The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (essential books to read TXT) 📕

thousandth parcel of the truth, My song might shadow forth that saintly smile, flow merely in her saintly looks it wrought.

And with such figuring of Paradise The sacred strain must leap, like one, that meets A sudden interruption to his road.

But he, who thinks how ponderous the theme, And that ‘t is lain upon a mortal shoulder, May pardon, if it tremble with the burden.

The track, our ventrous keel must furrow, brooks No unribb’d pinnace, no self-sparing pilot.

“Why doth my face,” said Beatrice, “thus Enamour thee, as that thou dost not turn Unto the beautiful garden, blossoming Beneath the rays of Christ? Here is the rose, Wherein the word divine was made incarnate; And here the lilies, by whose odour known The way of life was follow’d.” Prompt I heard Her bidding, and encounter once again The strife of aching vision. As erewhile, Through glance of sunlight, stream’d through broken cloud, Mine eyes a flower-besprinkled mead have seen, Though veil’d themselves in shade; so saw I there Legions of splendours, on whom burning rays Shed lightnings from above, yet saw I not The fountain whence they flow’d. O gracious virtue!

Thou, whose broad stamp is on them, higher up Thou didst exalt thy glory to give room To my o’erlabour’d sight: when at the name Of that fair flower, whom duly I invoke Both morn and eve, my soul, with all her might Collected, on the goodliest ardour fix’d.

And, as the bright dimensions of the star In heav’n excelling, as once here on earth Were, in my eyeballs lively portray’d, Lo! from within the sky a cresset fell, Circling in fashion of a diadem,

And girt the star, and hov’ring round it wheel’d.

Whatever melody sounds sweetest here, And draws the spirit most unto itself, Might seem a rent cloud when it grates the thunder, Compar’d unto the sounding of that lyre, Wherewith the goodliest sapphire, that inlays The floor of heav’n, was crown’d. ” Angelic Love I am, who thus with hov’ring flight enwheel The lofty rapture from that womb inspir’d, Where our desire did dwell: and round thee so, Lady of Heav’n! will hover; long as thou Thy Son shalt follow, and diviner joy Shall from thy presence gild the highest sphere.”

Such close was to the circling melody: And, as it ended, all the other lights Took up the strain, and echoed Mary’s name.

The robe, that with its regal folds enwraps The world, and with the nearer breath of God Doth burn and quiver, held so far retir’d Its inner hem and skirting over us, That yet no glimmer of its majesty Had stream’d unto me: therefore were mine eyes Unequal to pursue the crowned flame, That rose and sought its natal seed of fire; And like to babe, that stretches forth its arms For very eagerness towards the breast, After the milk is taken; so outstretch’d Their wavy summits all the fervent band, Through zealous love to Mary: then in view There halted, and “Regina Coeli ” sang So sweetly, the delight hath left me never.

O what o’erflowing plenty is up-pil’d In those rich-laden coffers, which below Sow’d the good seed, whose harvest now they keep.

Here are the treasures tasted, that with tears Were in the Babylonian exile won,

When gold had fail’d them. Here in synod high Of ancient council with the new conven’d, Under the Son of Mary and of God,

Victorious he his mighty triumph holds, To whom the keys of glory were assign’d.

 

CANTO XXIV

 

“O ye! in chosen fellowship advanc’d To the great supper of the blessed Lamb, Whereon who feeds hath every wish fulfill’d!

If to this man through God’s grace be vouchsaf’d Foretaste of that, which from your table falls, Or ever death his fated term prescribe; Be ye not heedless of his urgent will; But may some influence of your sacred dews Sprinkle him. Of the fount ye alway drink, Whence flows what most he craves.” Beatrice spake, And the rejoicing spirits, like to spheres On firm-set poles revolving, trail’d a blaze Of comet splendour; and as wheels, that wind Their circles in the horologe, so work The stated rounds, that to th’ observant eye The first seems still, and, as it flew, the last; E’en thus their carols weaving variously, They by the measure pac’d, or swift, or slow, Made me to rate the riches of their joy.

From that, which I did note in beauty most Excelling, saw I issue forth a flame So bright, as none was left more goodly there.

Round Beatrice thrice it wheel’d about, With so divine a song, that fancy’s ear Records it not; and the pen passeth on And leaves a blank: for that our mortal speech, Nor e’en the inward shaping of the brain, Hath colours fine enough to trace such folds.

“O saintly sister mine! thy prayer devout Is with so vehement affection urg’d, Thou dost unbind me from that beauteous sphere.”

Such were the accents towards my lady breath’d From that blest ardour, soon as it was stay’d: To whom she thus: “O everlasting light Of him, within whose mighty grasp our Lord Did leave the keys, which of this wondrous bliss He bare below! tent this man, as thou wilt, With lighter probe or deep, touching the faith, By the which thou didst on the billows walk.

If he in love, in hope, and in belief, Be steadfast, is not hid from thee: for thou Hast there thy ken, where all things are beheld In liveliest portraiture. But since true faith Has peopled this fair realm with citizens, Meet is, that to exalt its glory more, Thou in his audience shouldst thereof discourse.”

