CANTO XXVIINow was the sun so station’d, as when firstHis early radiance quivers on the heights,Where stream’d his Maker’s blood, while Libra hangsAbove Hesperian Ebro, and new firesMeridian flash on Ganges’ yellow tide.So day was sinking, when the’ angel of GodAppear’d before us. Joy was in his mien.Forth of the flame he stood upon the brink,And with a voice, whose lively clearness farSurpass’d our human, “Blessed are the pureIn heart,” he Sang: then near him as we came,“Go ye not further, holy spirits!” he cried,“Ere the fire pierce you: enter in; and listAttentive to the song ye hear from thence.”I, when I heard his saying, was as oneLaid in the grave. My hands together clasp’d,And upward stretching, on the fire I look’d,And busy fancy conjur’d up the formsErewhile beheld alive consum’d in flames.Th’ escorting spirits turn’d with gentle looksToward me, and the Mantuan spake: “My son,Here torment thou mayst feel, but canst not death.Remember thee, remember thee, if ISafe e’en on Geryon brought thee: now I comeMore near to God, wilt thou not trust me now?Of this be sure: though in its womb that flameA thousand years contain’d thee, from thy headNo hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth,Approach, and with thy hands thy vesture’s hemStretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief.Lay now all fear, O lay all fear aside.Turn hither, and come onward undismay’d.”I still, though conscience urg’d’ no step advanc’d.When still he saw me fix’d and obstinate,Somewhat disturb’d he cried: “Mark now, my son,From Beatrice thou art by this wallDivided.” As at Thisbe’s name the eyeOf Pyramus was open’d (when life ebb’dFast from his veins), and took one parting glance,While vermeil dyed the mulberry; thus I turn’dTo my sage guide, relenting, when I heardThe name, that springs forever in my breast.He shook his forehead; and, “How long,” he said,“Linger we now?” then smil’d, as one would smileUpon a child, that eyes the fruit and yields.Into the fire before me then he walk’d;And Statius, who erewhile no little spaceHad parted us, he pray’d to come behind.I would have cast me into molten glassTo cool me, when I enter’d; so intenseRag’d the conflagrant mass. The sire belov’d,To comfort me, as he proceeded, stillOf Beatrice talk’d. “Her eyes,” saith he,“E’en now I seem to view.” From the other sideA voice, that sang, did guide us, and the voiceFollowing, with heedful ear, we issued forth,There where the path led upward. “Come,” we heard,“Come, blessed of my Father.” Such the sounds,That hail’d us from within a light, which shoneSo radiant, I could not endure the view.“The sun,” it added, “hastes: and evening comes.Delay not: ere the western sky is hungWith blackness, strive ye for the pass.” Our wayUpright within the rock arose, and fac’dSuch part of heav’n, that from before my stepsThe beams were shrouded of the sinking sun.Nor many stairs were overpass, when nowBy fading of the shadow we perceiv’dThe sun behind us couch’d: and ere one faceOf darkness o’er its measureless expanseInvolv’d th’ horizon, and the night her lotHeld individual, each of us had madeA stair his pallet: not that will, but power,Had fail’d us, by the nature of that mountForbidden further travel. As the goats,That late have skipp’d and wanton’d rapidlyUpon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta’enTheir supper on the herb, now silent lieAnd ruminate beneath the umbrage brown,While noonday rages; and the goatherd leansUpon his staff, and leaning watches them:And as the swain, that lodges out all nightIn quiet by his flock, lest beast of preyDisperse them; even so all three abode,I as a goat and as the shepherds they,Close pent on either side by shelving rock.A little glimpse of sky was seen above;Yet by that little I beheld the starsIn magnitude and rustle shining forthWith more than wonted glory. As I lay,Gazing on them, and in that fit of musing,Sleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oftTidings of future hap. About the hour,As I believe, when Venus from the eastFirst lighten’d on the mountain, she whose orbSeems always glowing with the fire of love,A lady young and beautiful, I dream’d,Was passing o’er a lea; and, as she came,Methought I saw her ever and anonBending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang:“Know ye, whoever of my name would ask,That I am Leah: for my brow to weaveA garland, these fair hands unwearied ply.To please me at the crystal mirror, hereI deck me. But my sister Rachel, sheBefore her glass abides the livelong day,Her radiant eyes beholding, charm’d no less,Than I with this delightful task. Her joyIn