Canto XXX
¶ARGUMENT . — Dante is taken up with Beatrice into the empyrean; and there having his sight strengthened by her aid, and by the virtue derived from looking on the river of light, he sees the triumph of the Angels and of the souls of the blessed.
¶NOON'S fervid hour perchance six thousand miles'From hence is distant; and the shadowy coneAlmost to level on our earth declines;When, from the midmost of this blue abyss,By 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)Engirt1 by that it girdeth. Wherefore love,With loss of other object, forced me bendMine eyes on Beatrice once again.If all, that hitherto is told of her,Were in one praise concluded, 'twere too weakTo furnish out this turn. Mine eyes did lookOn beauty, such, as I believe in sooth,
¶istered unto him, and ten thousand times off, and the shadow, formed by the earth ten thousand stood before him."—Dan. over the part of it inhabited by the Poet, vii. 10. is about to disappear.
p. 412¶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 dispossest 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 ceasedTo follow; but now 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 hastcneth onUrging its arduous matter to the close)Her words resumed, in gesture and in voiceResembling one accustom'd to command:"Forth 3 from the last corporeal are we comeInto the Heaven, 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 host*Of 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 swathedAnd veiled in dense impenetrable blaze.Such weal is in the love, that stills this heaven;For its own flame 5 the torch thus fitting ever.No sooner to my listening ear had come[413]The brief assurance, than I understoodNew virtue into me infused, 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 onTwixt 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 flowersDid set them, like to rubies, chased in gold:Then, as if drunk with odours, plunged againInto the wondrous flood; from which, as oneRe-enter'd, still another rose. "The thirstOf knowledge high, whereby thou art inflamed,To search the meaning of what here thou seest,The more it warms thee, pleases me the more,But first behoves thee of this water drink,Or e'er 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 changedThose flowers and sparkles; and distinct I saw,[414]Before me, either court of Heaven display'd.O prime enlightener! thou who gavest me strengthOn the high triumph of Thy realm to gaze;Grant virtue now to utter what I kenn'd.There is in Heaven 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 eyesHis image mirror'd in the crystal flood,As if to admire his brave apparellingOf verdure and of flowers; so, round about,Eying the light, on more than million thrones,Stood, eminent, whatever from our earthHas to the skies return'd. How wide the leaves,Extended 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 expansivencss,Lays forth its gradual blooming, redolentOf praises to the never-wintering sun,As one, who fain would speak yet holds his peace,Beatrice led me; and, "Behold," she said,"This fair assemblage; stoles of snowy white,How numberless. The city, where we dwell,Behold how vast; and these our seats so throng'd,Few now are wanting here. In that proud stall,On which, the crown, already o'er its stateSuspended, holds thine eyes—or e'er thyselfMayst at the wedding sup—shall rest the soul
Of the great Harry, 6 he who, by the worldAugustus 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, 7 who in the sacred forum sways,Openly or in secret, shall with himAccordant walk: whom God will not endureI' the holy office long; but thrust him downTo Simon Magus, where Alagna's priest"Will sink beneath him: such will be his meed."Canto XXXI
¶ARGUMENT . — The Poet expatiates further on the glorious vision described in the last Canto. On looking round for Beatrice, he finds that she has left him, and that an old man is at his side. This proves to be St. Bernard, who shows him that Beatrice has returned to her throne, and then points out to him the blessedness of the Virgin Mother.
IN fashion, as a snow white rose, lay thenBefore my view the saintly multitude,'
¶Which in His own blood Christ espoused. Meanwhile,
That other host, 2 that soar aloft to gazeAnd celebrate His glory, whom they love,Hover'd around; and, like a troop of bees,Amid the vernal sweets alighting now,Now, clustering, where their fragrant labour glows,Flew downward to the mighty flower, or roseFrom the redundant petals, streaming backUnto the steadfast dwelling of their joy,Faces had they of flame, and wings of gold:
¶* "Of the great Harry." The Emperor was of a magnanimous heart, much Henry VII, who died in 1313. "Henry, feared and held in awe; and if he had Count of Luxemburg, held the imperial lived longer, would have done the greatpower three years, seven months and est things." G. Villani.
¶eighteen days from his first coronation 7 Clement V . Sec Canto xxvii. 53.
