The Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri [best ebook reader txt] 📗

suspicion rest thou not Contented unless she assure thee so, Who betwixt truth and mind infuses light.

I know not if thou take me right; I mean Beatrice. Her thou shalt behold above, Upon this mountain’s crown, fair seat of joy.”

Then I: “Sir! let us mend our speed; for now I tire not as before; and lo! the hill Stretches its shadow far.” He answer’d thus: “Our progress with this day shall be as much As we may now dispatch; but otherwise Than thou supposest is the truth. For there Thou canst not be, ere thou once more behold Him back returning, who behind the steep Is now so hidden, that as erst his beam Thou dost not break. But lo! a spirit there Stands solitary, and toward us looks: It will instruct us in the speediest way.”

We soon approach’d it. O thou Lombard spirit!

How didst thou stand, in high abstracted mood, Scarce moving with slow dignity thine eyes!

It spoke not aught, but let us onward pass, Eyeing us as a lion on his watch.

I3ut Virgil with entreaty mild advanc’d, Requesting it to show the best ascent.

It answer to his question none return’d, But of our country and our kind of life Demanded. When my courteous guide began, “Mantua,” the solitary shadow quick Rose towards us from the place in which it stood, And cry’d, “Mantuan! I am thy countryman Sordello.” Each the other then embrac’d.

Ah slavish Italy! thou inn of grief, Vessel without a pilot in loud storm, Lady no longer of fair provinces,

But brothel-house impure! this gentle spirit, Ev’n from the Pleasant sound of his dear land Was prompt to greet a fellow citizen With such glad cheer; while now thy living ones In thee abide not without war; and one Malicious gnaws another, ay of those Whom the same wall and the same moat contains, Seek, wretched one! around thy sea-coasts wide; Then homeward to thy bosom turn, and mark If any part of the sweet peace enjoy.

What boots it, that thy reins Justinian’s hand Befitted, if thy saddle be unpress’d?

Nought doth he now but aggravate thy shame.

Ah people! thou obedient still shouldst live, And in the saddle let thy Caesar sit, If well thou marked’st that which God commands Look how that beast to felness hath relaps’d From having lost correction of the spur, Since to the bridle thou hast set thine hand, O German Albert! who abandon’st her, That is grown savage and unmanageable, When thou should’st clasp her flanks with forked heels.

Just judgment from the stars fall on thy blood!

And be it strange and manifest to all!

Such as may strike thy successor with dread!

For that thy sire and thou have suffer’d thus, Through greediness of yonder realms detain’d, The garden of the empire to run waste.

Come see the Capulets and Montagues, The Philippeschi and Monaldi! man Who car’st for nought! those sunk in grief, and these With dire suspicion rack’d. Come, cruel one!

Come and behold the’ oppression of the nobles, And mark their injuries: and thou mayst see.

What safety Santafiore can supply.

Come and behold thy Rome, who calls on thee, Desolate widow! day and night with moans: “My Caesar, why dost thou desert my side?”

Come and behold what love among thy people: And if no pity touches thee for us, Come and blush for thine own report. For me, If it be lawful, O Almighty Power, Who wast in earth for our sakes crucified!

Are thy just eyes turn’d elsewhere? or is this A preparation in the wond’rous depth Of thy sage counsel made, for some good end, Entirely from our reach of thought cut off?

So are the’ Italian cities all o’erthrong’d With tyrants, and a great Marcellus made Of every petty factious villager.

My Florence! thou mayst well remain unmov’d At this digression, which affects not thee: Thanks to thy people, who so wisely speed.

Many have justice in their heart, that long Waiteth for counsel to direct the bow, Or ere it dart unto its aim: but shine Have it on their lip’s edge. Many refuse To bear the common burdens: readier thine Answer uneall’d, and cry, “Behold I stoop!”

Make thyself glad, for thou hast reason now, Thou wealthy! thou at peace! thou wisdom-fraught!

Facts best witness if I speak the truth.

Athens and Lacedaemon, who of old

Enacted laws, for civil arts renown’d, Made little progress in improving life Tow’rds thee, who usest such nice subtlety, That to the middle of November scarce Reaches the thread thou in October weav’st.

How many times, within thy memory, Customs, and laws, and coins, and offices Have been by thee renew’d, and people chang’d!

If thou remember’st well and can’st see clear, Thou wilt perceive thyself like a sick wretch, Who finds no rest upon her down, hut oft Shifting her side, short respite seeks from pain.

 

CANTO VII

 

After their courteous greetings joyfully Sev’n times exchang’d, Sordello backward drew Exclaiming, “Who are ye?” “Before this mount By spirits worthy of ascent to God Was sought, my bones had by Octavius’ care Been buried. I am Virgil, for no sin Depriv’d of heav’n, except for lack of faith.”

So answer’d him in few my gentle guide.

As one, who aught before him suddenly Beholding, whence his wonder riseth, cries “It is yet is not,” wav’ring in belief; Such he appear’d; then downward bent his eyes, And drawing near with reverential step, Caught him, where of mean estate might clasp His lord. “Glory of Latium!” he exclaim’d, “In whom our tongue its utmost power display’d!