contemplation, as in labour mine.”And now as glimm’ring dawn appear’d, that breaksMore welcome to the pilgrim still, as heSojourns less distant on his homeward way,Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fledMy slumber; whence I rose and saw my guideAlready risen. “That delicious fruit,Which through so many a branch the zealous careOf mortals roams in quest of, shall this dayAppease thy hunger.” Such the words I heardFrom Virgil’s lip; and never greeting heardSo pleasant as the sounds. Within me straightDesire so grew upon desire to mount,Thenceforward at each step I felt the wingsIncreasing for my flight. When we had runO’er all the ladder to its topmost round,As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fix’dHis eyes, and thus he spake: “Both fires, my son,The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen,And art arriv’d, where of itself my kenNo further reaches. I with skill and artThus far have drawn thee. Now thy pleasure takeFor guide. Thou hast o’ercome the steeper way,O’ercome the straighter. Lo! the sun, that dartsHis beam upon thy forehead! lo! the herb,The arboreta and flowers, which of itselfThis land pours forth profuse! Till those bright eyesWith gladness come, which, weeping, made me hasteTo succour thee, thou mayst or seat thee down,Or wander where thou wilt. Expect no moreSanction of warning voice or sign from me,Free of thy own arbitrement to choose,Discreet, judicious. To distrust thy senseWere henceforth error. I invest thee thenWith crown and mitre, sovereign o’er thyself.”
CANTO XXVIINow was the sun so station’d, as when firstHis early radiance quivers on the heights,Where stream’d his Maker’s blood, while Libra hangsAbove Hesperian Ebro, and new firesMeridian flash on Ganges’ yellow tide.So day was sinking, when the’ angel of GodAppear’d before us. Joy was in his mien.Forth of the flame he stood upon the brink,And with a voice, whose lively clearness farSurpass’d our human, “Blessed are the pureIn heart,” he Sang: then near him as we came,“Go ye not further, holy spirits!” he cried,“Ere the fire pierce you: enter in; and listAttentive to the song ye hear from thence.”I, when I heard his saying, was as oneLaid in the grave. My hands together clasp’d,And upward stretching, on the fire I look’d,And busy fancy conjur’d up the formsErewhile beheld alive consum’d in flames.Th’ escorting spirits turn’d with gentle looksToward me, and the Mantuan spake: “My son,Here torment thou mayst feel, but canst not death.Remember thee, remember thee, if ISafe e’en on Geryon brought thee: now I comeMore near to God, wilt thou not trust me now?Of this be sure: though in its womb that flameA thousand years contain’d thee, from thy headNo hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth,Approach, and with thy hands thy vesture’s hemStretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief.Lay now all fear, O lay all fear aside.Turn hither, and come onward undismay’d.”I still, though conscience urg’d’ no step advanc’d.When still he saw me fix’d and obstinate,Somewhat disturb’d he cried: “Mark now, my son,From Beatrice thou art by this wallDivided.” As at Thisbe’s name the eyeOf Pyramus was open’d (when life ebb’dFast from his veins), and took one parting glance,While vermeil dyed the mulberry; thus I turn’dTo my sage guide, relenting, when I heardThe name, that springs forever in my breast.He shook his forehead; and, “How long,” he said,“Linger we now?” then smil’d, as one would smileUpon a child, that eyes the fruit and yields.Into the fire before me then he walk’d;And Statius, who erewhile no little spaceHad parted us, he pray’d to come behind.I would have cast me into molten glassTo cool me, when I enter’d; so intenseRag’d the conflagrant mass. The sire belov’d,To comfort me, as he proceeded, stillOf Beatrice talk’d. “Her eyes,” saith he,“E’en now I seem to view.” From the other sideA voice, that sang, did guide us, and the voiceFollowing, with heedful ear, we issued forth,There where the path led upward. “Come,” we heard,“Come, blessed of my Father.” Such the sounds,That hail’d us from within a light, which shoneSo radiant, I could not endure the view.