¶to his death. He was a man wise, and 8 "Alagna's priest." Pope Boniface just, and gracious; brave and intrepid VIII. Hell, Canto xix. 79.
¶in arms; a man of honor and a good 1 Human souls, advanced to this state catholic; and although by his lineage of glory through the mediation of Christ. he was of no great condition, yet he 2 "That other host." The Angels.
p. 416¶The rest was whiter than the driven snow;And, as they flitted down into the flower,From range to range, fanning their plumy loins,Whisper'd the peace and ardour, which they wonFrom that soft winnowing. Shadow none, the vastInterposition of such numerous flightCast, from above, upon the flower, or viewObstructed aught. For, through the universe,Wherever merited, celestial lightGlides freely, and no obstacle prevents.All there, who reign in safety and in bliss,Ages long past or new, on one sole markTheir love and vision fix'd. O trinal beamOf individual star, that charm'st them thus!Vouchsafe one glance to gild our storm below.'If the grim brood,1 from Arctic shores that roam'd,(Where Helice' for ever, as she wheels,Sparkles a mother's fondness on her son),Stood in mute wonder 'mid the works of Rome,When to their view the Lateran aroseIn greatness more than earthly; I, who thenFrom human to divine had past, from timeUnto eternity, and out of FlorenceTo justice and to truth, how might I chuseBut marvel too? 'Twixt gladness and amaze,In sooth no will had I to utter aught,Or hear. And, as a pilgrim, when he restsWithin the temple of his vow, looks roundIn breathless awe, and hopes some time to tellOf all its goodly state; e'en so mine eyesCoursed up and down along the living light,Now low, and now aloft, and now around,Visiting every step. Looks I beheld,Where charity in soft persuasion sat;Smiles from within, and radiance from above;And, in each gesture, grace and honour high.So roved my ken, and in its general form
¶' T o guide us through the dangers of 5 " H c lice . " Callistro, and her son this tempestuous life. Areas, changed into the constellation of
p. 417¶All Paradise survey'd: when round I turn'dWith purpose of my lady to inquireOnce more of things, that held my thought suspense.But answer found from other than I ween'd;For, Beatrice, when I thought to see,I saw instead a senior, at my side,Robed, as the rest, in glory. Joy benignGlow'd in his eye, and o'er his cheek diffused,With gestures such as spake a father's love.And, "Whither is she vanish'd?" straight I ask'd."By Beatrice summon'd," he replied,"I come to aid thy wish. Looking aloftTo the third circle from the highest, thereBehold her on the throne, wherein her meritHath placed her." Answering not, mine eyes I raised,And saw her, where aloof she sat, her browA wreath reflecting of eternal beams.Not from the centre of the sea so farUnto the region of the highest thunder,As was my ken from hers; and yet the formCame through that medium down, unmix'd and pure."O Lady! thou in whom my hopes have rest;Who, for my safety, hast not scorn'd, in HellTo leave the traces of thy footsteps mark'd;For all mine eyes have seen, I to thy powerAnd goodness, virtue owe and grace. Of slaveThou hast to freedom brought me: and no means,For my deliverance apt, hast left untried.Thy liberal bounty still toward me keep:That, when my spirit, which thou madest whole,Is loosen'd from this body, it may findFavour with thee." So I my suit preferr'd:And she, so distant, as appear'd, look'd down,And smiled; then toward the eternal fountain turn'd.And thus the senior, holy and revered:"That thou at length mayst happily concludeThy voyage, (to which end I was despatch'd,By supplication moved and holy love),Let thy upsoaring vision range, at large,This garden through: for so, by ray divine[418]Kindled, thy ken a higher flight shall mount;And from Heaven's Queen, whom fervent I adore,All gracious aid befriend us; for that IAm her own faithful Bernard." 6 Like a wight,Who haply from Croatia wends to seeOur Veronica,' and, the while 'tis shown,Hangs over it with never-sated gaze,And, all that he hath heard revolving, saithUnto himself in thought: "And didst Thou lookE'en thus, O Jesus, my true Lord and God?And was this semblance Thine?" So gazed I thenAdoring; for the charity of him, 8Who musing, in this world that peace enjoy'd,Stood livelily before me. "Child of grace!"Thus he began: "Thou shalt not knowledge gainOf this glad being, if thine eyes are heldStill in this depth below. But search aroundThe circles, to the furthest, till thou spySeated in state, the Queen 9 that of this realmIs sovran." Straight mine eyes I raised; and bright,As, at the birth of morn, the eastern climeAbove the horizon, where the sun declines;So to mine eyes, that upward, as from valeTo mountain sped, at the extreme bound, a partExcell'd in lustre all the front opposed.And as the glow burns ruddiest o'er the wave,That waits the ascending team, which Phaeton111 knew to guide, and on each part the lightDiminish'd fades, intensest in the midst;So burn'd the peaceful oriflame, and slack'dOn every side the living flame decay'd.[419]And in that midst their sportive pennons wavedThousands of Angels; in resplendence eachDistinct, and quaint adornment. At their gleeAnd carol, smiled the Lovely One of Heaven,That joy was in the eyes of all the blest.Had I a tongue in eloquence as rich,As is the colouring in fancy's loom,'Twere all too poor to utter the least partOf that enchantment. When he saw mine eyesIntent on her, that charm'd him; Bernard gazedWith so exceeding fondness, as infusedArdour into my breast, unfelt before.
