The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (10 best books of all time txt) đ
- Author: Dante Alighieri
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And, to the mortal world when thou returnâst, Be this reported; that none henceforth dare Direct his footsteps to so dread a bourn.
The mind, that here is radiant, on the earth Is wrapt in mist. Look then if she may do, Below, what passeth her ability,
When she is taâen to heavân.â By words like these Admonishâd, I the question urgâd no more; And of the spirit humbly sued alone Tâ instruct me of its state. ââTwixt either shore Of Italy, nor distant from thy land, A stony ridge ariseth, in such sort, The thunder doth not lift his voice so high, They call it Catria: at whose foot a cell Is sacred to the lonely Eremite,
For worship set apart and holy rites.â
A third time thus it spake; then added: âThere So firmly to Godâs service I adherâd, That with no costlier viands than the juice Of olives, easily I passâd the heats Of summer and the winter frosts, content In heavân-ward musings. Rich were the returns And fertile, which that cloister once was usâd To render to these heavens: now ât is fallân Into a waste so empty, that ere long Detection must lay bare its vanity Pietro Damiano there was I y-clept: Pietro the sinner, when before I dwelt Beside the Adriatic, in the house
Of our blest Lady. Near upon my close Of mortal life, through much importuning I was constrainâd to wear the hat that still From bad to worse it shifted.âCephas came; He came, who was the Holy Spiritâs vessel, Barefoot and lean, eating their bread, as chancâd, At the first table. Modern Shepherdâs need Those who on either hand may prop and lead them, So burly are they grown: and from behind Others to hoist them. Down the palfreyâs sides Spread their broad mantles, so as both the beasts Are coverâd with one skin. O patience! thou That lookst on this and doth endure so long.â
I at those accents saw the splendours down From step to step alight, and wheel, and wax, Each circuiting, more beautiful. Round this They came, and stayâd them; uttered them a shout So loud, it hath no likeness here: nor I Wist what it spake, so deafâning was the thunder.
CANTO XXII
Astounded, to the guardian of my steps I turnâd me, like the chill, who always runs Thither for succour, where he trusteth most, And she was like the mother, who her son Beholding pale and breathless, with her voice Soothes him, and he is cheerâd; for thus she spake, Soothing me: âKnowâst not thou, thou art in heavân?
And knowâst not thou, whatever is in heavân, Is holy, and that nothing there is done But is done zealously and well? Deem now, What change in thee the song, and what my smile had wrought, since thus the shout had powâr to move thee.
In which couldst thou have understood their prayers, The vengeance were already known to thee, Which thou must witness ere thy mortal hour, The sword of heavân is not in haste to smite, Nor yet doth linger, save unto his seeming, Who in desire or fear doth look for it.
But elsewhere now l bid thee turn thy view; So shalt thou many a famous spirit behold.â
Mine eyes directing, as she willâd, I saw A hundred little spheres, that fairer grew By interchange of splendour. I remainâd, As one, who fearful of oâer-much presuming, Abates in him the keenness of desire, Nor dares to question, when amid those pearls, One largest and most lustrous onward drew, That it might yield contentment to my wish; And from within it these the sounds I heard.
âIf thou, like me, beheldst the charity That burns amongst us, what thy mind conceives, Were utterâd. But that, ere the lofty bound Thou reach, expectance may not weary thee, I will make answer even to the thought, Which thou hast such respect of. In old days, That mountain, at whose side Cassino rests, Was on its height frequented by a race Deceived and ill disposâd: and I it was, Who thither carried first the name of Him, Who brought the soul-subliming truth to man.
And such a speeding grace shone over me, That from their impious worship I reclaimâd The dwellers round about, who with the world Were in delusion lost. These other flames, The spirits of men contemplative, were all Enlivenâd by that warmth, whose kindly force Gives birth to flowers and fruits of holiness.
Here is Macarius; Romoaldo here:
And here my brethren, who their steps refrainâd Within the cloisters, and held firm their heart.â
I answâring, thus; âThy gentle words and kind, And this the cheerful semblance, I behold Not unobservant, beaming in ye all, Have raisâd assurance in me, wakening it Full-blossomâd in my bosom, as a rose Before the sun, when the consummate flower Has spread to utmost amplitude. Of thee Therefore entreat I, father! to declare If I may gain such favour, as to gaze Upon thine image, by no covering veilâd.â
âBrother!â he thus rejoinâd, âin the last sphere Expect completion of thy lofty aim, For there on each desire completion waits, And there on mine: where every aim is found Perfect, entire, and for fulfillment ripe.
There all things are as they have ever been: For space is none to bound, nor pole divides, Our ladder reaches even to that clime, And so at giddy distance mocks thy view.
Thither the Patriarch Jacob saw it stretch Its topmost round, when it appearâd to him With angels laden. But to mount it now None lifts his foot from earth: and hence my rule Is left a profitless stain upon the leaves; The walls, for abbey rearâd, turned into dens, The cowls to sacks choakâd up with musty meal.
Foul usury doth not more lift itself Against Godâs pleasure, than that fruit which makes The hearts of monks so wanton: for whateâer Is in the churchâs keeping, all pertains.
