So are the' Italian cities all o'erthrong'd With tyrants, and a great Marcellus made Of every petty factious villager.

My Florence! thou mayst well remain unmov'd At this digression, which affects not thee: Thanks to thy people, who so wisely speed.

Many have justice in their heart, that long Waiteth for counsel to direct the bow, Or ere it dart unto its aim: but shine Have it on their lip's edge. Many refuse To bear the common burdens: readier thine Answer uneall'd, and cry, "Behold I stoop!"

Make thyself glad, for thou hast reason now, Thou wealthy! thou at peace! thou wisdom-fraught!

Facts best witness if I speak the truth.

Athens and Lacedaemon, who of old Enacted laws, for civil arts renown'd, Made little progress in improving life Tow'rds thee, who usest such nice subtlety, That to the middle of November scarce Reaches the thread thou in October weav'st.

How many times, within thy memory, Customs, and laws, and coins, and offices Have been by thee renew'd, and people chang'd!

If thou remember'st well and can'st see clear, Thou wilt perceive thyself like a sick wretch, Who finds no rest upon her down, but oft Shifting her side, short respite seeks from pain.

CANTO VII

After their courteous greetings joyfully Sev'n times exchang'd, Sordello backward drew Exclaiming, "Who are ye?" "Before this mount By spirits worthy of ascent to G.o.d Was sought, my bones had by Octavius' care Been buried. I am Virgil, for no sin Depriv'd of heav'n, except for lack of faith."

So answer'd him in few my gentle guide.

As one, who aught before him suddenly Beholding, whence his wonder riseth, cries "It is yet is not," wav'ring in belief; Such he appear'd; then downward bent his eyes, And drawing near with reverential step, Caught him, where of mean estate might clasp His lord. "Glory of Latium!" he exclaim'd, "In whom our tongue its utmost power display'd!

Boast of my honor'd birth-place! what desert Of mine, what favour rather undeserv'd, Shows thee to me? If I to hear that voice Am worthy, say if from below thou com'st And from what cloister's pale?"--"Through every orb Of that sad region," he reply'd, "thus far Am I arriv'd, by heav'nly influence led And with such aid I come. There is a place There underneath, not made by torments sad, But by dun shades alone; where mourning's voice Sounds not of anguish sharp, but breathes in sighs.

"There I with little innocents abide, Who by death's fangs were bitten, ere exempt From human taint. There I with those abide, Who the three holy virtues put not on, But understood the rest, and without blame Follow'd them all. But if thou know'st and canst, Direct us, how we soonest may arrive, Where Purgatory its true beginning takes."

He answer'd thus: "We have no certain place a.s.sign'd us: upwards I may go or round, Far as I can, I join thee for thy guide.

But thou beholdest now how day declines: And upwards to proceed by night, our power Excels: therefore it may be well to choose A place of pleasant sojourn. To the right Some spirits sit apart retir'd. If thou Consentest, I to these will lead thy steps: And thou wilt know them, not without delight."

"How chances this?" was answer'd; "who so wish'd To ascend by night, would he be thence debarr'd By other, or through his own weakness fail?"

The good Sordello then, along the ground Trailing his finger, spoke: "Only this line Thou shalt not overpa.s.s, soon as the sun Hath disappear'd; not that aught else impedes Thy going upwards, save the shades of night.

These with the wont of power perplex the will.

With them thou haply mightst return beneath, Or to and fro around the mountain's side Wander, while day is in the horizon shut."

My master straight, as wond'ring at his speech, Exclaim'd: "Then lead us quickly, where thou sayst, That, while we stay, we may enjoy delight."

A little s.p.a.ce we were remov'd from thence, When I perceiv'd the mountain hollow'd out.

Ev'n as large valleys hollow'd out on earth,

"That way," the' escorting spirit cried, "we go, Where in a bosom the high bank recedes: And thou await renewal of the day."

Betwixt the steep and plain a crooked path Led us traverse into the ridge's side, Where more than half the sloping edge expires.

Refulgent gold, and silver thrice refin'd, And scarlet grain and ceruse, Indian wood Of lucid dye serene, fresh emeralds But newly broken, by the herbs and flowers Plac'd in that fair recess, in color all Had been surpa.s.s'd, as great surpa.s.ses less.

Nor nature only there lavish'd her hues, But of the sweetness of a thousand smells A rare and undistinguish'd fragrance made.

"Salve Regina," on the gra.s.s and flowers Here chanting I beheld those spirits sit Who not beyond the valley could be seen.

"Before the west'ring sun sink to his bed,"

Began the Mantuan, who our steps had turn'd,

"'Mid those desires not that I lead ye on.

For from this eminence ye shall discern Better the acts and visages of all, Than in the nether vale among them mix'd.

He, who sits high above the rest, and seems To have neglected that he should have done, And to the others' song moves not his lip, The Emperor Rodolph call, who might have heal'd The wounds whereof fair Italy hath died, So that by others she revives but slowly, He, who with kindly visage comforts him, Sway'd in that country, where the water springs, That Moldaw's river to the Elbe, and Elbe Rolls to the ocean: Ottocar his name: Who in his swaddling clothes was of more worth Than Winceslaus his son, a bearded man, Pamper'd with rank luxuriousness and ease.

