CANTO XXXNoon’s fervid hour perchance six thousand milesFrom hence is distant; and the shadowy coneAlmost to level on our earth declines;When from the midmost of this blue abyssBy turns some star is to our vision lost.And straightway as the handmaid of the sunPuts forth her radiant brow, all, light by light,Fade, and the spangled firmament shuts in,E’en to the loveliest of the glittering throng.Thus vanish’d gradually from my sightThe triumph, which plays ever round the point,That overcame me, seeming (for it did)Engirt by that it girdeth. Wherefore love,With loss of other object, forc’d me bendMine eyes on Beatrice once again.If all, that hitherto is told of her,Were in one praise concluded, ’t were too weakTo furnish out this turn. Mine eyes did lookOn beauty, such, as I believe in sooth,Not merely to exceed our human, but,That save its Maker, none can to the fullEnjoy it. At this point o’erpower’d I fail,Unequal to my theme, as never bardOf buskin or of sock hath fail’d before.For, as the sun doth to the feeblest sight,E’en so remembrance of that witching smileHath dispossess my spirit of itself.Not from that day, when on this earth I firstBeheld her charms, up to that view of them,Have I with song applausive ever ceas’dTo follow, but not follow them no more;My course here bounded, as each artist’s is,When it doth touch the limit of his skill.She (such as I bequeath her to the bruitOf louder trump than mine, which hasteneth on,Urging its arduous matter to the close),Her words resum’d, in gesture and in voiceResembling one accustom’d to command:“Forth from the last corporeal are we comeInto the heav’n, that is unbodied light,Light intellectual replete with love,Love of true happiness replete with joy,Joy, that transcends all sweetness of delight.Here shalt thou look on either mighty hostOf Paradise; and one in that array,Which in the final judgment thou shalt see.”As when the lightning, in a sudden spleenUnfolded, dashes from the blinding eyesThe visive spirits dazzled and bedimm’d;So, round about me, fulminating streamsOf living radiance play’d, and left me swath’dAnd veil’d in dense impenetrable blaze.Such weal is in the love, that stills this heav’n;For its own flame the torch this fitting ever!No sooner to my list’ning ear had comeThe brief assurance, than I understoodNew virtue into me infus’d, and sightKindled afresh, with vigour to sustainExcess of light, however pure. I look’d;And in the likeness of a river sawLight flowing, from whose amber-seeming wavesFlash’d up effulgence, as they glided on’Twixt banks, on either side, painted with spring,Incredible how fair; and, from the tide,There ever and anon, outstarting, flewSparkles instinct with life; and in the flow’rsDid set them, like to rubies chas’d in gold;Then, as if drunk with odors, plung’d againInto the wondrous flood; from which, as oneRe’enter’d, still another rose. “The thirstOf knowledge high, whereby thou art inflam’d,To search the meaning of what here thou seest,The more it warms thee, pleases me the more.But first behooves thee of this water drink,Or ere that longing be allay’d.” So spakeThe day-star of mine eyes; then thus subjoin’d:“This stream, and these, forth issuing from its gulf,And diving back, a living topaz each,With all this laughter on its bloomy shores,Are but a preface, shadowy of the truthThey emblem: not that, in themselves, the thingsAre crude; but on thy part is the defect,For that thy views not yet aspire so high.”Never did babe, that had outslept his wont,Rush, with such eager straining, to the milk,As I toward the water, bending me,To make the better mirrors of mine eyesIn the refining wave; and, as the eavesOf mine eyelids did drink of it, forthwithSeem’d it unto me turn’d from length to round,Then as a troop of maskers, when they putTheir vizors off, look other than before,The counterfeited semblance thrown aside;So into greater jubilee were chang’dThose flowers and sparkles, and distinct I sawBefore me either court of heav’n displac’d.O prime enlightener! thou who crav’st me strengthOn the high triumph of thy realm to gaze!Grant virtue now to utter what I kenn’d,There is in heav’n a light, whose goodly shineMakes the Creator visible to allCreated, that in seeing him aloneHave peace; and in a circle spreads so far,That the circumference were too loose a zoneTo girdle in the sun. All is one beam,Reflected from the summit of the first,That moves, which being hence and vigour takes,And as some cliff, that from the bottom eyesIts image mirror’d in the crystal flood,As if t’ admire its brave apparelingOf verdure and of flowers: so, round about,Eyeing the light, on more than million thrones,Stood, eminent, whatever from our earthHas to the skies return’d. How wide the leavesExtended to their utmost of this rose,Whose lowest step embosoms such a spaceOf ample radiance! Yet, nor amplitudeNor height impeded, but my view with easeTook in the full dimensions of that joy.Near or remote, what there avails, where GodImmediate rules, and Nature, awed, suspendsHer sway? Into the yellow of the rosePerennial, which in bright expansiveness,Lays forth its gradual blooming, redolentOf praises to the never-wint’ring sun,As one, who fain would speak yet holds his peace,Beatrice led me; and, “Behold,” she said,“This fair assemblage! stoles of snowy whiteHow numberless! The city, where we dwell,Behold how vast! and these our seats so throng’dFew now are wanting here! In that proud stall,On which, the crown, already o’er its stateSuspended, holds thine eyes—or ere thyselfMayst at the wedding sup,—shall rest the soulOf the great Harry, he who, by the worldAugustas hail’d, to Italy must come,Before her day be ripe. But ye are sick,And in your tetchy wantonness as blind,As is the bantling, that of hunger dies,And drives away the nurse. Nor may it be,That he, who in the sacred forum sways,Openly or in secret, shall with himAccordant walk: Whom God will not endureI’ th’ holy office long; but thrust him downTo Simon Magus, where Magna’s priestWill sink beneath him: such will be his meed.”