“The sun,” it added, “hastes: and evening comes.Delay not: ere the western sky is hungWith blackness, strive ye for the pass.” Our wayUpright within the rock arose, and fac’dSuch part of heav’n, that from before my stepsThe beams were shrouded of the sinking sun.Nor many stairs were overpass, when nowBy fading of the shadow we perceiv’dThe sun behind us couch’d: and ere one faceOf darkness o’er its measureless expanseInvolv’d th’ horizon, and the night her lotHeld individual, each of us had madeA stair his pallet: not that will, but power,Had fail’d us, by the nature of that mountForbidden further travel. As the goats,That late have skipp’d and wanton’d rapidlyUpon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta’enTheir supper on the herb, now silent lieAnd ruminate beneath the umbrage brown,While noonday rages; and the goatherd leansUpon his staff, and leaning watches them:And as the swain, that lodges out all nightIn quiet by his flock, lest beast of preyDisperse them; even so all three abode,I as a goat and as the shepherds they,Close pent on either side by shelving rock.A little glimpse of sky was seen above;Yet by that little I beheld the starsIn magnitude and rustle shining forthWith more than wonted glory. As I lay,Gazing on them, and in that fit of musing,Sleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oftTidings of future hap. About the hour,As I believe, when Venus from the eastFirst lighten’d on the mountain, she whose orbSeems always glowing with the fire of love,A lady young and beautiful, I dream’d,Was passing o’er a lea; and, as she came,Methought I saw her ever and anonBending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang:“Know ye, whoever of my name would ask,That I am Leah: for my brow to weaveA garland, these fair hands unwearied ply.To please me at the crystal mirror, hereI deck me. But my sister Rachel, sheBefore her glass abides the livelong day,Her radiant eyes beholding, charm’d no less,Than I with this delightful task. Her joyIn contemplation, as in labour mine.”And now as glimm’ring dawn appear’d, that breaksMore welcome to the pilgrim still, as heSojourns less distant on his homeward way,Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fledMy slumber; whence I rose and saw my guideAlready risen. “That delicious fruit,Which through so many a branch the zealous careOf mortals roams in quest of, shall this dayAppease thy hunger.” Such the words I heardFrom Virgil’s lip; and never greeting heardSo pleasant as the sounds. Within me straightDesire so grew upon desire to mount,Thenceforward at each step I felt the wingsIncreasing for my flight. When we had runO’er all the ladder to its topmost round,As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fix’dHis eyes, and thus he spake: “Both fires, my son,The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen,And art arriv’d, where of itself my kenNo further reaches. I with skill and artThus far have drawn thee. Now thy pleasure takeFor guide. Thou hast o’ercome the steeper way,O’ercome the straighter. Lo! the sun, that dartsHis beam upon thy forehead! lo! the herb,The arboreta and flowers, which of itselfThis land pours forth profuse! Till those bright eyesWith gladness come, which, weeping, made me hasteTo succour thee, thou mayst or seat thee down,Or wander where thou wilt. Expect no moreSanction of warning voice or sign from me,Free of thy own arbitrement to choose,Discreet, judicious. To distrust thy senseWere henceforth error. I invest thee thenWith crown and mitre, sovereign o’er thyself.”
Now was the sun so station’d, as when firstHis early radiance quivers on the heights,Where stream’d his Maker’s blood, while Libra hangsAbove Hesperian Ebro, and new firesMeridian flash on Ganges’ yellow tide.So day was sinking, when the’ angel of GodAppear’d before us. Joy was in his mien.Forth of the flame he stood upon the brink,And with a voice, whose lively clearness farSurpass’d our human, “Blessed are the pureIn heart,” he Sang: then near him as we came,“Go ye not further, holy spirits!” he cried,“Ere the fire pierce you: enter in; and listAttentive to the song ye hear from thence.”I, when I heard his saying, was as oneLaid in the grave. My hands together clasp’d,And upward stretching, on the fire I look’d,And busy fancy conjur’d up the formsErewhile beheld alive consum’d in flames.Th’ escorting spirits turn’d with gentle looksToward me, and the Mantuan spake: “My son,Here torment thou mayst feel, but canst not death.Remember thee, remember thee, if ISafe e’en on Geryon brought thee: now I comeMore near to God, wilt thou not trust me now?Of this be sure: though in its womb that flameA thousand years contain’d thee, from thy headNo hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth,Approach, and with thy hands thy vesture’s hemStretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief.Lay now all fear, O lay all fear aside.Turn hither, and come onward undismay’d.”I still, though conscience urg’d’ no step advanc’d.When still he saw me fix’d and obstinate,Somewhat disturb’d he cried: “Mark now, my