Like to the bachelor, who arms himself, And speaks not, till the master have propos’d The question, to approve, and not to end it; So I, in silence, arm’d me, while she spake, Summoning up each argument to aid; As was behooveful for such questioner, And such profession: “As good Christian ought, Declare thee, What is faith?” Whereat I rais’d My forehead to the light, whence this had breath’d, Then turn’d to Beatrice, and in her looks Approval met, that from their inmost fount I should unlock the waters. “May the grace, That giveth me the captain of the church For confessor,” said I, “vouchsafe to me Apt utterance for my thoughts!” then added: “Sire!

E’en as set down by the unerring style Of thy dear brother, who with thee conspir’d To bring Rome in unto the way of life, Faith of things hop’d is substance, and the proof Of things not seen; and herein doth consist Methinks its essence,”—” Rightly hast thou deem’d,”

Was answer’d: “if thou well discern, why first He hath defin’d it, substance, and then proof.”

“The deep things,” I replied, “which here I scan Distinctly, are below from mortal eye So hidden, they have in belief alone Their being, on which credence hope sublime Is built; and therefore substance it intends.

And inasmuch as we must needs infer From such belief our reasoning, all respect To other view excluded, hence of proof Th’ intention is deriv’d.” Forthwith I heard: “If thus, whate’er by learning men attain, Were understood, the sophist would want room To exercise his wit.” So breath’d the flame Of love: then added: “Current is the coin Thou utter’st, both in weight and in alloy.

But tell me, if thou hast it in thy purse.”

“Even so glittering and so round,” said I, “I not a whit misdoubt of its assay.”

Next issued from the deep imbosom’d splendour: “Say, whence the costly jewel, on the which Is founded every virtue, came to thee.”

“The flood,” I answer’d, “from the Spirit of God Rain’d down upon the ancient bond and new,—

Here is the reas’ning, that convinceth me So feelingly, each argument beside Seems blunt and forceless in comparison.”

Then heard I: “Wherefore holdest thou that each, The elder proposition and the new, Which so persuade thee, are the voice of heav’n?”

“The works, that follow’d, evidence their truth; “

I answer’d: “Nature did not make for these The iron hot, or on her anvil mould them.”

“Who voucheth to thee of the works themselves, Was the reply, “that they in very deed Are that they purport? None hath sworn so to thee.”

“That all the world,” said I, “should have bee turn’d To Christian, and no miracle been wrought, Would in itself be such a miracle, The rest were not an hundredth part so great.

E’en thou wentst forth in poverty and hunger To set the goodly plant, that from the vine, It once was, now is grown unsightly bramble.”

That ended, through the high celestial court Resounded all the spheres. “Praise we one God!”

In song of most unearthly melody.

And when that Worthy thus, from branch to branch, Examining, had led me, that we now Approach’d the topmost bough, he straight resum’d; “The grace, that holds sweet dalliance with thy soul, So far discreetly hath thy lips unclos’d That, whatsoe’er has past them, I commend.

Behooves thee to express, what thou believ’st, The next, and whereon thy belief hath grown.”

“O saintly sire and spirit!” I began, “Who seest that, which thou didst so believe, As to outstrip feet younger than thine own, Toward the sepulchre? thy will is here, That I the tenour of my creed unfold; And thou the cause of it hast likewise ask’d.

And I reply: I in one God believe, One sole eternal Godhead, of whose love All heav’n is mov’d, himself unmov’d the while.

Nor demonstration physical alone,

Or more intelligential and abstruse, Persuades me to this faith; but from that truth It cometh to me rather, which is shed Through Moses, the rapt Prophets, and the Psalms.

The Gospel, and that ye yourselves did write, When ye were gifted of the Holy Ghost.

In three eternal Persons I believe, Essence threefold and one, mysterious league Of union absolute, which, many a time, The word of gospel lore upon my mind Imprints: and from this germ, this firstling spark, The lively flame dilates, and like heav’n’s star Doth glitter in me.” As the master hears, Well pleas’d, and then enfoldeth in his arms The servant, who hath joyful tidings brought, And having told the errand keeps his peace; Thus benediction uttering with song Soon as my peace I held, compass’d me thrice The apostolic radiance, whose behest Had op’d lips; so well their answer pleas’d.

 

CANTO XXV

 

If e’er the sacred poem that hath made Both heav’n and earth copartners in its toil, And with lean abstinence, through many a year, Faded my brow, be destin’d to prevail Over the cruelty, which bars me forth Of the fair sheep-fold, where a sleeping lamb The wolves set on and fain had worried me, With other voice and fleece of other grain I shall forthwith return, and, standing up At my baptismal font, shall claim the wreath Due to the poet’s temples: for I there First enter’d on the faith which maketh souls Acceptable to God: and, for its sake, Peter had then circled my forehead thus.

Next from the squadron, whence had issued forth The first fruit of Christ’s vicars on the earth, Toward us mov’d a light, at view whereof My Lady, full of gladness, spake to me: “Lo! lo! behold the peer of mickle might, That makes Falicia throng’d with visitants!”

As when the ring-dove by his mate alights, In circles each about the other wheels, And murmuring cooes his fondness; thus saw I One, of the other great and glorious prince, With kindly greeting hail’d, extolling both Their heavenly banqueting; but when an end Was to their gratulation, silent, each, Before me sat they down, so burning bright, I could not look upon them. Smiling then, Beatrice spake: “O life in glory shrin’d!”

Who didst the largess of our kingly court Set