To such, as sue for heavânâs sweet sake, and not To those who in respect of kindred claim, Or on more vile allowance. Mortal flesh Is grown so dainty, good beginnings last not From the oakâs birth, unto the acornâs setting.
His convent Peter founded without gold Or silver; I with prayârs and fasting mine; And Francis his in meek humility.
And if thou note the point, whence each proceeds, Then look what it hath errâd to, thou shalt find The white grown murky. Jordan was turnâd back; And a less wonder, then the refluent sea, May at Godâs pleasure work amendment here.â
So saying, to his assembly back he drew: And they together clusterâd into one, Then all rollâd upward like an eddying wind.
The sweet dame beckonâd me to follow them: And, by that influence only, so prevailâd Over my nature, that no natural motion, Ascending or descending here below, Had, as I mounted, with my pennon vied.
So, reader, as my hope is to return Unto the holy triumph, for the which I ofttimes wail my sins, and smite my breast, Thou hadst been longer drawing out and thrusting Thy finger in the fire, than I was, ere The sign, that followeth Taurus, I beheld, And enterâd its precinct. O glorious stars!
O light impregnate with exceeding virtue!
To whom whateâer of genius lifteth me Above the vulgar, grateful I refer; With ye the parent of all mortal life Arose and set, when I did first inhale The Tuscan air; and afterward, when grace Vouchsafâd me entrance to the lofty wheel That in its orb impels ye, fate decreed My passage at your clime. To you my soul Devoutly sighs, for virtue even now To meet the hard emprize that draws me on.
âThou art so near the sum of blessedness,â
Said Beatrice, âthat behooves thy ken Be vigilant and clear. And, to this end, Or even thou advance thee further, hence Look downward, and contemplate, what a world Already stretched under our feet there lies: So as thy heart may, in its blithest mood, Present itself to the triumphal throng, Which through theâ etherial concave comes rejoicing.â
I straight obeyâd; and with mine eye returnâd Through all the seven spheres, and saw this globe So pitiful of semblance, that perforce It moved my smiles: and him in truth I hold For wisest, who esteems it least: whose thoughts Elsewhere are fixâd, him worthiest call and best.
I saw the daughter of Latona shine Without the shadow, whereof late I deemâd That dense and rare were cause. Here I sustainâd The visage, Hyperion! of thy sun; And markâd, how near him with their circle, round Move Maia and Dione; here discernâd Joveâs tempering âtwixt his sire and son; and hence Their changes and their various aspects Distinctly scannâd. Nor might I not descry Of all the seven, how bulky each, how swift; Nor of their several distances not learn.
This petty area (oâer the which we stride So fiercely), as along the eternal twins I wound my way, appearâd before me all, Forth from the havens stretchâd unto the hills.
Then to the beauteous eyes mine eyes returnâd.
CANTO XXIII
Eâen as the bird, who midst the leafy bower Has, in her nest, sat darkling through the night, With her sweet brood, impatient to descry Their wished looks, and to bring home their food, In the fond quest unconscious of her toil: She, of the time prevenient, on the spray, That overhangs their couch, with wakeful gaze Expects the sun; nor ever, till the dawn, Removeth from the east her eager ken; So stood the dame erect, and bent her glance Wistfully on that region, where the sun Abateth most his speed; that, seeing her Suspense and wandâring, I became as one, In whom desire is wakenâd, and the hope Of somewhat new to come fills with delight.
Short space ensued; I was not held, I say, Long in expectance, when I saw the heavân Wax more and more resplendent; and, âBehold,â
Cried Beatrice, âthe triumphal hosts Of Christ, and all the harvest reapâd at length Of thy ascending up these spheres.â Meseemâd, That, while she spake her image all did burn, And in her eyes such fullness was of joy, And I am fain to pass unconstrued by.
As in the calm full moon, when Trivia smiles, In peerless beauty, âmid thâ eternal nympus, That paint through all its gulfs the blue profound In bright pre-eminence so saw I there, Oâer million lamps a sun, from whom all drew Their radiance as from ours the starry train: And through the living light so lustrous glowâd The substance, that my ken endurâd it not.
O Beatrice! sweet and precious guide!
Who cheerâd me with her comfortable words!
âAgainst the virtue, that oâerpowâreth thee, Avails not to resist. Here is the might, And here the wisdom, which did open lay The path, that had been yearned for so long, Betwixt the heavân and earth.â Like to the fire, That, in a cloud imprisonâd doth break out Expansive, so that from its womb enlargâd, It falleth against nature to the ground; Thus in that heavânly banqueting my soul Outgrew herself; and, in the transport lost.
Holds now remembrance none of what she was.
âOpe thou thine eyes, and mark me: thou hast seen Things, that empower thee to sustain my smile.â
I was as one, when a forgotten dream Doth come across him, and he strives in vain To shape it in his fantasy again,
Whenas that gracious boon was profferâd me, Which never may be cancelâd from the book, Wherein the past is written. Now were all Those tongues to sound, that have on sweetest milk Of Polyhymnia and her sisters fed
And fattenâd, not with all their help to boot, Unto the
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