Boast of my honor’d birthplace! what desert Of mine, what favour rather undeserv’d, Shows thee to me? If I to hear that voice Am worthy, say if from below thou com’st And from what cloister’s pale?”—“Through every orb Of that sad region,” he reply’d, “thus far Am I arriv’d, by heav’nly influence led And with such aid I come. There is a place There underneath, not made by torments sad, But by dun shades alone; where mourning’s voice Sounds not of anguish sharp, but breathes in sighs.

There I with little innocents abide, Who by death’s fangs were bitten, ere exempt From human taint. There I with those abide, Who the three holy virtues put not on, But understood the rest, and without blame Follow’d them all. But if thou know’st and canst, Direct us, how we soonest may arrive, Where Purgatory its true beginning takes.”

He answer’d thus: “We have no certain place Assign’d us: upwards I may go or round, Far as I can, I join thee for thy guide.

But thou beholdest now how day declines: And upwards to proceed by night, our power Excels: therefore it may be well to choose A place of pleasant sojourn. To the right Some spirits sit apart retir’d. If thou Consentest, I to these will lead thy steps: And thou wilt know them, not without delight.”

“How chances this?” was answer’d; “who so wish’d To ascend by night, would he be thence debarr’d By other, or through his own weakness fail?”

The good Sordello then, along the ground Trailing his finger, spoke: “Only this line Thou shalt not overpass, soon as the sun Hath disappear’d; not that aught else impedes Thy going upwards, save the shades of night.

These with the wont of power perplex the will.

With them thou haply mightst return beneath, Or to and fro around the mountain’s side Wander, while day is in the horizon shut.”

My master straight, as wond’ring at his speech, Exclaim’d: “Then lead us quickly, where thou sayst, That, while we stay, we may enjoy delight.”

A little space we were remov’d from thence, When I perceiv’d the mountain hollow’d out.

Ev’n as large valleys hollow’d out on earth, “That way,” the’ escorting spirit cried, “we go, Where in a bosom the high bank recedes: And thou await renewal of the day.”

Betwixt the steep and plain a crooked path Led us traverse into the ridge’s side, Where more than half the sloping edge expires.

Refulgent gold, and silver thrice refin’d, And scarlet grain and ceruse, Indian wood Of lucid dye serene, fresh emeralds But newly broken, by the herbs and flowers Plac’d in that fair recess, in color all Had been surpass’d, as great surpasses less.

Nor nature only there lavish’d her hues, But of the sweetness of a thousand smells A rare and undistinguish’d fragrance made.

“Salve Regina,” on the grass and flowers Here chanting I beheld those spirits sit Who not beyond the valley could be seen.

“Before the west’ring sun sink to his bed,”

Began the Mantuan, who our steps had turn’d, “‘Mid those desires not that I lead ye on.

For from this eminence ye shall discern Better the acts and visages of all, Than in the nether vale among them mix’d.

He, who sits high above the rest, and seems To have neglected that he should have done, And to the others’ song moves not his lip, The Emperor Rodolph call, who might have heal’d The wounds whereof fair Italy hath died, So that by others she revives but slowly, He, who with kindly visage comforts him, Sway’d in that country, where the water springs, That Moldaw’s river to the Elbe, and Elbe Rolls to the ocean: Ottocar his name: Who in his swaddling clothes was of more worth Than Winceslaus his son, a bearded man, Pamper’d with rank luxuriousness and ease.

And that one with the nose depress, who close In counsel seems with him of gentle look, Flying expir’d, with’ring the lily’s flower.

Look there how he doth knock against his breast!

The other ye behold, who for his cheek Makes of one hand a couch, with frequent sighs.

They are the father and the father-in-law Of Gallia’s bane: his vicious life they know And foul; thence comes the grief that rends them thus.

“He, so robust of limb, who measure keeps In song, with him of feature prominent, With ev’ry virtue bore his girdle brac’d.

And if that stripling who behinds him sits, King after him had liv’d, his virtue then From vessel to like vessel had been pour’d; Which may not of the other heirs be said.

By James and Frederick his realms are held; Neither the better heritage obtains.

Rarely into the branches of the tree Doth human worth mount up; and so ordains He who bestows it, that as his free gift It may be call’d. To Charles my words apply No less than to his brother in the song; Which Pouille and Provence now with grief confess.

So much that plant degenerates from its seed, As more than Beatrice and Margaret Costanza still boasts of her valorous spouse.

“Behold the king of simple life and plain, Harry of England, sitting there alone: He through his branches better issue spreads.

“That one, who on the ground beneath the rest Sits lowest, yet his gaze directs aloft, Us William, that brave Marquis, for whose cause The deed of Alexandria and his war Makes Conferrat and Canavese weep.”

 

CANTO VIII

 

Now was the hour that wakens fond desire In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart, Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell, And pilgrim newly on his road with love Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far, That seems to mourn for the expiring day: When I, no longer taking heed to hear Began, with wonder, from those spirits to mark One risen from its seat, which with its hand Audience implor’d. Both palms it join’d and rais’d, Fixing its steadfast gaze towards the east, As telling God, “I care for naught beside.”

“Te Lucis Ante,” so devoutly then Came from its lip, and in so soft a strain, That all my sense in ravishment was lost.

And the rest after, softly and devout, Follow’d through all the