CANTO XIIIWe reach’d the summit of the scale, and stoodUpon the second buttress of that mountWhich healeth him who climbs. A cornice there,Like to the former, girdles round the hill;Save that its arch with sweep less ample bends.Shadow nor image there is seen; all smoothThe rampart and the path, reflecting noughtBut the rock’s sullen hue. “If here we waitFor some to question,” said the bard, “I fearOur choice may haply meet too long delay.”Then fixedly upon the sun his eyesHe fastn’d, made his right the central pointFrom whence to move, and turn’d the left aside.“O pleasant light, my confidence and hope,Conduct us thou,” he cried, “on this new way,Where now I venture, leading to the bournWe seek. The universal world to theeOwes warmth and lustre. If no other causeForbid, thy beams should ever be our guide.”Far, as is measur’d for a mile on earth,In brief space had we journey’d; such prompt willImpell’d; and towards us flying, now were heardSpirits invisible, who courteouslyUnto love’s table bade the welcome guest.The voice, that first? flew by, call’d forth aloud,“They have no wine;” so on behind us past,Those sounds reiterating, nor yet lostIn the faint distance, when another cameCrying, “I am Orestes,” and alikeWing’d its fleet way. “Oh father!” I exclaim’d,“What tongues are these?” and as I question’d, lo!A third exclaiming, “Love ye those have wrong’d you.”“This circuit,” said my teacher, “knots the scourgeFor envy, and the cords are therefore drawnBy charity’s correcting hand. The curbIs of a harsher sound, as thou shalt hear(If I deem rightly), ere thou reach the pass,Where pardon sets them free. But fix thine eyesIntently through the air, and thou shalt seeA multitude before thee seated, eachAlong the shelving grot.” Then more than erstI op’d my eyes, before me view’d, and sawShadows with garments dark as was the rock;And when we pass’d a little forth, I heardA crying, “Blessed Mary! pray for us,Michael and Peter! all ye saintly host!”I do not think there walks on earth this dayMan so remorseless, that he hath not yearn’dWith pity at the sight that next I saw.Mine eyes a load of sorrow teemed, when nowI stood so near them, that their semblancesCame clearly to my view. Of sackcloth vileTheir cov’ring seem’d; and on his shoulder oneDid stay another, leaning, and all lean’dAgainst the cliff. E’en thus the blind and poor,Near the confessionals, to crave an alms,Stand, each his head upon his fellow’s sunk,So most to stir compassion, not by soundOf words alone, but that, which moves not less,The sight of mis’ry. And as never beamOf noonday visiteth the eyeless man,E’en so was heav’n a niggard unto theseOf his fair light; for, through the orbs of all,A thread of wire, impiercing, knits them up,As for the taming of a haggard hawk.It were a wrong, methought, to pass and lookOn others, yet myself the while unseen.To my sage counsel therefore did I turn.He knew the meaning of the mute appeal,Nor waited for my questioning, but said:“Speak; and be brief, be subtle in thy words.”On that part of the cornice, whence no rimEngarlands its steep fall, did Virgil come;On the’ other side me were the spirits, their cheeksBathing devout with penitential tears,That through the dread impalement forc’d a way.I turn’d me to them, and “O shades!” said I,“Assur’d that to your eyes unveil’d shall shineThe lofty light, sole object of your wish,So may heaven’s grace clear whatsoe’er of foamFloats turbid on the conscience, that thenceforthThe stream of mind roll limpid from its source,As ye declare (for so shall ye impartA boon I dearly prize) if any soulOf Latium dwell among ye; and perchanceThat soul may profit, if I learn so much.”“My brother, we are each one citizensOf one true city. Any thou wouldst say,Who lived a stranger in Italia’s land.”So heard I answering, as appeal’d, a voiceThat onward came some space from whence I stood.A spirit I noted, in whose look was mark’dExpectance. Ask ye how? The chin was rais’dAs in one reft of sight. “Spirit,” said I,“Who for thy rise are tutoring (if thou beThat which didst answer to me,) or by placeOr name, disclose thyself, that I may know thee.”“I was,” it answer’d, “of Sienna: hereI cleanse away with these the evil life,Soliciting with tears that He, who is,Vouchsafe him to us. Though Sapia nam’dIn sapience I excell’d not, gladder farOf others’ hurt, than of the good befell me.That thou mayst own I now deceive thee not,Hear, if my folly were not as I speak it.When now my years slop’d waning down the arch,It so bechanc’d, my fellow citizensNear Colle met their enemies in the field,And I pray’d God to grant what He had will’d.There were they vanquish’d, and betook themselvesUnto the bitter passages of flight.I mark’d the hunt, and waxing out of boundsIn gladness, lifted up my shameless brow,And like the merlin cheated by a gleam,Cried, “It is over. Heav’n! I fear thee not.”Upon my verge of life I wish’d for peaceWith God; nor repentance had suppliedWhat I did lack of duty, were it notThe hermit Piero, touch’d with charity,In his devout orisons thought on me.