LITMIR.BIZ

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She unto me began, "thou wouldst become

       Like Semele, when she was turned to ashes.

      Because my beauty, that along the stairs

       Of the eternal palace more enkindles,

       As thou hast seen, the farther we ascend,

      If it were tempered not, is so resplendent

       That all thy mortal power in its effulgence

       Would seem a leaflet that the thunder crushes.

      We are uplifted to the seventh splendour,

       That underneath the burning Lion's breast

       Now radiates downward mingled with his power.

      Fix in direction of thine eyes the mind,

       And make of them a mirror for the figure

       That in this mirror shall appear to thee."

      He who could know what was the pasturage

       My sight had in that blessed countenance,

       When I transferred me to another care,

      Would recognize how grateful was to me

       Obedience unto my celestial escort,

       By counterpoising one side with the other.

      Within the crystal which, around the world

       Revolving, bears the name of its dear leader,

       Under whom every wickedness lay dead,

      Coloured like gold, on which the sunshine gleams,

       A stairway I beheld to such a height

       Uplifted, that mine eye pursued it not.

      Likewise beheld I down the steps descending

       So many splendours, that I thought each light

       That in the heaven appears was there diffused.

      And as accordant with their natural custom

       The rooks together at the break of day

       Bestir themselves to warm their feathers cold;

      Then some of them fly off without return,

       Others come back to where they started from,

       And others, wheeling round, still keep at home;

      Such fashion it appeared to me was there

       Within the sparkling that together came,

       As soon as on a certain step it struck,

      And that which nearest unto us remained

       Became so clear, that in my thought I said,

       "Well I perceive the love thou showest me;

      But she, from whom I wait the how and when

       Of speech and silence, standeth still; whence I

       Against desire do well if I ask not."

      She thereupon, who saw my silentness

       In the sight of Him who seeth everything,

       Said unto me, "Let loose thy warm desire."

      And I began: "No merit of my own

       Renders me worthy of response from thee;

       But for her sake who granteth me the asking,

      Thou blessed life that dost remain concealed

       In thy beatitude, make known to me

       The cause which draweth thee so near my side;

      And tell me why is silent in this wheel

       The dulcet symphony of Paradise,

       That through the rest below sounds so devoutly."

      "Thou hast thy hearing mortal as thy sight,"

       It answer made to me; "they sing not here,

       For the same cause that Beatrice has not smiled.

      Thus far adown the holy stairway's steps

       Have I descended but to give thee welcome

       With words, and with the light that mantles me;

      Nor did more love cause me to be more ready,

       For love as much and more up there is burning,

       As doth the flaming manifest to thee.

      But the high charity, that makes us servants

       Prompt to the counsel which controls the world,

       Allotteth here, even as thou dost observe."

      "I see full well," said I, "O sacred lamp!

       How love unfettered in this court sufficeth

       To follow the eternal Providence;

      But this is what seems hard for me to see,

       Wherefore predestinate wast thou alone

       Unto this office from among thy consorts."

      No sooner had I come to the last word,

       Than of its middle made the light a centre,

       Whirling itself about like a swift millstone.

      When answer made the love that was therein:

       "On me directed is a light divine,

       Piercing through this in which I am embosomed,

      Of which the virtue with my sight conjoined

       Lifts me above myself so far, I see

       The supreme essence from which this is drawn.

      Hence comes the joyfulness with which I flame,

       For to my sight, as far as it is clear,

       The clearness of the flame I equal make.

      But that soul in the heaven which is most pure,

       That seraph which his eye on God most fixes,

       Could this demand of thine not satisfy;

      Because so deeply sinks in the abyss

       Of the eternal statute what thou askest,

       From all created sight it is cut off.

      And to the mortal world, when thou returnest,

       This carry back, that it may not presume

       Longer tow'rd such a goal to move its feet.

      The mind, that shineth here, on earth doth smoke;

       From this observe how can it do below

       That which it cannot though the heaven assume it?"

      Such limit did its words prescribe to me,

       The question I relinquished, and restricted

       Myself to ask it humbly who it was.

      "Between two shores of Italy rise cliffs,

       And not far distant from thy native place,

       So high, the thunders far below them sound,

      And form a ridge that Catria is called,

       'Neath which is consecrate a hermitage

       Wont to be dedicate to worship only."

      Thus unto me the third speech recommenced,

       And then, continuing, it said: "Therein

       Unto God's service I became so steadfast,

      That feeding only on the juice of olives

       Lightly I passed away the heats and frosts,

       Contented in my thoughts contemplative.

      That cloister used to render to these heavens

       Abundantly, and now is empty grown,

      

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