Canto XXXII
¶ARGUMENT . — S t Bernard shows him, on their several thrones, the other blessed souls, of both the Old and New Testament; explains to him that their places are assigned them by grace, and not according to merit; and, lastly, tells him that if he would obtain power to descry what remained of the heavenly vision, he must unite with him in supplication to Mary.
¶FREELY the sage, though wrapt in musings high,Assumed the teacher's part, and mild began:"The wound, that Mary closed, she 1 open'd first,Who sits so beautiful at Mary's feet.The third in order, underneath her, lolRachel with Beatrice: Sarah next;Judith; Rebecca; and the gleaner-maid,Meek ancestress 2 of him, who sang the songsOf sore repentance in his sorrowful mood.All, as I name them, down from leaf to leaf,Are, in gradation, throned on the rose.And from the seventh step, successively,Adown the breathing tresses of the flower,Still doth the file of Hebrew dames proceed.For these are a partition wall, wherebyThe sacred stairs are sever'd, as the faithIn Christ divides them. On this part, where bloomsEach leaf in full maturity, are setSuch as in Christ, or e'er He came, believed.On the other, where an intersected space[420]Yet shows the semicircle void, abideAll they, who look'd to Christ already comeAnd as our Lady on her glorious stool,And they who on their stools beneath her sit,This way distinction make; e'en so on his,The mighty Baptist that way marks the line(He who endured the desert, and the painsOf martyrdom, and, for two years, 3 of Hell,Yet still continued holy), and beneath,Augustin;' 1 Francis; 1 Benedict;* and the rest,Thus far from round to round. So Heaven's decreeForecasts, this garden equally to fill,With faith in either view, past or to come.Learn too, that downward from the step, which cleaves,Midway, the twain compartments, none there areWho place obtain for merit of their own,But have through others' merit been advanced,On set conditions; spirits all released,Ere for themselves they had the power to chuse.And, if thou mark and listen to them well,Their childish looks and voice declare as much."Here, silent as thou art, I know thy doubt;And gladly will I loose the knot, whereinThy subtile thoughts have bound thee. From this realmExcluded, chance no entrance here may find;No more than hunger, thirst, or sorrow can.A law immutable hath stablish'd all;Nor is there aught thou seest, that doth not fit,Exactly, as the finger to the ring.It is not, therefore, without cause, that theseO'erspeedy comers to immortal life,Are different in their shares of excellence.Our Sovran Lord, that settleth this estateIn love and in delight so absolute,That wish can dare no further, every soul,Created in His joyous sight to dwell,With grace, at pleasure, variously endows.