CANTO XIXIt was the hour, when of diurnal heatNo reliques chafe the cold beams of the moon,O’erpower’d by earth, or planetary swayOf Saturn; and the geomancer seesHis Greater Fortune up the east ascend,Where gray dawn checkers first the shadowy cone;When ’fore me in my dream a woman’s shapeThere came, with lips that stammer’d, eyes aslant,Distorted feet, hands maim’d, and colour pale.I look’d upon her; and as sunshine cheersLimbs numb’d by nightly cold, e’en thus my lookUnloos’d her tongue, next in brief space her formDecrepit rais’d erect, and faded faceWith love’s own hue illum’d. Recov’ring speechShe forthwith warbling such a strain began,That I, how loth soe’er, could scarce have heldAttention from the song. “I,” thus she sang,“I am the Siren, she, whom marinersOn the wide sea are wilder’d when they hear:Such fulness of delight the list’ner feels.I from his course Ulysses by my layEnchanted drew. Whoe’er frequents me onceParts seldom; so I charm him, and his heartContented knows no void.” Or ere her mouthWas clos’d, to shame her at her side appear’dA dame of semblance holy. With stern voiceShe utter’d; “Say, O Virgil, who is this?”Which hearing, he approach’d, with eyes still bentToward that goodly presence: th’ other seiz’d her,And, her robes tearing, open’d her before,And show’d the belly to me, whence a smell,Exhaling loathsome, wak’d me. Round I turn’dMine eyes, and thus the teacher: “At the leastThree times my voice hath call’d thee. Rise, begone.Let us the opening find where thou mayst pass.”I straightway rose. Now day, pour’d down from high,Fill’d all the circuits of the sacred mount;And, as we journey’d, on our shoulder smoteThe early ray. I follow’d, stooping lowMy forehead, as a man, o’ercharg’d with thought,Who bends him to the likeness of an arch,That midway spans the flood; when thus I heard,“Come, enter here,” in tone so soft and mild,As never met the ear on mortal strand.With swan-like wings dispread and pointing up,Who thus had spoken marshal’d us along,Where each side of the solid masonryThe sloping, walls retir’d; then mov’d his plumes,And fanning us, affirm’d that those, who mourn,Are blessed, for that comfort shall be theirs.“What aileth thee, that still thou look’st to earth?”Began my leader; while th’ angelic shapeA little over us his station took.“New vision,” I replied, “hath rais’d in meSurmizings strange and anxious doubts, whereonMy soul intent allows no other thoughtOr room or entrance.”—“Hast thou seen,” said he,“That old enchantress, her, whose wiles aloneThe spirits o’er us weep for? Hast thou seenHow man may free him of her bonds? Enough.Let thy heels spurn the earth, and thy rais’d kenFix on the lure, which heav’n’s eternal KingWhirls in the rolling spheres.” As on his feetThe falcon first looks down, then to the skyTurns, and forth stretches eager for the food,That woos him thither; so the call I heard,So onward, far as the dividing rockGave way, I journey’d, till the plain was reach’d.On the fifth circle when I stood at large,A race appear’d before me, on the groundAll downward lying prone and weeping sore.“My soul hath cleaved to the dust,” I heardWith sighs so deep, they well nigh choak’d the words.“O ye elect of God, whose penal woesBoth hope and justice mitigate, directTow’rds the steep rising our uncertain way.”“If ye approach secure from this our doom,Prostration—and would urge your course with speed,See that ye still to rightward keep the brink.”So them the bard besought; and such the words,Beyond us some short space, in answer came.I noted what remain’d yet hidden from them:Thence to my liege’s eyes mine eyes I bent,And he, forthwith interpreting their suit,Beckon’d his glad assent. Free then to act,As pleas’d me, I drew near, and took my standO`er that shade, whose words I late had mark’d.And, “Spirit!” I said, “in whom repentant tearsMature that blessed hour, when thou with GodShalt find acceptance, for a while suspendFor me that mightier care. Say who thou wast,Why thus ye grovel on your bellies prone,And if in aught ye wish my service there,Whence living I am come.” He answering spake“The cause why Heav’n our back toward his copeReverses, shalt thou know: but me know firstThe successor of Peter, and the nameAnd title of my lineage from that stream,That’ twixt Chiaveri and Siestri drawsHis limpid waters through the lowly glen.A month and little more by proof I learnt,With what a weight that robe of sov’reigntyUpon his shoulder rests, who from the mireWould guard it: that each other fardel seemsBut feathers in the balance. Late, alas!Was my conversion: but when I becameRome’s pastor, I discern’d at once the dreamAnd cozenage of life, saw that the heartRested not there, and yet no prouder heightLur’d on the climber: wherefore, of that lifeNo more enamour’d, in my bosom loveOf purer being kindled. For till thenI was a soul in misery, alienateFrom God, and covetous of all earthly things;Now, as thou seest, here punish’d for my doting.Such cleansing from the taint of avariceDo spirits converted need. This mount inflictsNo direr penalty. E’en as our eyesFasten’d below, nor e’er to loftier climeWere lifted, thus hath justice level’d usHere on the earth. As avarice quench’d our loveOf good, without which is no working, thusHere justice holds us prison’d, hand and footChain’d down and bound, while heaven’s just Lord shall please.So long to tarry motionless outstretch’d.”My knees I stoop’d, and would have spoke; but he,Ere my beginning, by his ear perceiv’dI did him reverence; and “What cause,” said he,“Hath bow’d thee thus!”