PARADISE
CANTO IHis glory, by whose might all things are mov’d,Pierces the universe, and in one partSheds more resplendence, elsewhere less. In heav’n,That largeliest of his light partakes, was I,Witness of things, which to relate againSurpasseth power of him who comes from thence;For that, so near approaching its desireOur intellect is to such depth absorb’d,That memory cannot follow. Nathless all,That in my thoughts I of that sacred realmCould store, shall now be matter of my song.Benign Apollo! this last labour aid,And make me such a vessel of thy worth,As thy own laurel claims of me belov’d.Thus far hath one of steep Parnassus’ browsSuffic’d me; henceforth there is need of bothFor my remaining enterprise Do thouEnter into my bosom, and there breatheSo, as when Marsyas by thy hand was dragg’dForth from his limbs unsheath’d. O power divine!If thou to me of shine impart so much,That of that happy realm the shadow’d formTrac’d in my thoughts I may set forth to view,Thou shalt behold me of thy favour’d treeCome to the foot, and crown myself with leaves;For to that honour thou, and my high themeWill fit me. If but seldom, mighty Sire!To grace his triumph gathers thence a wreathCaesar or bard (more shame for human willsDeprav’d) joy to the Delphic god must springFrom the Pierian foliage, when one breastIs with such thirst inspir’d. From a small sparkGreat flame hath risen: after me perchanceOthers with better voice may pray, and gainFrom the Cirrhaean city answer kind.Through diver passages, the world’s bright lampRises to mortals, but through that which joinsFour circles with the threefold cross, in bestCourse, and in happiest constellation setHe comes, and to the worldly wax best givesIts temper and impression. Morning there,Here eve was by almost such passage made;And whiteness had o’erspread that hemisphere,Blackness the other part; when to the leftI saw Beatrice turn’d, and on the sunGazing, as never eagle fix’d his ken.As from the first a second beam is wontTo issue, and reflected upwards rise,E’en as a pilgrim bent on his return,So of her act, that through the eyesight pass’dInto my fancy, mine was form’d; and straight,Beyond our mortal wont, I fix’d mine eyesUpon the sun. Much is allowed us there,That here exceeds our pow’r; thanks to the placeMade for the dwelling of the human kindI suffer’d it not long, and yet so longThat I beheld it bick’ring sparks around,As iron that comes boiling from the fire.And suddenly upon the day appear’dA day new-ris’n, as he, who hath the power,Had with another sun bedeck’d the sky.Her eyes fast fix’d on the eternal wheels,Beatrice stood unmov’d; and I with kenFix’d upon her, from upward gaze remov’dAt her aspect, such inwardly becameAs Glaucus, when he tasted of the herb,That made him peer among the ocean gods;Words may not tell of that transhuman change:And therefore let the example serve, though weak,For those whom grace hath better proof in storeIf I were only what thou didst create,Then newly, Love! by whom the heav’n is rul’d,Thou know’st, who by thy light didst bear me up.Whenas the wheel which thou dost ever guide,Desired Spirit! with its harmonyTemper’d of thee and measur’d, charm’d mine ear,Then seem’d to me so much of heav’n to blazeWith the sun’s flame, that rain or flood ne’er madeA lake so broad. The newness of the sound,And that great light, inflam’d me with desire,Keener than e’er was felt, to know their cause.Whence she who saw me, clearly as myself,To calm my troubled mind, before I ask’d,Open’d her lips, and gracious thus began:“With false imagination thou thyselfMak’st dull, so that thou seest not the thing,Which thou hadst seen, had that been shaken off.Thou art not on the earth as thou believ’st;For light’ning scap’d from its own proper placeNe’er ran, as thou hast hither now return’d.”Although divested of my first-rais’d doubt,By those brief words, accompanied with smiles,Yet in new doubt was I entangled more,And said: “Already satisfied, I restFrom admiration deep, but now admireHow I above those lighter bodies rise.”Whence, after utt’rance of a piteous sigh,She tow’rds me bent her eyes, with such a look,As on her frenzied child a mother casts;Then thus began: “Among themselves all thingsHave order; and from hence the form, which makesThe universe resemble God. In thisThe higher creatures see the printed stepsOf that eternal worth, which is the endWhither the line is drawn. All natures lean,In this their order, diversely, some more,Some less approaching to their primal source.Thus they to different havens are mov’d onThrough the vast sea of being, and each oneWith instinct giv’n, that bears it in its course;This to the lunar sphere directs the fire,This prompts the hearts of mortal animals,This the brute earth together knits, and binds.Nor only creatures, void of intellect,Are aim’d at by this bow; but even those,That have intelligence and love, are pierc’d.That Providence, who so well orders all,With her own light makes ever calm the heaven,In which the substance, that hath greatest speed,Is turn’d: and thither now, as to our seatPredestin’d, we are carried by the forceOf that strong cord, that never looses dart,But at fair aim and glad. Yet is it true,That as ofttimes but ill accords the formTo the design of art, through sluggishnessOf unreplying matter, so this courseIs sometimes quitted by the creature, whoHath power, directed thus, to bend elsewhere;As from a cloud the fire is seen to fall,From its original impulse warp’d, to earth,By vicious fondness. Thou no more admireThy soaring, (if I rightly deem,) than lapseOf torrent downwards from a mountain’s height.There would in thee for wonder be more cause,If, free of hind’rance, thou hadst fix’d thyselfBelow, like fire unmoving on the earth.”So said, she turn’d toward the heav’n her face.