[421]And for a proof the effect may well suffice.And 'tis moreover most expressly mark'dIn holy Scripture, where the twins are saidTo have struggled in the womb. Therefore, as graceInweaves the coronet, so every browWeareth its proper hue of orient light.And merely in respect to his prime gift,Not in reward of meritorious deed,Hath each his several degree assign'd.In early times with their own innocenceMore was not wanting than the parents' faith,To save them: those first ages past, behovedThat circumcision in the males should impThe flight of innocent wings: but since the dayOf grace hath come, without baptismal ritesIn Christ accomplish'd, innocence herselfMust linger yet below. Now raise thy viewUnto the visage most resembling Christ:For, in her splendour only, shalt thou winThe power to look on Him." Forthwith I sawSuch floods of gladness on her visage shower'd,From holy spirits, winging that profound;That, whatsoever I had yet beheld,Had not so much suspended me with wonder,Or shown me such similitude of God.And he, who had to her descended, once,On earth, now hail'd in Heaven; and on poised wing,"Ave, Maria, Gratia Plena," sang:To whose sweet anthem all the blissful court,From all parts answering, rang: that holier joyBrooded the deep serene. "Father revered!Who deign'st, for me, to quit the pleasant placeWherein thou sittest, by eternal lot;Say, who that Angel is, that with such gleeBeholds our Queen, and so enamour'd glowsOf her high beauty, that all fire he seems."So I again resorted to the loreOf my wise teacher, he, whom Mary's charmsEmbellish'd, as the sun the morning star;Who thus in answer spake: "In him are summ'd,[422]Whate'er of buxomness and free delightMay be in spirit, or in Angel, met:And so beseems: for that he bare the palmDown unto Mary, when the Son of GodVouchsafed to clothe Him in terrestrial weeds.Now let thine eyes wait heedful on my words;And note thou of this just and pious realmThe chiefest nobles. Those, highest in bliss,The twain, on each hand next our Empress throned,Are as it were two roots unto this rose:He to the left, the parent, whose rash tasteProves bitter to his seed; and, on the right,That ancient father of the holy Church,Into whose keeping Christ did give the keysOf this sweet flower; near whom behold the seer, 7That, ere he died, saw all the grievous timesOf the fair bride, who with the lance and nailsWas won. And, near unto the other, restsThe leader, under whom, on manna, fedThe ungrateful nation, fickle and perverse.On the other part, facing to Peter, lo!Where Anna sits, so well content to lookOn her loved daughter, that with moveless eyeShe chants the loud hosanna: while, opposedTo the first father of your mortal kind,Is Lucia, 8 at whose hcst thy lady sped,When on the edge of ruin closed thine eye."But (for the vision hasteneth to an end)Here break we off, as the good workman doth,That shapes the cloak according to the cloth;And to the Primal Love our ken shall rise;That thou mayst penetrate the brightness, farAs sight can bear thee. Yet, alas! in soothBeating thy pennons, thinking to advance,Thou backward fall'st. Grace then must first be gain'd;Her grace, whose might can help thee. Thou in prayerSeek her: and, with affection, whilst I sue,Attend, and yield me all thy heart." He said;And thus the saindy orison began.
Canto XXXIII
¶ARGUMENT . — S t . Bernard supplicates the Virgin Mary that Dante may have grace given him to contemplate the brightness of the Divine Majesty, which is accordingly granted; and Dante then himself prays to God for ability to show forth some part of the celestial glory in his writings. Lastly, he is admitted to a glimpse of the great mystery; the Trinity, and the Union of Man with God.
