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at the shore arrives;

      And I gave heed a little, if I might hear

       Aught whatsoever in the circle new;

       Then to my Master turned me round and said:

      "Say, my sweet Father, what delinquency

       Is purged here in the circle where we are?

       Although our feet may pause, pause not thy speech."

      And he to me: "The love of good, remiss

       In what it should have done, is here restored;

       Here plied again the ill-belated oar;

      But still more openly to understand,

       Turn unto me thy mind, and thou shalt gather

       Some profitable fruit from our delay.

      Neither Creator nor a creature ever,

       Son," he began, "was destitute of love

       Natural or spiritual; and thou knowest it.

      The natural was ever without error;

       But err the other may by evil object,

       Or by too much, or by too little vigour.

      While in the first it well directed is,

       And in the second moderates itself,

       It cannot be the cause of sinful pleasure;

      But when to ill it turns, and, with more care

       Or lesser than it ought, runs after good,

       'Gainst the Creator works his own creation.

      Hence thou mayst comprehend that love must be

       The seed within yourselves of every virtue,

       And every act that merits punishment.

      Now inasmuch as never from the welfare

       Of its own subject can love turn its sight,

       From their own hatred all things are secure;

      And since we cannot think of any being

       Standing alone, nor from the First divided,

       Of hating Him is all desire cut off.

      Hence if, discriminating, I judge well,

       The evil that one loves is of one's neighbour,

       And this is born in three modes in your clay.

      There are, who, by abasement of their neighbour,

       Hope to excel, and therefore only long

       That from his greatness he may be cast down;

      There are, who power, grace, honour, and renown

       Fear they may lose because another rises,

       Thence are so sad that the reverse they love;

      And there are those whom injury seems to chafe,

       So that it makes them greedy for revenge,

       And such must needs shape out another's harm.

      This threefold love is wept for down below;

       Now of the other will I have thee hear,

       That runneth after good with measure faulty.

      Each one confusedly a good conceives

       Wherein the mind may rest, and longeth for it;

       Therefore to overtake it each one strives.

      If languid love to look on this attract you,

       Or in attaining unto it, this cornice,

       After just penitence, torments you for it.

      There's other good that does not make man happy;

       'Tis not felicity, 'tis not the good

       Essence, of every good the fruit and root.

      The love that yields itself too much to this

       Above us is lamented in three circles;

       But how tripartite it may be described,

      I say not, that thou seek it for thyself."

      XVIII. Virgil further discourses of Love and Free Will. The Abbot of San Zeno.

       Table of Contents

      An end had put unto his reasoning

       The lofty Teacher, and attent was looking

       Into my face, if I appeared content;

      And I, whom a new thirst still goaded on,

       Without was mute, and said within: "Perchance

       The too much questioning I make annoys him."

      But that true Father, who had comprehended

       The timid wish, that opened not itself,

       By speaking gave me hardihood to speak.

      Whence I: "My sight is, Master, vivified

       So in thy light, that clearly I discern

       Whate'er thy speech importeth or describes.

      Therefore I thee entreat, sweet Father dear,

       To teach me love, to which thou dost refer

       Every good action and its contrary."

      "Direct," he said, "towards me the keen eyes

       Of intellect, and clear will be to thee

       The error of the blind, who would be leaders.

      The soul, which is created apt to love,

       Is mobile unto everything that pleases,

       Soon as by pleasure she is waked to action.

      Your apprehension from some real thing

       An image draws, and in yourselves displays it

       So that it makes the soul turn unto it.

      And if, when turned, towards it she incline,

       Love is that inclination; it is nature,

       Which is by pleasure bound in you anew

      Then even as the fire doth upward move

       By its own form, which to ascend is born,

       Where longest in its matter it endures,

      So comes the captive soul into desire,

       Which is a motion spiritual, and ne'er rests

       Until she doth enjoy the thing beloved.

      Now may apparent be to thee how hidden

       The truth is from those people, who aver

       All love is in itself a laudable thing;

      Because its matter may perchance appear

       Aye to be good; but yet not each impression

       Is good, albeit good may be the wax."

      "Thy words, and my sequacious intellect,"

       I answered him, "have love revealed to me;

       But that has made me more impregned with doubt;

      For if love from without be offered us,

       And with another foot the soul go not,

       If right or wrong she go, 'tis not her merit."

      And he to me: "What reason seeth here,

       Myself can tell thee; beyond that await

       For Beatrice, since 'tis a work of faith.

      Every substantial form, that segregate

       From matter is, and with it is united,

      

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