His glory, by whose might all things are mov’d,Pierces the universe, and in one partSheds more resplendence, elsewhere less. In heav’n,That largeliest of his light partakes, was I,Witness of things, which to relate againSurpasseth power of him who comes from thence;For that, so near approaching its desireOur intellect is to such depth absorb’d,That memory cannot follow. Nathless all,That in my thoughts I of that sacred realmCould store, shall now be matter of my song.Benign Apollo! this last labour aid,And make me such a vessel of thy worth,As thy own laurel claims of me belov’d.Thus far hath one of steep Parnassus’ browsSuffic’d me; henceforth there is need of bothFor my remaining enterprise Do thouEnter into my bosom, and there breatheSo, as when Marsyas by thy hand was dragg’dForth from his limbs unsheath’d. O power divine!If thou to me of shine impart so much,That of that happy realm the shadow’d formTrac’d in my thoughts I may set forth to view,Thou shalt behold me of thy favour’d treeCome to the foot, and crown myself with leaves;For to that honour thou, and my high themeWill fit me. If but seldom, mighty Sire!To grace his triumph gathers thence a wreathCaesar or bard (more shame for human willsDeprav’d) joy to the Delphic god must springFrom the Pierian foliage, when one breastIs with such thirst inspir’d. From a small sparkGreat flame hath risen: after me perchanceOthers with better voice may pray, and gainFrom the Cirrhaean city answer kind.Through diver passages, the world’s bright lampRises to mortals, but through that which joinsFour circles with the threefold cross, in bestCourse, and in happiest constellation setHe comes, and to the worldly wax best givesIts temper and impression. Morning there,Here eve was by almost such passage made;And whiteness had o’erspread that hemisphere,Blackness the other part; when to the leftI saw Beatrice turn’d, and on the sunGazing, as never eagle fix’d his ken.As from the first a second beam is wontTo issue, and reflected upwards rise,E’en as a pilgrim bent on his return,So of her act, that through the eyesight pass’dInto my fancy, mine was form’d; and straight,Beyond our mortal wont, I fix’d mine eyesUpon the sun. Much is allowed us there,That here exceeds our pow’r; thanks to the placeMade for the dwelling of the human kindI suffer’d it not long, and yet so longThat I beheld it bick’ring sparks around,As iron that comes boiling from the fire.And suddenly upon the day appear’dA day new-ris’n, as he, who hath the power,Had with another sun bedeck’d the sky.Her eyes fast fix’d on the eternal wheels,Beatrice stood unmov’d; and I with kenFix’d upon her, from upward gaze remov’dAt her aspect, such inwardly becameAs Glaucus, when he tasted of the herb,That made him peer among the ocean gods;Words may not tell of that transhuman change:And therefore let the example serve, though weak,For those whom grace hath better proof in storeIf I were only what thou didst create,Then newly, Love! by whom the heav’n is rul’d,Thou know’st, who by thy light didst bear me up.Whenas the wheel which thou dost ever guide,Desired Spirit! with its harmonyTemper’d of thee and measur’d, charm’d mine ear,Then seem’d to me so much of heav’n to blazeWith the sun’s flame, that rain or flood ne’er madeA lake so broad. The newness of the sound,And that great light, inflam’d me with desire,Keener than e’er was felt, to know their cause.Whence she who saw me, clearly as myself,To calm my troubled mind, before I ask’d,Open’d her lips, and gracious thus began:“With false imagination thou thyselfMak’st dull, so that thou seest not the thing,Which thou hadst seen, had that been shaken off.Thou art not on the earth as thou believ’st;For light’ning scap’d from its own proper placeNe’er ran, as thou hast hither now return’d.”Although divested of my first-rais’d doubt,By those brief words, accompanied with smiles,Yet in new doubt was I entangled more,And said: “Already satisfied, I restFrom admiration deep, but now admireHow I above those lighter bodies rise.”Whence, after utt’rance of a piteous sigh,She tow’rds me bent her eyes, with such a look,As on her frenzied child a mother casts;Then thus began: “Among themselves all thingsHave order; and from hence the form, which makesThe universe resemble God. In thisThe higher creatures see the printed stepsOf that eternal worth, which is the endWhither the line is drawn. All natures lean,In this their order, diversely, some more,Some less approaching to their primal source.Thus they to different havens are mov’d onThrough the vast sea of being, and each oneWith instinct giv’n, that bears it in its course;This to the lunar sphere directs the fire,This prompts the hearts of mortal animals,This the brute earth together knits, and binds.Nor only creatures, void of intellect,Are aim’d at by this bow; but even those,That have intelligence and love, are pierc’d.That Providence, who so well orders all,With her own light makes ever calm the heaven,In which the substance, that hath greatest speed,Is turn’d: and thither now, as to our seatPredestin’d, we are carried by the forceOf that strong cord, that never looses dart,But at fair aim and glad. Yet is it true,That as ofttimes but ill accords the formTo the design of art, through sluggishnessOf unreplying matter, so this courseIs sometimes quitted by the creature, whoHath power, directed thus, to bend elsewhere;As from a cloud the fire is seen to fall,From its original impulse warp’d, to earth,By vicious fondness. Thou no more admireThy soaring, (if I rightly deem,) than lapseOf torrent downwards from a mountain’s height.There would in thee for wonder be more cause,If, free of hind’rance, thou hadst fix’d thyselfBelow, like fire unmoving on the earth.”So said, she turn’d toward the heav’n her face.