The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (10 best books of all time txt) đ
- Author: Dante Alighieri
- Performer: -
Book online «The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (10 best books of all time txt) đ». Author Dante Alighieri
CANTO XXIX
No longer than what time Latonaâs twins Coverâd of Libra and the fleecy star, Together both, girding theâ horizon hang, In even balance from the zenith poisâd, Till from that verge, each, changing hemisphere, Part the nice level; eâen so brief a space Did Beatriceâs silence hold. A smile Bat painted on her cheek; and her fixâd gaze Bent on the point, at which my vision failâd: When thus her words resuming she began: âI speak, nor what thou wouldst inquire demand; For I have markâd it, where all time and place Are present. Not for increase to himself Of good, which may not be increasâd, but forth To manifest his glory by its beams, Inhabiting his own eternity,
Beyond timeâs limit or what bound soeâer To circumscribe his being, as he willâd, Into new natures, like unto himself, Eternal Love unfolded. Nor before, As if in dull inaction torpid lay.
For not in process of before or aft Upon these waters movâd the Spirit of God.
Simple and mixâd, both form and substance, forth To perfect being started, like three darts Shot from a bow three-corded. And as ray In crystal, glass, and amber, shines entire, Eâen at the moment of its issuing; thus Did, from thâ eternal Sovran, beam entire His threefold operation, at one act Producâd coeval. Yet in order each Created his due station knew: those highest, Who pure intelligence were made: mere power The lowest: in the midst, bound with strict league, Intelligence and power, unseverâd bond.
Long tract of ages by the angels past, Ere the creating of another world, Describâd on Jeromeâs pages thou hast seen.
But that what I disclose to thee is true, Those penmen, whom the Holy Spirit movâd In many a passage of their sacred book Attest; as thou by diligent search shalt find And reason in some sort discerns the same, Who scarce would grant the heavânly ministers Of their perfection void, so long a space.
Thus when and where these spirits of love were made, Thou knowâst, and how: and knowing hast allayâd Thy thirst, which from the triple question rose.
Ere one had reckonâd twenty, eâen so soon Part of the angels fell: and in their fall Confusion to your elements ensued.
The others kept their station: and this task, Whereon thou lookst, began with such delight, That they surcease not ever, day nor night, Their circling. Of that fatal lapse the cause Was the curst pride of him, whom thou hast seen Pent with the worldâs incumbrance. Those, whom here Thou seest, were lowly to confess themselves Of his free bounty, who had made them apt For ministries so high: therefore their views Were by enlightâning grace and their own merit Exalted; so that in their will confirmâd They stand, nor feel to fall. For do not doubt, But to receive the grace, which heavân vouchsafes, Is meritorious, even as the soul
With prompt affection welcometh the guest.
Now, without further help, if with good heed My words thy mind have treasurâd, thou henceforth This consistory round about mayst scan, And gaze thy fill. But since thou hast on earth Heard vain disputers, reasoners in the schools, Canvas theâ angelic nature, and dispute Its powers of apprehension, memory, choice; Therefore, ât is well thou take from me the truth, Pure and without disguise, which they below, Equivocating, darken and perplex.
âKnow thou, that, from the first, these substances, Rejoicing in the countenance of God, Have held unceasingly their view, intent Upon the glorious vision, from the which Naught absent is nor hid: where then no change Of newness with succession interrupts, Remembrance there needs none to gather up Divided thought and images remote
âSo that men, thus at variance with the truth Dream, though their eyes be open; reckless some Of error; others well aware they err, To whom more guilt and shame are justly due.
Each the known track of sage philosophy Deserts, and has a byway of his own: So much the restless eagerness to shine And love of singularity prevail.
Yet this, offensive as it is, provokes Heavânâs anger less, than when the book of God Is forcâd to yield to manâs authority, Or from its straightness warpâd: no reckâning made What blood the sowing of it in the world Has cost; what favour for himself he wins, Who meekly clings to it. The aim of all Is how to shine: eâen they, whose office is To preach the Gospel, let the gospel sleep, And pass their own inventions off instead.
One tells, how at Christâs suffering the wan moon Bent back her steps, and shadowâd oâer the sun With intervenient disk, as she withdrew: Another, how the light shrouded itself Within its tabernacle, and left dark The Spaniard and the Indian, with the Jew.
Such fables Florence in her pulpit hears, Bandied about more frequent, than the names Of Bindi and of Lapi in her streets.
The sheep, meanwhile, poor witless ones, return From pasture, fed with wind: and what avails For their excuse, they do not see their harm?
Christ said not to his first conventicle, âGo forth and preach impostures to the world,â
But gave them truth to build on; and the sound Was mighty on their lips; nor needed they, Beside the gospel, other spear or shield, To aid them in their warfare for the faith.