“But who art thou that question’st of our state,Who go’st to my belief, with lids unclos’d,And breathest in thy talk?”—“Mine eyes,” said I,“May yet be here ta’en from me; but not long;For they have not offended grievouslyWith envious glances. But the woe beneathUrges my soul with more exceeding dread.That nether load already weighs me down.”She thus: “Who then amongst us here aloftHath brought thee, if thou weenest to return?“He,” answer’d I, “who standeth mute beside me.I live: of me ask therefore, chosen spirit,If thou desire I yonder yet should moveFor thee my mortal feet.”—“Oh!” she replied,“This is so strange a thing, it is great signThat God doth love thee. Therefore with thy prayerSometime assist me: and by that I crave,Which most thou covetest, that if thy feetE’er tread on Tuscan soil, thou save my fameAmongst my kindred. Them shalt thou beholdWith that vain multitude, who set their hopeOn Telamone’s haven, there to failConfounded, more shall when the fancied streamThey sought of Dian call’d: but they who leadTheir navies, more than ruin’d hopes shall mourn.”
CANTO XIIIWe reach’d the summit of the scale, and stoodUpon the second buttress of that mountWhich healeth him who climbs. A cornice there,Like to the former, girdles round the hill;Save that its arch with sweep less ample bends.Shadow nor image there is seen; all smoothThe rampart and the path, reflecting noughtBut the rock’s sullen hue. “If here we waitFor some to question,” said the bard, “I fearOur choice may haply meet too long delay.”Then fixedly upon the sun his eyesHe fastn’d, made his right the central pointFrom whence to move, and turn’d the left aside.“O pleasant light, my confidence and hope,Conduct us thou,” he cried, “on this new way,Where now I venture, leading to the bournWe seek. The universal world to theeOwes warmth and lustre. If no other causeForbid, thy beams should ever be our guide.”Far, as is measur’d for a mile on earth,In brief space had we journey’d; such prompt willImpell’d; and towards us flying, now were heardSpirits invisible, who courteouslyUnto love’s table bade the welcome guest.The voice, that first? flew by, call’d forth aloud,“They have no wine;” so on behind us past,Those sounds reiterating, nor yet lostIn the faint distance, when another cameCrying, “I am Orestes,” and alikeWing’d its fleet way. “Oh father!” I exclaim’d,“What tongues are these?” and as I question’d, lo!A third exclaiming, “Love ye those have wrong’d you.”“This circuit,” said my teacher, “knots the scourgeFor envy, and the cords are therefore drawnBy charity’s correcting hand. The curbIs of a harsher sound, as thou shalt hear(If I deem rightly), ere thou reach the pass,Where pardon sets them free. But fix thine eyesIntently through the air, and thou shalt seeA multitude before thee seated, eachAlong the shelving grot.” Then more than erstI op’d my eyes, before me view’d, and sawShadows with garments dark as was the rock;And when we pass’d a little forth, I heardA crying, “Blessed Mary! pray for us,Michael and Peter! all ye saintly host!”I do not think there walks on earth this dayMan so remorseless, that he hath not yearn’dWith pity at the sight that next I saw.Mine eyes a load of sorrow teemed, when nowI stood so near them, that their semblancesCame clearly to my view. Of sackcloth vileTheir cov’ring seem’d; and on his shoulder oneDid stay another, leaning, and all lean’dAgainst the cliff. E’en thus the blind and poor,Near the confessionals, to crave an alms,Stand, each his head upon his fellow’s sunk,So most to stir compassion, not by soundOf words alone, but that, which moves not less,The sight of mis’ry. And as never beamOf noonday visiteth the eyeless man,E’en so was heav’n a niggard unto theseOf his fair light; for, through the orbs of all,A thread of wire, impiercing, knits them up,As for the taming of a haggard hawk.It were a wrong, methought, to pass and lookOn others, yet myself the while unseen.To my sage counsel therefore did I turn.He knew the meaning of the mute appeal,Nor waited for my questioning, but said:“Speak; and be brief, be subtle in thy words.”On that part of the cornice, whence no rimEngarlands its steep fall, did Virgil come;On the’ other side me were the spirits, their cheeksBathing devout with penitential tears,That through the dread impalement forc’d a way.I turn’d me to them, and “O shades!” said I,“Assur’d that to your eyes unveil’d shall shineThe lofty light, sole object of your wish,So may heaven’s grace clear whatsoe’er of foamFloats turbid on the conscience, that thenceforthThe stream of mind roll limpid from its source,As ye declare (for so shall ye impartA boon I dearly prize) if any soulOf Latium dwell among ye; and perchanceThat soul may profit, if I learn so much.”