"Those, in the eye who live the first and fifth, Cause thee to marvel, in that thou behold'st The region of the angels deck'd with them. They quitted not their bodies, as thou deem'st, Gentiles but Christians, in firm rooted faith, This of the feet in future to be pierc'd,
That of feet nail'd already to the cross. One from the barrier of the dark abyss, Where never any with good will returns, Came back unto his bones. Of lively hope
Such was the meed; of lively hope, that wing'd The prayers sent up to God for his release, And put power into them to bend his will.
The glorious Spirit, of whom I speak to thee,
A little while returning to the flesh,
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Believ'd in him, who had the means to help,
And, in believing, nourish'd such a flame
Of holy love, that at the second death
He was made sharer in our gamesome mirth. The other, through the riches of that grace, Which from so deep a fountain doth distil, As never eye created saw its rising,
Plac'd all his love below on just and right: Wherefore of grace God op'd in him the eye To the redemption of mankind to come; Wherein believing, he endur'd no more
The filth of paganism, and for their ways
Rebuk'd the stubborn nations. The three nymphs, Whom at the right wheel thou beheldst advancing, Were sponsors for him more than thousand years Before baptizing. O how far remov'd, Predestination! is thy root from such
As see not the First cause entire: and ye, O mortal men! be wary how ye judge:
For we, who see our Maker, know not yet The number of the chosen: and esteem Such scantiness of knowledge our delight: For all our good is in that primal good
Concentrate, and God's will and ours are one."
So, by that form divine, was giv'n to me Sweet medicine to clear and strengthen sight, And, as one handling skillfully the harp,
Attendant on some skilful songster's voice
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Bids the chords vibrate, and therein the song Acquires more pleasure; so, the whilst it spake, It doth remember me, that I beheld
The pair of blessed luminaries move.
Like the accordant twinkling of two eyes, Their beamy circlets, dancing to the sounds.
CANTO XXI
Again mine eyes were fix'd on Beatrice,
And with mine eyes my soul, that in her looks
Found all contentment. Yet no smile she wore
And, "Did I smile," quoth she, "thou wouldst be straight
Like Semele when into ashes turn'd:
For, mounting these eternal palace-stairs, My beauty, which the loftier it climbs,
As thou hast noted, still doth kindle more,
So shines, that, were no temp'ring interpos'd, Thy mortal puissance would from its rays Shrink, as the leaf doth from the thunderbolt. Into the seventh splendour are we wafted, That underneath the burning lion's breast
Beams, in this hour, commingled with his might, Thy mind be with thine eyes: and in them mirror'd
The shape, which in this mirror shall be shown."
Whoso can deem, how fondly I had fed
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My sight upon her blissful countenance,
May know, when to new thoughts I chang'd, what joy
To do the bidding of my heav'nly guide: In equal balance poising either weight.
Within the crystal, which records the name, (As its remoter circle girds the world)
Of that lov'd monarch, in whose happy reign
No ill had power to harm, I saw rear'd up, In colour like to sun-illumin'd gold.
A ladder, which my ken pursued in vain,
So lofty was the summit; down whose steps I saw the splendours in such multitude Descending, ev'ry light in heav'n, methought, Was shed thence. As the rooks, at dawn of day Bestirring them to dry their feathers chill,
Some speed their way a-field, and homeward some, Returning, cross their flight, while some abide
And wheel around their airy lodge; so seem'd
That glitterance, wafted on alternate wing, As upon certain stair it met, and clash'd
Its shining. And one ling'ring near us, wax'd
So bright, that in my thought: said: "The love, Which this betokens me, admits no doubt."
Unwillingly from question I refrain,
To her, by whom my silence and my speech
Are order'd, looking for a sign: whence she,
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Who in the sight of Him, that seeth all, Saw wherefore I was silent, prompted me T' indulge the fervent wish; and I began: "I am not worthy, of my own desert,
That thou shouldst answer me; but for her sake, Who hath vouchsaf 'd my asking, spirit blest! That in thy joy art shrouded! say the cause, Which bringeth thee so near: and wherefore, say, Doth the sweet symphony of Paradise
Keep silence here, pervading with such sounds
Of rapt devotion ev'ry lower sphere?" "Mortal art thou in hearing as in sight;" Was the reply: "and what forbade the smile Of Beatrice interrupts our song.
Only to yield thee gladness of my voice, And of the light that vests me, I thus far
Descend these hallow'd steps: not that more love
Invites me; for lo! there aloft, as much
Or more of love is witness'd in those flames:
But such my lot by charity assign'd,
That makes us ready servants, as thou seest, To execute the counsel of the Highest." "That in this court," said I, "O sacred lamp! Love no compulsion needs, but follows free Th' eternal Providence, I well discern:
This harder find to deem, why of thy peers
Thou only to this office wert foredoom'd."
I had not ended, when, like rapid mill,
Upon its centre whirl'd the light; and then
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The love, that did inhabit there, replied: "Splendour eternal, piercing through these folds, Its virtue to my vision knits, and thus
Supported, lifts me so above myself,
That on the sov'ran essence, which it wells from, I have the power to gaze: and hence the joy, Wherewith I sparkle, equaling with my blaze
The keenness of my sight. But not the soul, That is in heav'n most lustrous, nor the seraph That hath his eyes most fix'd on God, shall solve What thou hast ask'd: for in th' abyss it lies
Of th' everlasting statute sunk so low, That no created ken may fathom it.
And, to the mortal world when thou return'st, Be this reported; that none henceforth dare Direct his footsteps to so dread a bourn.
The mind, that here is radiant, on the earth Is wrapt in mist. Look then if she may do, Below, what passeth her ability,
When she is ta'en to heav'n." By words like these
Admonish'd, I the question urg'd no more; And of the spirit humbly sued alone
T' instruct me of its state. "'Twixt either shore
Of Italy, nor distant from thy land, A stony ridge ariseth, in such sort,
The thunder doth not lift his voice so high, They call it Catria: at whose foot a cell
Is sacred to the lonely Eremite,
For worship set apart and holy rites."