,Open’d the form of wings: then when he knewThe pilot, cried aloud, “Down, down; bend lowThy knees; behold God’s angel: fold thy hands:Now shalt thou see true Ministers indeed.”
Lo how all human means he sets at naught!So that nor oar he needs, nor other sailExcept his wings, between such distant shores.Lo how straight up to heaven he holds them rear’d,Winnowing the air with those eternal plumes,That not like mortal hairs fall off or change!”As more and more toward us came, more brightAppear’d the bird of God, nor could the eyeEndure his splendor near: I mine bent down.He drove ashore in a small bark so swiftAnd light, that in its course no wave it drank.The heav’nly steersman at the prow was seen,Visibly written blessed in his looks.
Within a hundred spirits and more there sat.“In Exitu Israel de Aegypto;”All with one voice together sang, with whatIn the remainder of that hymn is writ.Then soon as with the sign of holy crossHe bless’d them, they at once leap’d out on land,The swiftly as he came return’d. The crew,There left, appear’d astounded with the place,Gazing around as one who sees new sights.From every side the sun darted his beams,And with his arrowy radiance from mid heav’nHad chas’d the Capricorn, when that strange tribeLifting their eyes towards us: “If ye know,Declare what path will Lead us to the mount.”Them Virgil answer’d. “Ye suppose perchanceUs well acquainted with this place: but here,We, as yourselves, are strangers. Not long erstWe came, before you but a little space,By other road so rough and hard, that nowThe’ ascent will seem to us as play.” The spirits,Who from my breathing had perceiv’d I liv’d,Grew pale with wonder. As the multitudeFlock round a herald, sent with olive branch,To hear what news he brings, and in their hasteTread one another down, e’en so at sightOf me those happy spirits were fix’d, each oneForgetful of its errand, to depart,Where cleans’d from sin, it might be made all fair.Then one I saw darting before the restWith such fond ardour to embrace me, ITo do the like was mov’d. O shadows vainExcept in outward semblance! thrice my handsI clasp’d behind it, they as oft return’dEmpty into my breast again. SurpriseI needs must think was painted in my looks,For that the shadow smil’d and backward drew.To follow it I hasten’d, but with voiceOf sweetness it enjoin’d me to desist.Then who it was I knew, and pray’d of it,To talk with me, it would a little pause.It answered: “Thee as in my mortal frameI lov’d, so loos’d forth it I love thee still,And therefore pause; but why walkest thou here?”“Not without purpose once more to return,Thou find’st me, my Casella, where I amJourneying this way;” I said, “but how of theeHath so much time been lost?” He answer’d straight:“No outrage hath been done to me, if heWho when and whom he chooses takes, me oftThis passage hath denied, since of just willHis will he makes. These three months past indeed,He, whose chose to enter, with free leaveHath taken; whence I wand’ring by the shoreWhere Tyber’s wave grows salt, of him gain’d kindAdmittance, at that river’s mouth, tow’rd whichHis wings are pointed, for there always throngAll such as not to Archeron descend.”Then I: “If new laws have not quite destroy’dMemory and use of that sweet song of love,That while all my cares had power to ’swage;Please thee with it a little to consoleMy spirit, that incumber’d with its frame,Travelling so far, of pain is overcome.”“Love that discourses in my thoughts.” He thenBegan in such soft accents, that withinThe sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guideAnd all who came with him, so well were pleas’d,That seem’d naught else might in their thoughts have room.Fast fix’d in mute attention to his notesWe stood, when lo! that old man venerableExclaiming, “How is this, ye tardy spirits?What negligence detains you loit’ring here?Run to the mountain to cast off those scales,That from your eyes the sight of God conceal.”As a wild flock of pigeons, to their foodCollected, blade or tares, without their prideAccustom’d, and in still and quiet sort,If aught alarm them, suddenly desertTheir meal, assail’d by more important care;So I that new-come troop beheld, the songDeserting, hasten to the mountain’s side,As one who goes yet where he tends knows not.Nor with less hurried step did we depart.