The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (10 best books of all time txt) đ
- Author: Dante Alighieri
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After with Titus it was sent to wreak Vengeance for vengeance of the ancient sin, And, when the Lombard tooth, with fangs impure, Did gore the bosom of the holy church, Under its wings victorious, Charlemagne Sped to her rescue. Judge then for thyself Of those, whom I erewhile accusâd to thee, What they are, and how grievous their offending, Who are the cause of all your ills. The one Against the universal ensign rears The yellow lilies, and with partial aim That to himself the other arrogates: So that ât is hard to see which more offends.
Be yours, ye Ghibellines, to veil your arts Beneath another standard: ill is this Followâd of him, who severs it and justice: And let not with his Guelphs the new-crownâd Charles Assail it, but those talons hold in dread, Which from a lion of more lofty port Have rent the easing. Many a time ere now The sons have for the sireâs transgression wailâd; Nor let him trust the fond belief, that heavân Will truck its armour for his lilied shield.
âThis little star is furnishâd with good spirits, Whose mortal lives were busied to that end, That honour and renown might wait on them: And, when desires thus err in their intention, True love must needs ascend with slacker beam.
But it is part of our delight, to measure Our wages with the merit; and admire The close proportion. Hence doth heavânly justice Temper so evenly affection in us,
It neâer can warp to any wrongfulness.
Of diverse voices is sweet music made: So in our life the different degrees Render sweet harmony among these wheels.
âWithin the pearl, that now encloseth us, Shines Romeoâs light, whose goodly deed and fair Met ill acceptance. But the Provencals, That were his foes, have little cause for mirth.
Ill shapes that man his course, who makes his wrong Of otherâs worth. Four daughters were there born To Raymond Berenger, and every one Became a queen; and this for him did Romeo, Though of mean state and from a foreign land.
Yet envious tongues incited him to ask A reckoning of that just one, who returnâd Twelve fold to him for ten. Aged and poor He parted thence: and if the world did know The heart he had, begging his life by morsels, âT would deem the praise, it yields him, scantly dealt.â
CANTO VII
âHosanna Sanctus Deus Sabaoth
Superillustrans claritate tua
Felices ignes horum malahoth!â
Thus chanting saw I turn that substance bright With fourfold lustre to its orb again, Revolving; and the rest unto their dance With it movâd also; and like swiftest sparks, In sudden distance from my sight were veilâd.
Me doubt possessâd, and âSpeak,â it whisperâd me, âSpeak, speak unto thy lady, that she quench Thy thirst with drops of sweetness.â Yet blank awe, Which lords it oâer me, even at the sound Of Beatriceâs name, did bow me down As one in slumber held. Not long that mood Beatrice sufferâd: she, with such a smile, As might have made one blest amid the flames, Beaming upon me, thus her words began: âThou in thy thought art pondâring (as I deem, And what I deem is truth how just revenge Could be with justice punishâd: from which doubt I soon will free thee; so thou mark my words; For they of weighty matter shall possess thee.
âThat man, who was unborn, himself condemnâd, And, in himself, all, who since him have livâd, His offspring: whence, below, the human kind Lay sick in grievous error many an age; Until it pleasâd the Word of God to come Amongst them down, to his own person joining The nature, from its Maker far estrangâd, By the mere act of his eternal love.
Contemplate here the wonder I unfold.
The nature with its Maker thus conjoinâd, Created first was blameless, pure and good; But through itself alone was driven forth From Paradise, because it had eschewâd The way of truth and life, to evil turnâd.
Neâer then was penalty so just as that Inflicted by the cross, if thou regard The nature in assumption doomâd: neâer wrong So great, in reference to him, who took Such nature on him, and endurâd the doom.
God therefore and the Jews one sentence pleased: So different effects flowâd from one act, And heavân was openâd, though the earth did quake.
Count it not hard henceforth, when thou dost hear That a just vengeance was by righteous court Justly revengâd. But yet I see thy mind By thought on thought arising sore perplexâd, And with how vehement desire it asks Solution of the maze. What I have heard, Is plain, thou sayst: but wherefore God this way For our redemption chose, eludes my search.
âBrother! no eye of man not perfected, Nor fully ripenâd in the flame of love, May fathom this decree. It is a mark, In sooth, much aimâd at, and but little kennâd: And I will therefore show thee why such way Was worthiest. The celestial love, that spume All envying in its bounty, in itself With such effulgence blazeth, as sends forth All beauteous things eternal. What distils Immediate thence, no end of being knows, Bearing its seal immutably impressâd.
Whatever thence immediate falls, is free, Free wholly, uncontrollable by power Of each thing new: by such conformity More grateful to its author, whose bright beams, Though all partake their shining, yet in those Are liveliest, which resemble him the most.
These tokens of pre-eminence on man Largely bestowâd, if any of them fail, He needs must forfeit his nobility, No longer stainless. Sin alone is that, Which doth disfranchise him, and make unlike To the chief good; for that its light in him Is darkenâd. And to dignity thus lost Is no return; unless, where guilt makes void, He for ill pleasure pay with equal pain.