—“Compunction,” I rejoin’d.“And inward awe of your high dignity.”“Up,” he exclaim’d, “brother! upon thy feetArise: err not: thy fellow servant I,(Thine and all others’) of one Sovran Power.If thou hast ever mark’d those holy soundsOf gospel truth, ‘nor shall be given ill marriage,’Thou mayst discern the reasons of my speech.Go thy ways now; and linger here no more.Thy tarrying is a let unto the tears,With which I hasten that whereof thou spak’st.I have on earth a kinswoman; her nameAlagia, worthy in herself, so illExample of our house corrupt her not:And she is all remaineth of me there.”
CANTO XIXIt was the hour, when of diurnal heatNo reliques chafe the cold beams of the moon,O’erpower’d by earth, or planetary swayOf Saturn; and the geomancer seesHis Greater Fortune up the east ascend,Where gray dawn checkers first the shadowy cone;When ’fore me in my dream a woman’s shapeThere came, with lips that stammer’d, eyes aslant,Distorted feet, hands maim’d, and colour pale.I look’d upon her; and as sunshine cheersLimbs numb’d by nightly cold, e’en thus my lookUnloos’d her tongue, next in brief space her formDecrepit rais’d erect, and faded faceWith love’s own hue illum’d. Recov’ring speechShe forthwith warbling such a strain began,That I, how loth soe’er, could scarce have heldAttention from the song. “I,” thus she sang,“I am the Siren, she, whom marinersOn the wide sea are wilder’d when they hear:Such fulness of delight the list’ner feels.I from his course Ulysses by my layEnchanted drew. Whoe’er frequents me onceParts seldom; so I charm him, and his heartContented knows no void.” Or ere her mouthWas clos’d, to shame her at her side appear’dA dame of semblance holy. With stern voiceShe utter’d; “Say, O Virgil, who is this?”Which hearing, he approach’d, with eyes still bentToward that goodly presence: th’ other seiz’d her,And, her robes tearing, open’d her before,And show’d the belly to me, whence a smell,Exhaling loathsome, wak’d me. Round I turn’dMine eyes, and thus the teacher: “At the leastThree times my voice hath call’d thee. Rise, begone.Let us the opening find where thou mayst pass.”I straightway rose. Now day, pour’d down from high,Fill’d all the circuits of the sacred mount;And, as we journey’d, on our shoulder smoteThe early ray. I follow’d, stooping lowMy forehead, as a man, o’ercharg’d with thought,Who bends him to the likeness of an arch,That midway spans the flood; when thus I heard,“Come, enter here,” in tone so soft and mild,As never met the ear on mortal strand.With swan-like wings dispread and pointing up,Who thus had spoken marshal’d us along,Where each side of the solid masonryThe sloping, walls retir’d; then mov’d his plumes,And fanning us, affirm’d that those, who mourn,Are blessed, for that comfort shall be theirs.“What aileth thee, that still thou look’st to earth?”Began my leader; while th’ angelic shapeA little over us his station took.“New vision,” I replied, “hath rais’d in meSurmizings strange and anxious doubts, whereonMy soul intent allows no other thoughtOr room or entrance.”—“Hast thou seen,” said he,“That old enchantress, her, whose wiles aloneThe spirits o’er us weep for? Hast thou seenHow man may free him of her bonds? Enough.Let thy heels spurn the earth, and thy rais’d kenFix on the lure, which heav’n’s eternal KingWhirls in the rolling spheres.” As on his feetThe falcon first looks down, then to the skyTurns, and forth stretches eager for the food,That woos him thither; so the call I heard,So onward, far as the dividing rockGave way, I journey’d, till the plain was reach’d.On the fifth circle when I stood at large,A race appear’d before me, on the groundAll downward lying prone and weeping sore.“My soul hath cleaved to the dust,” I heardWith sighs so deep, they well nigh choak’d the words.“O ye elect of God, whose penal woesBoth hope and justice mitigate, directTow’rds the steep rising our uncertain way.”