The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (essential books to read TXT) đ
Restore her, thence by envy first let loose.
I for thy profit pond'ring now devise,
That thou mayst follow me, and I thy guide
Will lead thee hence through an eternal space,
Where thou shalt hear despairing shrieks, and see
Spirits of old tormented, who invoke
A second death; and those next view, who dwell
Content in fire, for that they hope to come,
Whene'er the time may be, among the blest,
Into whose regions if thou then desire
T' ascend, a spirit worthier then I
Must lead thee, in whose charge, when I depart,
Thou shalt be left: for that Almighty King,
Who reigns above, a rebel to his law,
Adjudges me, and therefore hath decreed,
That to his city none through me should come.
He in all parts hath sway; there rules, there holds
His citadel and throne. O happy those,
Whom there he chooses!" I to him in few:
"Bard! by that God, whom thou didst not adore,
I do beseech thee (that this ill and worse
I may escap
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CANTO XXVIII
Through that celestial forest, whose thick shade With lively greenness the new-springing day Attemperâd, eager now to roam, and search Its limits round, forthwith I left the bank, Along the champain leisurely my way Pursuing, oâer the ground, that on all sides Delicious odour breathâd. A pleasant air, That intermitted never, never veerâd, Smote on my temples, gently, as a wind Of softest influence: at which the sprays, Obedient all, leanâd trembling to that part Where first the holy mountain casts his shade, Yet were not so disorderâd, but that still Upon their top the featherâd quiristers Applied their wonted art, and with full joy Welcomâd those hours of prime, and warbled shrill Amid the leaves, that to their jocund lays inept tenor; even as from branch to branch, Along the piney forests on the shore Of Chiassi, rolls the gathâring melody, When Eolus hath from his cavern loosâd The dripping south. Already had my steps, Though slow, so far into that ancient wood Transported me, I could not ken the place Where I had enterâd, when behold! my path Was bounded by a rill, which to the left With little rippling waters bent the grass, That issued from its brink. On earth no wave How clean soeâer, that would not seem to have Some mixture in itself, comparâd with this, Transpicuous, clear; yet darkly on it rollâd, Darkly beneath perpetual gloom, which neâer Admits or sun or moon light there to shine.
My feet advancâd not; but my wondâring eyes Passâd onward, oâer the streamlet, to survey The tender May-bloom, flushâd through many a hue, In prodigal variety: and there,
As object, rising suddenly to view, That from our bosom every thought beside With the rare marvel chases, I beheld A lady all alone, who, singing, went, And culling flower from flower, wherewith her way Was all oâer painted. âLady beautiful!
Thou, who (if looks, that use to speak the heart, Are worthy of our trust), with loveâs own beam Dost warm thee,â thus to her my speech I framâd: âAh! please thee hither towards the streamlet bend Thy steps so near, that I may list thy song.
Beholding thee and this fair place, methinks, I call to mind where wanderâd and how lookâd Proserpine, in that season, when her child The mother lost, and she the bloomy spring.â
As when a lady, turning in the dance, Doth foot it featly, and advances scarce One step before the other to the ground; Over the yellow and vermilion flowers Thus turnâd she at my suit, most maiden-like, Valing her sober eyes, and came so near, That I distinctly caught the dulcet sound.
Arriving where the limped waters now Lavâd the green sward, her eyes she deignâd to raise, That shot such splendour on me, as I ween Neâer glanced from Cythereaâs, when her son Had sped his keenest weapon to her heart.
Upon the opposite bank she stood and smilâd through her graceful fingers shifted still The intermingling dyes, which without seed That lofty land unbosoms. By the stream Three paces only were we sunderâd: yet The Hellespont, where Xerxes passâd it oâer, (A curb for ever to the pride of man) Was by Leander not more hateful held For floating, with inhospitable wave âTwixt Sestus and Abydos, than by me That flood, because it gave no passage thence.
âStrangers ye come, and haply in this place, That cradled human nature in its birth, Wondâring, ye not without suspicion view My smiles: but that sweet strain of psalmody, âThou, Lord! hast made me glad,â will give ye light, Which may uncloud your minds. And thou, who standâst The foremost, and didst make thy suit to me, Say if aught else thou wish to hear: for I Came prompt to answer every doubt of thine.â
She spake; and I replied: âl know not how To reconcile this wave and rustling sound Of forest leaves, with what I late have heard Of opposite report.â She answering thus: âI will unfold the cause, whence that proceeds, Which makes thee wonder; and so purge the cloud That hath enwraps thee. The First Good, whose joy Is only in himself, created man
For happiness, and gave this goodly place, His pledge and earnest of eternal peace.
Favourâd thus highly, through his own defect He fell, and here made short sojourn; he fell, And, for the bitterness of sorrow, changâd Laughter unblamâd and ever-new delight.
That vapours none, exhalâd from earth beneath, Or from the waters (which, wherever heat Attracts them, follow), might ascend thus far To vex manâs peaceful state, this mountain rose So high toward the heavân, nor fears the rage 0f elements contending, from that part Exempted, where the gate his limit bars.
Because the circumambient air throughout With its first impulse circles still, unless Aught interpose to cheek or thwart its course; Upon the summit, which on every side To visitation of thâ impassive air Is open, doth that motion strike, and makes Beneath its sway thâ umbrageous wood resound: And in the shaken plant such power resides, That it impregnates with its efficacy The voyaging breeze, upon whose subtle plume That wafted flies abroad; and thâ other land Receiving (as ât is worthy in itself, Or in the clime, that warms it), doth conceive, And from its womb produces many a tree Of various virtue. This when thou hast heard, The marvel ceases, if in yonder earth Some plant without apparent seed be found To fix its fibrous stem. And further learn, That with prolific foison of all seeds, This holy plain is fillâd, and in itself Bears fruit that neâer was pluckâd on other soil.