And that one with the nose depress, who close In counsel seems with him of gentle look, Flying expir'd, with'ring the lily's flower.

Look there how he doth knock against his breast!

The other ye behold, who for his cheek Makes of one hand a couch, with frequent sighs.

They are the father and the father-in-law Of Gallia's bane: his vicious life they know And foul; thence comes the grief that rends them thus.

"He, so robust of limb, who measure keeps In song, with him of feature prominent, With ev'ry virtue bore his girdle brac'd.

And if that stripling who behinds him sits, King after him had liv'd, his virtue then From vessel to like vessel had been pour'd; Which may not of the other heirs be said.

By James and Frederick his realms are held; Neither the better heritage obtains.

Rarely into the branches of the tree Doth human worth mount up; and so ordains He who bestows it, that as his free gift It may be call'd. To Charles my words apply No less than to his brother in the song; Which Pouille and Provence now with grief confess.

So much that plant degenerates from its seed, As more than Beatrice and Margaret Costanza still boasts of her valorous spouse.

"Behold the king of simple life and plain, Harry of England, sitting there alone: He through his branches better issue spreads.

"That one, who on the ground beneath the rest Sits lowest, yet his gaze directs aloft, Us William, that brave Marquis, for whose cause The deed of Alexandria and his war Makes Conferrat and Canavese weep."

CANTO VIII

Now was the hour that wakens fond desire In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart, Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell, And pilgrim newly on his road with love Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far, That seems to mourn for the expiring day: When I, no longer taking heed to hear Began, with wonder, from those spirits to mark One risen from its seat, which with its hand Audience implor'd. Both palms it join'd and rais'd, Fixing its steadfast gaze towards the east, As telling G.o.d, "I care for naught beside."

"Te Lucis Ante," so devoutly then Came from its lip, and in so soft a strain, That all my sense in ravishment was lost.

And the rest after, softly and devout, Follow'd through all the hymn, with upward gaze Directed to the bright supernal wheels.

Here, reader! for the truth makes thine eyes keen: For of so subtle texture is this veil, That thou with ease mayst pa.s.s it through unmark'd.

I saw that gentle band silently next Look up, as if in expectation held, Pale and in lowly guise; and from on high I saw forth issuing descend beneath Two angels with two flame-illumin'd swords, Broken and mutilated at their points.

Green as the tender leaves but newly born, Their vesture was, the which by wings as green Beaten, they drew behind them, fann'd in air.

A little over us one took his stand, The other lighted on the' Opposing hill, So that the troop were in the midst contain'd.

Well I descried the whiteness on their heads; But in their visages the dazzled eye Was lost, as faculty that by too much Is overpower'd. "From Mary's bosom both Are come," exclaim'd Sordello, "as a guard Over the vale, ganst him, who hither tends, The serpent." Whence, not knowing by which path He came, I turn'd me round, and closely press'd, All frozen, to my leader's trusted side.

Sordello paus'd not: "To the valley now (For it is time) let us descend; and hold Converse with those great shadows: haply much Their sight may please ye." Only three steps down Methinks I measur'd, ere I was beneath, And noted one who look'd as with desire To know me. Time was now that air arrow dim; Yet not so dim, that 'twixt his eyes and mine It clear'd not up what was conceal'd before.

Mutually tow'rds each other we advanc'd.

Nino, thou courteous judge! what joy I felt, When I perceiv'd thou wert not with the bad!

No salutation kind on either part Was left unsaid. He then inquir'd: "How long Since thou arrived'st at the mountain's foot, Over the distant waves?"--"O!" answer'd I, "Through the sad seats of woe this morn I came, And still in my first life, thus journeying on, The other strive to gain." Soon as they heard My words, he and Sordello backward drew, As suddenly amaz'd. To Virgil one, The other to a spirit turn'd, who near Was seated, crying: "Conrad! up with speed: Come, see what of his grace high G.o.d hath will'd."

Then turning round to me: "By that rare mark Of honour which thou ow'st to him, who hides So deeply his first cause, it hath no ford, When thou shalt be beyond the vast of waves.

Tell my Giovanna, that for me she call There, where reply to innocence is made.

Her mother, I believe, loves me no more; Since she has chang'd the white and wimpled folds, Which she is doom'd once more with grief to wish.

By her it easily may be perceiv'd, How long in women lasts the flame of love, If sight and touch do not relume it oft.

For her so fair a burial will not make The viper which calls Milan to the field, As had been made by shrill Gallura's bird."

He spoke, and in his visage took the stamp Of that right seal, which with due temperature Glows in the bosom. My insatiate eyes Meanwhile to heav'n had travel'd, even there Where the bright stars are slowest, as a wheel Nearest the axle; when my guide inquir'd: "What there aloft, my son, has caught thy gaze?"