“If ye approach secure from this our doom,Prostration—and would urge your course with speed,See that ye still to rightward keep the brink.”So them the bard besought; and such the words,Beyond us some short space, in answer came.I noted what remain’d yet hidden from them:Thence to my liege’s eyes mine eyes I bent,And he, forthwith interpreting their suit,Beckon’d his glad assent. Free then to act,As pleas’d me, I drew near, and took my standO`er that shade, whose words I late had mark’d.And, “Spirit!” I said, “in whom repentant tearsMature that blessed hour, when thou with GodShalt find acceptance, for a while suspendFor me that mightier care. Say who thou wast,Why thus ye grovel on your bellies prone,And if in aught ye wish my service there,Whence living I am come.” He answering spake“The cause why Heav’n our back toward his copeReverses, shalt thou know: but me know firstThe successor of Peter, and the nameAnd title of my lineage from that stream,That’ twixt Chiaveri and Siestri drawsHis limpid waters through the lowly glen.A month and little more by proof I learnt,With what a weight that robe of sov’reigntyUpon his shoulder rests, who from the mireWould guard it: that each other fardel seemsBut feathers in the balance. Late, alas!Was my conversion: but when I becameRome’s pastor, I discern’d at once the dreamAnd cozenage of life, saw that the heartRested not there, and yet no prouder heightLur’d on the climber: wherefore, of that lifeNo more enamour’d, in my bosom loveOf purer being kindled. For till thenI was a soul in misery, alienateFrom God, and covetous of all earthly things;Now, as thou seest, here punish’d for my doting.Such cleansing from the taint of avariceDo spirits converted need. This mount inflictsNo direr penalty. E’en as our eyesFasten’d below, nor e’er to loftier climeWere lifted, thus hath justice level’d usHere on the earth. As avarice quench’d our loveOf good, without which is no working, thusHere justice holds us prison’d, hand and footChain’d down and bound, while heaven’s just Lord shall please.So long to tarry motionless outstretch’d.”My knees I stoop’d, and would have spoke; but he,Ere my beginning, by his ear perceiv’dI did him reverence; and “What cause,” said he,“Hath bow’d thee thus!”—“Compunction,” I rejoin’d.“And inward awe of your high dignity.”“Up,” he exclaim’d, “brother! upon thy feetArise: err not: thy fellow servant I,(Thine and all others’) of one Sovran Power.If thou hast ever mark’d those holy soundsOf gospel truth, ‘nor shall be given ill marriage,’Thou mayst discern the reasons of my speech.Go thy ways now; and linger here no more.Thy tarrying is a let unto the tears,With which I hasten that whereof thou spak’st.I have on earth a kinswoman; her nameAlagia, worthy in herself, so illExample of our house corrupt her not:And she is all remaineth of me there.”
It was the hour, when of diurnal heatNo reliques chafe the cold beams of the moon,O’erpower’d by earth, or planetary swayOf Saturn; and the geomancer seesHis Greater Fortune up the east ascend,Where gray dawn checkers first the shadowy cone;When ’fore me in my dream a woman’s shapeThere came, with lips that stammer’d, eyes aslant,Distorted feet, hands maim’d, and colour pale.I look’d upon her; and as sunshine cheersLimbs numb’d by nightly cold, e’en thus my lookUnloos’d her tongue, next in brief space her formDecrepit rais’d erect, and faded faceWith love’s own hue illum’d. Recov’ring speechShe forthwith warbling such a strain began,That I, how loth soe’er, could scarce have heldAttention from the song. “I,” thus she sang,“I am the Siren, she, whom marinersOn the wide sea are wilder’d when they hear:Such fulness of delight the list’ner feels.I from his course Ulysses by my layEnchanted drew. Whoe’er frequents me onceParts seldom; so I charm him, and his heartContented knows no void.” Or ere her mouthWas clos’d, to shame her at her side appear’dA dame of semblance holy. With stern voiceShe utter’d; “Say, O Virgil, who is this?”Which hearing, he approach’d, with eyes still bentToward that goodly presence: th’ other seiz’d her,And, her robes tearing, open’d her before,And show’d the belly to me, whence a smell,Exhaling loathsome, wak’d me. Round I turn’dMine eyes, and thus the teacher: “At the leastThree times my voice hath call’d thee. Rise, begone.Let us the opening find where thou mayst pass.”I straightway rose. Now day, pour’d down from high,Fill’d all the circuits of the sacred mount;And, as we journey’d, on our shoulder smoteThe early ray. I follow’d, stooping lowMy forehead, as a man, o’ercharg’d with thought,Who bends him to the likeness of an arch,That midway spans the flood; when thus I heard,“Come, enter here,” in tone so soft and mild,As never met the ear on mortal strand.With swan-like wings dispread and pointing up,Who thus had spoken marshal’d us along,Where each side of the solid masonryThe sloping, walls retir’d; then mov’d his plumes,And fanning us, affirm’d that those, who mourn,Are blessed, for that comfort shall be theirs.“What aileth thee, that still thou look’st to earth?”Began my leader; while th’ angelic shapeA little over us his station took.