“My brother, we are each one citizensOf one true city. Any thou wouldst say,Who lived a stranger in Italia’s land.”So heard I answering, as appeal’d, a voiceThat onward came some space from whence I stood.A spirit I noted, in whose look was mark’dExpectance. Ask ye how? The chin was rais’dAs in one reft of sight. “Spirit,” said I,“Who for thy rise are tutoring (if thou beThat which didst answer to me,) or by placeOr name, disclose thyself, that I may know thee.”“I was,” it answer’d, “of Sienna: hereI cleanse away with these the evil life,Soliciting with tears that He, who is,Vouchsafe him to us. Though Sapia nam’dIn sapience I excell’d not, gladder farOf others’ hurt, than of the good befell me.That thou mayst own I now deceive thee not,Hear, if my folly were not as I speak it.When now my years slop’d waning down the arch,It so bechanc’d, my fellow citizensNear Colle met their enemies in the field,And I pray’d God to grant what He had will’d.There were they vanquish’d, and betook themselvesUnto the bitter passages of flight.I mark’d the hunt, and waxing out of boundsIn gladness, lifted up my shameless brow,And like the merlin cheated by a gleam,Cried, “It is over. Heav’n! I fear thee not.”Upon my verge of life I wish’d for peaceWith God; nor repentance had suppliedWhat I did lack of duty, were it notThe hermit Piero, touch’d with charity,In his devout orisons thought on me.“But who art thou that question’st of our state,Who go’st to my belief, with lids unclos’d,And breathest in thy talk?”—“Mine eyes,” said I,“May yet be here ta’en from me; but not long;For they have not offended grievouslyWith envious glances. But the woe beneathUrges my soul with more exceeding dread.That nether load already weighs me down.”She thus: “Who then amongst us here aloftHath brought thee, if thou weenest to return?“He,” answer’d I, “who standeth mute beside me.I live: of me ask therefore, chosen spirit,If thou desire I yonder yet should moveFor thee my mortal feet.”—“Oh!” she replied,“This is so strange a thing, it is great signThat God doth love thee. Therefore with thy prayerSometime assist me: and by that I crave,Which most thou covetest, that if thy feetE’er tread on Tuscan soil, thou save my fameAmongst my kindred. Them shalt thou beholdWith that vain multitude, who set their hopeOn Telamone’s haven, there to failConfounded, more shall when the fancied streamThey sought of Dian call’d: but they who leadTheir navies, more than ruin’d hopes shall mourn.”
We reach’d the summit of the scale, and stoodUpon the second buttress of that mountWhich healeth him who climbs. A cornice there,Like to the former, girdles round the hill;Save that its arch with sweep less ample bends.Shadow nor image there is seen; all smoothThe rampart and the path, reflecting noughtBut the rock’s sullen hue. “If here we waitFor some to question,” said the bard, “I fearOur choice may haply meet too long delay.”Then fixedly upon the sun his eyesHe fastn’d, made his right the central pointFrom whence to move, and turn’d the left aside.“O pleasant light, my confidence and hope,Conduct us thou,” he cried, “on this new way,Where now I venture, leading to the bournWe seek. The universal world to theeOwes warmth and lustre. If no other causeForbid, thy beams should ever be our guide.”Far, as is measur’d for a mile on earth,In brief space had we journey’d; such prompt willImpell’d; and towards us flying, now were heardSpirits invisible, who courteouslyUnto love’s table bade the welcome guest.The voice, that first? flew by, call’d forth aloud,“They have no wine;” so on behind us past,Those sounds reiterating, nor yet lostIn the faint distance, when another cameCrying, “I am Orestes,” and alikeWing’d its fleet way. “Oh father!” I exclaim’d,“What tongues are these?” and as I question’d, lo!A third exclaiming, “Love ye those have wrong’d you.”