son,From Beatrice thou art by this wallDivided.” As at Thisbe’s name the eyeOf Pyramus was open’d (when life ebb’dFast from his veins), and took one parting glance,While vermeil dyed the mulberry; thus I turn’dTo my sage guide, relenting, when I heardThe name, that springs forever in my breast.He shook his forehead; and, “How long,” he said,“Linger we now?” then smil’d, as one would smileUpon a child, that eyes the fruit and yields.Into the fire before me then he walk’d;And Statius, who erewhile no little spaceHad parted us, he pray’d to come behind.I would have cast me into molten glassTo cool me, when I enter’d; so intenseRag’d the conflagrant mass. The sire belov’d,To comfort me, as he proceeded, stillOf Beatrice talk’d. “Her eyes,” saith he,“E’en now I seem to view.” From the other sideA voice, that sang, did guide us, and the voiceFollowing, with heedful ear, we issued forth,There where the path led upward. “Come,” we heard,“Come, blessed of my Father.” Such the sounds,That hail’d us from within a light, which shoneSo radiant, I could not endure the view.“The sun,” it added, “hastes: and evening comes.Delay not: ere the western sky is hungWith blackness, strive ye for the pass.” Our wayUpright within the rock arose, and fac’dSuch part of heav’n, that from before my stepsThe beams were shrouded of the sinking sun.Nor many stairs were overpass, when nowBy fading of the shadow we perceiv’dThe sun behind us couch’d: and ere one faceOf darkness o’er its measureless expanseInvolv’d th’ horizon, and the night her lotHeld individual, each of us had madeA stair his pallet: not that will, but power,Had fail’d us, by the nature of that mountForbidden further travel. As the goats,That late have skipp’d and wanton’d rapidlyUpon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta’enTheir supper on the herb, now silent lieAnd ruminate beneath the umbrage brown,While noonday rages; and the goatherd leansUpon his staff, and leaning watches them:And as the swain, that lodges out all nightIn quiet by his flock, lest beast of preyDisperse them; even so all three abode,I as a goat and as the shepherds they,Close pent on either side by shelving rock.
A little glimpse of sky was seen above;Yet by that little I beheld the starsIn magnitude and rustle shining forthWith more than wonted glory. As I lay,Gazing on them, and in that fit of musing,Sleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oftTidings of future hap. About the hour,As I believe, when Venus from the eastFirst lighten’d on the mountain, she whose orbSeems always glowing with the fire of love,A lady young and beautiful, I dream’d,Was passing o’er a lea; and, as she came,Methought I saw her ever and anonBending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang:“Know ye, whoever of my name would ask,That I am Leah: for my brow to weaveA garland, these fair hands unwearied ply.To please me at the crystal mirror, hereI deck me. But my sister Rachel, sheBefore her glass abides the livelong day,Her radiant eyes beholding, charm’d no less,Than I with this delightful task. Her joyIn contemplation, as in labour mine.”And now as glimm’ring dawn appear’d, that breaksMore welcome to the pilgrim still, as heSojourns less distant on his homeward way,Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fledMy slumber; whence I rose and saw my guideAlready risen. “That delicious fruit,Which through so many a branch the zealous careOf mortals roams in quest of, shall this dayAppease thy hunger.” Such the words I heardFrom Virgil’s lip; and never greeting heardSo pleasant as the sounds. Within me straightDesire so grew upon desire to mount,Thenceforward at each step I felt the wingsIncreasing for my flight. When we had runO’er all the ladder to its topmost round,As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fix’dHis eyes, and thus he spake: “Both fires, my son,The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen,And art arriv’d, where of itself my kenNo further reaches. I with skill and artThus far have drawn thee. Now thy pleasure takeFor guide. Thou hast o’ercome the steeper way,O’ercome the straighter. Lo! the sun, that dartsHis beam upon thy forehead! lo! the herb,The arboreta and flowers, which of itselfThis land pours forth profuse! Till those bright eyesWith gladness come, which, weeping, made me hasteTo succour thee, thou mayst or seat thee down,Or wander where thou wilt. Expect no moreSanction of warning voice or sign from me,Free of thy own arbitrement to choose,Discreet, judicious. To distrust thy senseWere henceforth error. I invest thee thenWith crown and mitre, sovereign o’er thyself.”