“New vision,” I replied, “hath rais’d in meSurmizings strange and anxious doubts, whereonMy soul intent allows no other thoughtOr room or entrance.”—“Hast thou seen,” said he,“That old enchantress, her, whose wiles aloneThe spirits o’er us weep for? Hast thou seenHow man may free him of her bonds? Enough.Let thy heels spurn the earth, and thy rais’d kenFix on the lure, which heav’n’s eternal KingWhirls in the rolling spheres.” As on his feetThe falcon first looks down, then to the skyTurns, and forth stretches eager for the food,That woos him thither; so the call I heard,So onward, far as the dividing rockGave way, I journey’d, till the plain was reach’d.On the fifth circle when I stood at large,A race appear’d before me, on the groundAll downward lying prone and weeping sore.“My soul hath cleaved to the dust,” I heardWith sighs so deep, they well nigh choak’d the words.“O ye elect of God, whose penal woesBoth hope and justice mitigate, directTow’rds the steep rising our uncertain way.”“If ye approach secure from this our doom,Prostration—and would urge your course with speed,See that ye still to rightward keep the brink.”So them the bard besought; and such the words,Beyond us some short space, in answer came.I noted what remain’d yet hidden from them:Thence to my liege’s eyes mine eyes I bent,And he, forthwith interpreting their suit,Beckon’d his glad assent. Free then to act,As pleas’d me, I drew near, and took my standO`er that shade, whose words I late had mark’d.And, “Spirit!” I said, “in whom repentant tearsMature that blessed hour, when thou with GodShalt find acceptance, for a while suspendFor me that mightier care. Say who thou wast,Why thus ye grovel on your bellies prone,And if in aught ye wish my service there,Whence living I am come.” He answering spake“The cause why Heav’n our back toward his copeReverses, shalt thou know: but me know firstThe successor of Peter, and the nameAnd title of my lineage from that stream,That’ twixt Chiaveri and Siestri drawsHis limpid waters through the lowly glen.A month and little more by proof I learnt,With what a weight that robe of sov’reigntyUpon his shoulder rests, who from the mireWould guard it: that each other fardel seemsBut feathers in the balance. Late, alas!Was my conversion: but when I becameRome’s pastor, I discern’d at once the dreamAnd cozenage of life, saw that the heartRested not there, and yet no prouder heightLur’d on the climber: wherefore, of that lifeNo more enamour’d, in my bosom loveOf purer being kindled. For till thenI was a soul in misery, alienateFrom God, and covetous of all earthly things;Now, as thou seest, here punish’d for my doting.Such cleansing from the taint of avariceDo spirits converted need. This mount inflictsNo direr penalty. E’en as our eyesFasten’d below, nor e’er to loftier climeWere lifted, thus hath justice level’d usHere on the earth. As avarice quench’d our loveOf good, without which is no working, thusHere justice holds us prison’d, hand and footChain’d down and bound, while heaven’s just Lord shall please.So long to tarry motionless outstretch’d.”My knees I stoop’d, and would have spoke; but he,Ere my beginning, by his ear perceiv’dI did him reverence; and “What cause,” said he,“Hath bow’d thee thus!”—“Compunction,” I rejoin’d.“And inward awe of your high dignity.”
“Up,” he exclaim’d, “brother! upon thy feetArise: err not: thy fellow servant I,(Thine and all others’) of one Sovran Power.If thou hast ever mark’d those holy soundsOf gospel truth, ‘nor shall be given ill marriage,’Thou mayst discern the reasons of my speech.Go thy ways now; and linger here no more.Thy tarrying is a let unto the tears,With which I hasten that whereof thou spak’st.I have on earth a kinswoman; her nameAlagia, worthy in herself, so illExample of our house corrupt her not:And she is all remaineth of me there.”