The preacher now provides himself with store Of jests and gibes; and, so there be no lack Of laughter, while he vents them, his big cowl Distends, and he has won the meed he sought: Could but the vulgar catch a glimpse the while Of that dark bird which nestles in his hood, They scarce would wait to hear the blessing said.
Which now the dotards hold in such esteem, That every counterfeit, who spreads abroad The hands of holy promise, finds a throng Of credulous fools beneath. Saint Anthony Fattens with this his swine, and others worse Than swine, who diet at his lazy board, Paying with unstampâd metal for their fare.
âBut (for we far have wanderâd) let us seek The forward path again; so as the way Be shortenâd with the time. No mortal tongue Nor thought of man hath ever reachâd so far, That of these natures he might count the tribes.
What Daniel of their thousands hath revealâd With finite number infinite conceals.
The fountain at whose source these drink their beams, With light supplies them in as many modes, As there are splendours, that it shines on: each According to the virtue it conceives, Differing in love and sweet affection.
Look then how lofty and how huge in breadth Theâ eternal might, which, broken and dispersâd Over such countless mirrors, yet remains Whole in itself and one, as at the first.â
CANTO XXX
Noonâs fervid hour perchance six thousand miles From hence is distant; and the shadowy cone Almost 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 sun Puts forth her radiant brow, all, light by light, Fade, and the spangled firmament shuts in, Eâen to the loveliest of the glittering throng.
Thus vanishâd gradually from my sight The triumph, which plays ever round the point, That overcame me, seeming (for it did) Engirt by that it girdeth. Wherefore love, With loss of other object, forcâd me bend Mine eyes on Beatrice once again.
If all, that hitherto is told of her, Were in one praise concluded, ât were too weak To furnish out this turn. Mine eyes did look On beauty, such, as I believe in sooth, Not merely to exceed our human, but, That save its Maker, none can to the full Enjoy it. At this point oâerpowerâd I fail, Unequal to my theme, as never bard Of buskin or of sock hath failâd before.
For, as the sun doth to the feeblest sight, Eâen so remembrance of that witching smile Hath dispossess my spirit of itself.
Not from that day, when on this earth I first Beheld her charms, up to that view of them, Have I with song applausive ever ceasâd To follow, but not follow them no more; My course here bounded, as each artistâs is, When it doth touch the limit of his skill.
She (such as I bequeath her to the bruit Of louder trump than mine, which hasteneth on, Urging its arduous matter to the close), Her words resumâd, in gesture and in voice Resembling one accustomâd to command: âForth from the last corporeal are we come Into the heavân, 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.â
As when the lightning, in a sudden spleen Unfolded, dashes from the blinding eyes The visive spirits dazzled and bedimmâd; So, round about me, fulminating streams Of living radiance playâd, and left me swathâd And veilâd in dense impenetrable blaze.
Such weal is in the love, that stills this heavân; For its own flame the torch this fitting ever!
No sooner to my listâning ear had come The brief assurance, than I understood New virtue into me infusâd, and sight Kindled afresh, with vigour to sustain Excess of light, however pure. I lookâd; And in the likeness of a river saw Light flowing, from whose amber-seeming waves Flashâd up effulgence, as they glided on âTwixt banks, on either side, painted with spring, Incredible how fair; and, from the tide, There ever and anon, outstarting, flew Sparkles instinct with life; and in the flowârs Did set them, like to rubies chasâd in gold; Then, as if drunk with odors, plungâd again Into the wondrous flood; from which, as one Reâenterâd, still another rose. âThe thirst Of knowledge high, whereby thou art inflamâd, To search the meaning of what here thou seest, The more it warms thee, pleases me the more.
But first behooves thee of this water drink, Or ere that longing be allayâd.â So spake The day-star of mine eyes; then thus subjoinâd: âThis 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 truth They emblem: not that, in themselves, the things Are crude; but on thy part is the defect, For that thy views not yet aspire so high.â
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 eyes In the refining wave; and, as the eaves Of mine eyelids did drink of it, forthwith Seemâd it unto me turnâd from length to round, Then as a troop of maskers, when they put Their vizors off, look other than before, The counterfeited semblance thrown aside; So into greater jubilee were changâd Those flowers and sparkles, and distinct I saw Before me either court of heavân displacâd.
O prime enlightener! thou who cravâst me strength On the high triumph of thy realm to gaze!
Grant virtue now to utter what I kennâd, There is in heavân a light, whose goodly shine Makes the Creator visible to all
Created, that in seeing him alone
Have peace; and in a circle spreads so far, That the circumference were too loose a zone To 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 eyes Its image mirrorâd in the crystal flood, As if ât admire its brave appareling Of verdure and of flowers: so, round about,
Comments (0)