“This circuit,” said my teacher, “knots the scourgeFor envy, and the cords are therefore drawnBy charity’s correcting hand. The curbIs of a harsher sound, as thou shalt hear(If I deem rightly), ere thou reach the pass,Where pardon sets them free. But fix thine eyesIntently through the air, and thou shalt seeA multitude before thee seated, eachAlong the shelving grot.” Then more than erstI op’d my eyes, before me view’d, and sawShadows with garments dark as was the rock;And when we pass’d a little forth, I heardA crying, “Blessed Mary! pray for us,Michael and Peter! all ye saintly host!”I do not think there walks on earth this dayMan so remorseless, that he hath not yearn’dWith pity at the sight that next I saw.Mine eyes a load of sorrow teemed, when nowI stood so near them, that their semblancesCame clearly to my view. Of sackcloth vileTheir cov’ring seem’d; and on his shoulder oneDid stay another, leaning, and all lean’dAgainst the cliff. E’en thus the blind and poor,Near the confessionals, to crave an alms,Stand, each his head upon his fellow’s sunk,
So most to stir compassion, not by soundOf words alone, but that, which moves not less,The sight of mis’ry. And as never beamOf noonday visiteth the eyeless man,E’en so was heav’n a niggard unto theseOf his fair light; for, through the orbs of all,A thread of wire, impiercing, knits them up,As for the taming of a haggard hawk.It were a wrong, methought, to pass and lookOn others, yet myself the while unseen.To my sage counsel therefore did I turn.He knew the meaning of the mute appeal,Nor waited for my questioning, but said:“Speak; and be brief, be subtle in thy words.”On that part of the cornice, whence no rimEngarlands its steep fall, did Virgil come;On the’ other side me were the spirits, their cheeksBathing devout with penitential tears,That through the dread impalement forc’d a way.I turn’d me to them, and “O shades!” said I,“Assur’d that to your eyes unveil’d shall shineThe lofty light, sole object of your wish,So may heaven’s grace clear whatsoe’er of foamFloats turbid on the conscience, that thenceforthThe stream of mind roll limpid from its source,As ye declare (for so shall ye impartA boon I dearly prize) if any soulOf Latium dwell among ye; and perchanceThat soul may profit, if I learn so much.”“My brother, we are each one citizensOf one true city. Any thou wouldst say,Who lived a stranger in Italia’s land.”So heard I answering, as appeal’d, a voiceThat onward came some space from whence I stood.A spirit I noted, in whose look was mark’dExpectance. Ask ye how? The chin was rais’dAs in one reft of sight. “Spirit,” said I,“Who for thy rise are tutoring (if thou beThat which didst answer to me,) or by placeOr name, disclose thyself, that I may know thee.”“I was,” it answer’d, “of Sienna: hereI cleanse away with these the evil life,Soliciting with tears that He, who is,Vouchsafe him to us. Though Sapia nam’dIn sapience I excell’d not, gladder farOf others’ hurt, than of the good befell me.That thou mayst own I now deceive thee not,Hear, if my folly were not as I speak it.When now my years slop’d waning down the arch,It so bechanc’d, my fellow citizensNear Colle met their enemies in the field,And I pray’d God to grant what He had will’d.There were they vanquish’d, and betook themselvesUnto the bitter passages of flight.I mark’d the hunt, and waxing out of boundsIn gladness, lifted up my shameless brow,And like the merlin cheated by a gleam,Cried, “It is over. Heav’n! I fear thee not.”Upon my verge of life I wish’d for peaceWith God; nor repentance had suppliedWhat I did lack of duty, were it notThe hermit Piero, touch’d with charity,In his devout orisons thought on me.“But who art thou that question’st of our state,Who go’st to my belief, with lids unclos’d,And breathest in thy talk?”—“Mine eyes,” said I,“May yet be here ta’en from me; but not long;For they have not offended grievouslyWith envious glances. But the woe beneathUrges my soul with more exceeding dread.That nether load already weighs me down.”She thus: “Who then amongst us here aloftHath brought thee, if thou weenest to return?
“He,” answer’d I, “who standeth mute beside me.I live: of me ask therefore, chosen spirit,If thou desire I yonder yet should moveFor thee my mortal feet.”—“Oh!” she replied,“This is so strange a thing, it is great signThat God doth love thee. Therefore with thy prayerSometime assist me: and by that I crave,Which most thou covetest, that if thy feetE’er tread on Tuscan soil, thou save my fameAmongst my kindred. Them shalt thou beholdWith that vain multitude, who set their hopeOn Telamone’s haven, there to failConfounded, more shall when the fancied streamThey sought of Dian call’d: but they who leadTheir navies, more than ruin’d hopes shall mourn.”