Your nature, which entirely in its seed Trangressâd, from these distinctions fell, no less Than from its state in Paradise; nor means Found of recovery (search all methods out As strickly as thou may) save one of these, The only fords were left through which to wade, Either that God had of his courtesy Releasâd him merely, or else man himself For his own folly by himself atonâd.
âFix now thine eye, intently as thou canst, On thâ everlasting counsel, and explore, Instructed by my words, the dread abyss.
âMan in himself had ever lackâd the means Of satisfaction, for he could not stoop Obeying, in humility so low,
As high he, disobeying, thought to soar: And for this reason he had vainly tried Out of his own sufficiency to pay
The rigid satisfaction. Then behooved That God should by his own ways lead him back Unto the life, from whence he fell, restorâd: By both his ways, I mean, or one alone.
But since the deed is ever prizâd the more, The more the doerâs good intent appears, Goodness celestial, whose broad signature Is on the universe, of all its ways To raise ye up, was fain to leave out none, Nor aught so vast or so magnificent, Either for him who gave or who receivâd Between the last night and the primal day, Was or can be. For God more bounty showâd.
Giving himself to make man capable Of his return to life, than had the terms Been mere and unconditional release.
And for his justice, every method else Were all too scant, had not the Son of God Humbled himself to put on mortal flesh.
âNow, to fulfil each wish of thine, remains I somewhat further to thy view unfold.
That thou mayst see as clearly as myself.
âI see, thou sayst, the air, the fire I see, The earth and water, and all things of them Compounded, to corruption turn, and soon Dissolve. Yet these were also things create, Because, if what were told me, had been true They from corruption had been therefore free.
âThe angels, O my brother! and this clime Wherein thou art, impassible and pure, I call created, as indeed they are In their whole being. But the elements, Which thou hast namâd, and what of them is made, Are by created virtueâ informâd: create Their substance, and create theâ informing virtue In these bright stars, that round them circling move The soul of every brute and of each plant, The ray and motion of the sacred lights, With complex potency attract and turn.
But this our life theâ eternal good inspires Immediate, and enamours of itself; So that our wishes rest for ever here.
âAnd hence thou mayst by inference conclude Our resurrection certain, if thy mind Consider how the human flesh was framâd, When both our parents at the first were made.â
CANTO VIII
The world was in its day of peril dark Wont to believe the dotage of fond love From the fair Cyprian deity, who rolls In her third epicycle, shed on men By stream of potent radiance: therefore they Of elder time, in their old error blind, Not her alone with sacrifice adorâd And invocation, but like honours paid To Cupid and Dione, deemâd of them Her mother, and her son, him whom they feignâd To sit in Didoâs bosom: and from her, Whom I have sung preluding, borrowâd they The appellation of that star, which views, Now obvious and now averse, the sun.
I was not ware that I was wafted up Into its orb; but the new loveliness That gracâd my lady, gave me ample proof That we had entered there. And as in flame A sparkle is distinct, or voice in voice Discernâd, when one its even tenour keeps, The other comes and goes; so in that light I other luminaries saw, that coursâd In circling motion. rapid more or less, As their eternal phases each impels.
Never was blast from vapour charged with cold, Whether invisible to eye or no,
Descended with such speed, it had not seemâd To linger in dull tardiness, comparâd To those celestial lights, that towârds us came, Leaving the circuit of their joyous ring, Conducted by the lofty seraphim.
And after them, who in the van appearâd, Such an hosanna sounded, as hath left Desire, neâer since extinct in me, to hear Renewâd the strain. Then parting from the rest One near us drew, and sole began: âWe all Are ready at thy pleasure, well disposâd To do thee gentle service. We are they, To whom thou in the world erewhile didst Sing âO ye! whose intellectual ministry Moves the third heaven!â and in one orb we roll, One motion, one impulse, with those who rule Princedoms in heaven; yet are of love so full, That to please thee ât will be as sweet to rest.â
After mine eyes had with meek reverence Sought the celestial guide, and were by her Assurâd, they turnâd again unto the light Who had so largely promisâd, and with voice That bare the lively pressure of my zeal, âTell who ye are,â I cried. Forthwith it grew In size and splendour, through augmented joy; And thus it answerâd: âA short date below The world possessâd me. Had the time been more, Much evil, that will come, had never chancâd.
My gladness hides thee from me, which doth shine .
Around, and shroud me, as an animal In its own silk enswathâd. Thou lovâdst me well, And hadâst good cause; for had my sojourning Been longer on the earth, the love I bare thee Had put forth more than blossoms. The left bank, That Rhone, when he hath mixâd with Sorga, laves.
In me its lord expected, and that horn Of fair Ausonia, with its boroughs old, Bari, and Croton, and Gaeta pilâd, From where the Trento disembogues his waves, With Verde mingled, to the salt sea-flood.
Already on my temples beamâd the crown, Which gave
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