âThe water, thou beholdâst, springs not from vein, As stream, that intermittently repairs And spends his pulse of life, but issues forth From fountain, solid, undecaying, sure; And by the will omnific, full supply Feeds whatsoeâer On either side it pours; On this devolvâd with power to take away Remembrance of offence, on that to bring Remembrance back of every good deed done.
From whence its name of Lethe on this part; On thâ other Eunoe: both of which must first Be tasted ere it work; the last exceeding All flavours else. Albeit thy thirst may now Be well contented, if I here break off, No more revealing: yet a corollary I freely give beside: nor deem my words Less grateful to thee, if they somewhat pass The stretch of promise. They, whose verse of yore The golden age recorded and its bliss, On the Parnassian mountain, of this place Perhaps had dreamâd. Here was man guiltless, here Perpetual spring and every fruit, and this The far-famâd nectar.â Turning to the bards, When she had ceasâd, I noted in their looks A smile at her conclusion; then my face Again directed to the lovely dame.
CANTO XXIX
Singing, as if enamourâd, she resumâd And closâd the song, with âBlessed they whose sins Are coverâd.â Like the wood-nymphs then, that trippâd Singly across the sylvan shadows, one Eager to view and one to âscape the sun, So movâd she on, against the current, up The verdant rivage. I, her mincing step Observing, with as tardy step pursued.
Between us not an hundred paces trod, The bank, on each side bending equally, Gave me to face the orient. Nor our way Far onward brought us, when to me at once She turnâd, and cried: âMy brother! look and hearken.â
And lo! a sudden lustre ran across Through the great forest on all parts, so bright I doubted whether lightning were abroad; But that expiring ever in the spleen, That doth unfold it, and this during still And waxing still in splendor, made me question What it might be: and a sweet melody Ran through the luminous air. Then did I chide With warrantable zeal the hardihood Of our first parent, for that there were earth Stood in obedience to the heavâns, she only, Woman, the creature of an hour, endurâd not Restraint of any veil: which had she borne Devoutly, joys, ineffable as these, Had from the first, and long time since, been mine.
While through that wilderness of primy sweets That never fade, suspense I walkâd, and yet Expectant of beatitude more high,
Before us, like a blazing fire, the air Under the green boughs glowâd; and, for a song, Distinct the sound of melody was heard.
O ye thrice holy virgins! for your sakes If eâer I sufferâd hunger, cold and watching, Occasion calls on me to crave your bounty.
Now through my breast let Helicon his stream Pour copious; and Urania with her choir Arise to aid me: while the verse unfolds Things that do almost mock the grasp of thought.
Onward a space, what seemâd seven trees of gold, The intervening distance to mine eye Falsely presented; but when I was come So near them, that no lineament was lost Of those, with which a doubtful object, seen Remotely, plays on the misdeeming sense, Then did the faculty, that ministers Discourse to reason, these for tapers of gold Distinguish, and it thâ singing trace the sound âHosanna.â Above, their beauteous garniture Flamâd with more ample lustre, than the moon Through cloudless sky at midnight in her full.
I turnâd me full of wonder to my guide; And he did answer with a countenance Chargâd with no less amazement: whence my view Reverted to those lofty things, which came So slowly moving towards us, that the bride Would have outstript them on her bridal day.
The lady called aloud: âWhy thus yet burns Affection in thee for these living, lights, And dost not look on that which follows them?â
I straightway markâd a tribe behind them walk, As if attendant on their leaders, clothâd With raiment of such whiteness, as on earth Was never. On my left, the watâry gleam Borrowâd, and gave me back, when there I lookâd.
As in a mirror, my left side portrayâd.
When I had chosen on the riverâs edge Such station, that the distance of the stream Alone did separate me; there I stayâd My steps for clearer prospect, and beheld The flames go onward, leaving, as they went, The air behind them painted as with trail Of liveliest pencils! so distinct were markâd All those sevân listed colours, whence the sun Maketh his bow, and Cynthia her zone.
These streaming gonfalons did flow beyond My vision; and ten paces, as I guess, Parted the outermost. Beneath a sky So beautiful, came foul and-twenty elders, By two and two, with flower-de-luces crownâd.
All sang one song: âBlessed be thou among The daughters of Adam! and thy loveliness Blessed for ever!â After that the flowers, And the fresh herblets, on the opposite brink, Were free from that elected race; as light In heavân doth second light, came after them Four animals, each crownâd with verdurous leaf.
With six wings each was plumâd, the plumage full Of eyes, and thâ eyes of Argus would be such, Were they endued with life. Reader, more rhymes Will not waste in shadowing forth their form: For other need no straitens, that in this I may not give my bounty room. But read Ezekiel; for he paints them, from the north How he beheld them come by Chebarâs flood, In whirlwind, cloud and fire; and even such As thou shalt find them characterâd by him, Here were they; save as to the pennons; there, From him departing, John accords with me.
The space, surrounded by the four, enclosâd A car triumphal: on two wheels it came Drawn at a Gryphonâs neck; and he above Stretchâd either wing uplifted, âtween the midst And the three listed hues, on each side three; So that the wings did cleave or injure none; And out of
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