Noon’s fervid hour perchance six thousand milesFrom hence is distant; and the shadowy coneAlmost to level on our earth declines;When from the midmost of this blue abyssBy turns some star is to our vision lost.And straightway as the handmaid of the sunPuts forth her radiant brow, all, light by light,Fade, and the spangled firmament shuts in,E’en to the loveliest of the glittering throng.Thus vanish’d gradually from my sightThe triumph, which plays ever round the point,That overcame me, seeming (for it did)Engirt by that it girdeth. Wherefore love,With loss of other object, forc’d me bendMine eyes on Beatrice once again.If all, that hitherto is told of her,Were in one praise concluded, ’t were too weakTo furnish out this turn. Mine eyes did lookOn beauty, such, as I believe in sooth,Not merely to exceed our human, but,That save its Maker, none can to the fullEnjoy it. At this point o’erpower’d I fail,Unequal to my theme, as never bardOf buskin or of sock hath fail’d before.For, as the sun doth to the feeblest sight,E’en so remembrance of that witching smileHath dispossess my spirit of itself.Not from that day, when on this earth I firstBeheld her charms, up to that view of them,Have I with song applausive ever ceas’dTo follow, but not follow them no more;My course here bounded, as each artist’s is,When it doth touch the limit of his skill.She (such as I bequeath her to the bruitOf louder trump than mine, which hasteneth on,Urging its arduous matter to the close),Her words resum’d, in gesture and in voiceResembling one accustom’d to command:“Forth from the last corporeal are we comeInto the heav’n, that is unbodied light,Light intellectual replete with love,Love of true happiness replete with joy,Joy, that transcends all sweetness of delight.Here shalt thou look on either mighty hostOf Paradise; and one in that array,Which in the final judgment thou shalt see.”As when the lightning, in a sudden spleenUnfolded, dashes from the blinding eyesThe visive spirits dazzled and bedimm’d;So, round about me, fulminating streamsOf living radiance play’d, and left me swath’dAnd veil’d in dense impenetrable blaze.Such weal is in the love, that stills this heav’n;For its own flame the torch this fitting ever!No sooner to my list’ning ear had comeThe brief assurance, than I understoodNew virtue into me infus’d, and sightKindled afresh, with vigour to sustainExcess of light, however pure. I look’d;And in the likeness of a river sawLight flowing, from whose amber-seeming wavesFlash’d up effulgence, as they glided on’Twixt banks, on either side, painted with spring,Incredible how fair; and, from the tide,There ever and anon, outstarting, flewSparkles instinct with life; and in the flow’rsDid set them, like to rubies chas’d in gold;Then, as if drunk with odors, plung’d againInto the wondrous flood; from which, as oneRe’enter’d, still another rose. “The thirstOf knowledge high, whereby thou art inflam’d,To search the meaning of what here thou seest,The more it warms thee, pleases me the more.But first behooves thee of this water drink,Or ere that longing be allay’d.” So spakeThe day-star of mine eyes; then thus subjoin’d:“This stream, and these, forth issuing from its gulf,And diving back, a living topaz each,With all this laughter on its bloomy shores,Are but a preface, shadowy of the truthThey emblem: not that, in themselves, the thingsAre crude; but on thy part is the defect,For that thy views not yet aspire so high.”Never did babe, that had outslept his wont,Rush, with such eager straining, to the milk,As I toward the water, bending me,To make the better mirrors of mine eyesIn the refining wave; and, as the eavesOf mine eyelids did drink of it, forthwithSeem’d it unto me turn’d from length to round,Then as a troop of maskers, when they putTheir vizors off, look other than before,The counterfeited semblance thrown aside;So into greater jubilee were chang’dThose flowers and sparkles, and distinct I sawBefore me either court of heav’n displac’d.O prime enlightener! thou who crav’st me strengthOn the high triumph of thy realm to gaze!Grant virtue now to utter what I kenn’d,There is in heav’n a light, whose goodly shineMakes the Creator visible to allCreated, that in seeing him aloneHave peace; and in a circle spreads so far,That the circumference were too loose a zoneTo girdle in the sun. All is one beam,Reflected from the summit of the first,That moves, which being hence and vigour takes,And as some cliff, that from the bottom eyesIts image mirror’d in the crystal flood,As if t’ admire its brave apparelingOf verdure and of flowers: so, round about,Eyeing the light, on more than million thrones,Stood, eminent, whatever from our earthHas to the skies return’d. How wide the leavesExtended to their utmost of this rose,Whose lowest step embosoms such a spaceOf ample radiance! Yet, nor amplitudeNor height impeded, but my view with easeTook in the full dimensions of that joy.Near or remote, what there avails, where GodImmediate rules, and Nature, awed, suspendsHer sway? Into the yellow of the rosePerennial, which in bright expansiveness,Lays forth its gradual blooming, redolentOf praises to the never-wint’ring sun,As one, who fain would speak yet holds his peace,Beatrice led me; and, “Behold,” she said,“This fair assemblage! stoles of snowy whiteHow numberless! The city, where we dwell,Behold how vast! and these our seats so throng’dFew now are wanting here! In that proud stall,On which, the crown, already o’er its stateSuspended, holds thine eyes—or ere thyselfMayst at the wedding sup,—shall rest the soulOf the great Harry, he who, by the worldAugustas hail’d, to Italy must come,Before her day be ripe. But ye are sick,And in your tetchy wantonness as blind,As is the bantling, that of hunger dies,And drives away the nurse. Nor may it be,That he, who in the sacred forum sways,Openly or in secret, shall with himAccordant walk: Whom God will not endureI’ th’ holy office long; but thrust him downTo Simon Magus, where Magna’s priestWill sink beneath him: such will be his meed.”