¶" f \ VIRGIN MOTHER, daughter of thy Son!I • Created beings all in lowlinessX . J Surpassing, as in height above them all;Term by the eternal counsel pre-ordain'd;Ennobler of thy nature, so advancedIn thee, that its great Maker did not scorn,To make Himself his own creation;For in thy womb rekindling shone the loveReveal'd, whose genial influence makes nowThis flower to germin in eternal peace:Here thou to us, of charity and love,Art, as the noon-day torch; and art, beneath,To mortal men, of hope a living spring.So mighty art thou, Lady, and so great,That he, who grace desireth, and comes notTo thee for aidance, fain would have desireFly without wings. Not only him, who asks,Thy bounty succours; but doth freely oftForerun the asking. Whatsoe'er may beOf excellence in creature, pity mild,Relenting mercy, large munificence,Are all combined in thee. Here kneeleth one,Who of all spirits hath review'd the state,From the world's lowest gap unto this height.Suppliant to thee he kneels, imploring graceFor virtue yet more high, to lift his kenToward the bliss supreme. And I, who ne'erCoveted sight, more fondly, for myself,Than now for him, my prayers to thee prefer,(And pray they be not scant), that thou wouldstEach cloud of his mortality away, [driveThrough thine own prayers, that on the sovran joyUnveil'd he gaze. This yet, I pray thee, Queen,[424]Who canst do what thou wilt; that in him thouWouldst, after all he hath beheld, preserveAffection sound, and human passions quell.Lo! where, with Beatrice, many a saintStretch their clasp'd hands, in furtherance of my suit."The eyes, that Heaven with love and awe regards,Fix'd on the suitor, witness'd, how benignShe looks on pious prayers: then fasten'd theyOn the everlasting light, wherein no eyeOf creature, as may well be thought, so farCan travel inward. I, meanwhile, who drewNear to the limit, where all wishes end,The ardour of my wish (for so behoved)Ended within me. Beckoning smiled the sage,That I should look aloft: but, ere he bade,Already of myself aloft I look'd;For visual strength, refining more and more,Bare me into the ray authenticalOf sovran light. Thenceforward, what I saw,Was not for words to speak, nor memory's selfTo stand against such outrage on her skill.As one, who from a dream awaken'd, straight,All he hath seen forgets; yet still retainsImpression of the feeling in his dream;E'en such am I: for all the vision dies,As 'twere, away; and yet the sense of sweet,That sprang from it, still trickles in my heart.Thus in the sun-thaw is the snow unseal'd;Thus in the winds on flitting leaves was lostThe Sibyl's sentence. O eternal beam! [soar?)(Whose height what reach of mortal thought mayYield me again some little particleOf what Thou then appearedst; give my tonguePower, but to leave one sparkle of Thy glory,Unto the race to come, that shall not loseThy triumph wholly, if Thou waken aughtOf memory in me, and endure to hearThe record sound in this unequal strain.Such keenness from the living ray I met,That, if mine eyes had turn'd away, methinks,[425]I had been lost; but, so embolden'd, onI pass'd, as I remember, till my viewHover'd the brink of dread infinitude.O grace, unenvying of Thy boon! that gavestBoldness to fix so earnestly my kenOn the everlasting splendour, that I look'd,While sight was unconsumed, and, in that depth,Saw in one volume clasp'd of love, whate'erThe universe unfolds; all propertiesOf substance and of accident, beheld,Compounded, yet one individual lightThe whole. And of such bond methinks I sawThe universal form; for that whene'erI do but speak of it, my soul dilatesBeyond her proper self; and, till I speak,One moment seems a longer lethargy,Than five-and-twenty ages had appear'dTo that emprize, that first made Neptune wonderAt Argo's shadow darkening on his flood.With fixed heed, suspense and motionless,Wondering I gazed; and admiration stillWas kindled as I gazed. It may not be,That one, who looks upon that light, can turnTo other object, willingly, his view.For all the good, that will may covet, thereIs summ'd; and all, elsewhere defective found,Complete. My tongue shall utter now, no moreE'en what remembrance keeps, than could the babe'sThat yet is moisten'd at his mother's breast.Not that the semblance of the living lightWas changed, (that ever as at first remain'd),But that my vision quickening, in that soleAppearance, still new miracles descried,And toil'd me with the change. In that abyssOf radiance, clear and lofty, seem'd, methought,Three orbs of triple hue, dipt in one bound:1And, from another, one reflected seem'd,[426]As rainbow is from rainbow: and the thirdSeem'd fire, breathed equally from both. O speech!How feeble and how faint art thou, to giveConception birth. Yet this to what I sawIs less than little. O eternal Light!Sole in Thyself that dwell'st; and of ThyselfSole understood, past, present, or to come;Thou smiledst, on that circling,1 which in TheeSeem'd as reflected splendour, while I mused;For I therein, methought, in its own hueBeheld our image painted: steadfasdyI therefore pored upon the view. As one,Who versed in geometric lore, would fainMeasure the circle; and, though pondering longAnd deeply, that beginning, which he needs,Finds not: e'en such was I, intent to scanThe novel wonder, and trace out the form,How to the circle fitted, and thereinHow placed: but the flight was not for my wing;Had not a flash darted athwart my mind,And, in the spleen, unfolded what it sought.Here vigour fail'd the towering fantasy:But yet the will roll'd onward, like a wheelIn even motion, by the Love impell'd,That moves the sun in Heaven and all the stars.