Purgatorio: Canto XXX
When the
Septentrion of the highest heaven
(Which
never either setting knew or rising,
Nor veil of other cloud than that of sin,
And which made
every one therein aware
Of
his own duty, as the lower makes
Whoever turns the helm to come to port)
Motionless halted,
the veracious people,
That
came at first between it and the Griffin,
Turned themselves to the car, as to their peace.
And one of them, as
if by Heaven commissioned,
Singing,
"Veni, sponsa, de Libano"
Shouted three times, and all the others after.
Even as the Blessed
at the final summons
Shall
rise up quickened each one from his cavern,
Uplifting light the reinvested flesh,
So upon that
celestial chariot
A
hundred rose 'ad vocem tanti senis,'
Ministers and messengers of life eternal.
They all were
saying, "Benedictus qui venis,"
And,
scattering flowers above and round about,
"Manibus o date lilia plenis."
Ere now have I
beheld, as day began,
The
eastern hemisphere all tinged with rose,
And the other heaven with fair serene adorned;
And the sun's face,
uprising, overshadowed
So
that by tempering influence of vapours
For a long interval the eye sustained it;
Thus in the bosom
of a cloud of flowers
Which
from those hands angelical ascended,
And downward fell again inside and out,
Over her snow-white
veil with olive cinct
Appeared
a lady under a green mantle,
Vested in colour of the living flame.
And my own spirit,
that already now
So
long a time had been, that in her presence
Trembling with awe it had not stood abashed,
Without more
knowledge having by mine eyes,
Through
occult virtue that from her proceeded
Of ancient love the mighty influence felt.
As soon as on my
vision smote the power
Sublime,
that had already pierced me through
Ere from my boyhood I had yet come forth,
To the left hand I
turned with that reliance
With
which the little child runs to his mother,
When he has fear, or when he is afflicted,
To say unto
Virgilius: "Not a drachm
Of
blood remains in me, that does not tremble;
I know the traces of the ancient flame."
But us Virgilius of
himself deprived
Had
left, Virgilius, sweetest of all fathers,
Virgilius, to whom I for safety gave me:
Nor whatsoever lost
the ancient mother
Availed
my cheeks now purified from dew,
That weeping they should not again be darkened.
"Dante, because
Virgilius has departed
Do
not weep yet, do not weep yet awhile;
For by another sword thou need'st must weep."
E'en as an admiral,
who on poop and prow
Comes
to behold the people that are working
In other ships, and cheers them to well-doing,
Upon the left hand
border of the car,
When
at the sound I turned of my own name,
Which of necessity is here recorded,
I saw the Lady, who
erewhile appeared
Veiled
underneath the angelic festival,
Direct her eyes to me across the river.
Although the veil,
that from her head descended,
Encircled
with the foliage of Minerva,
Did not permit her to appear distinctly,
In attitude still
royally majestic
Continued
she, like unto one who speaks,
And keeps his warmest utterance in reserve:
"Look at me well;
in sooth I'm Beatrice!
How
didst thou deign to come unto the Mountain?
Didst thou not know that man is happy here?"
Mine eyes fell
downward into the clear fountain,
But,
seeing myself therein, I sought the grass,
So great a shame did weigh my forehead down.
As to the son the
mother seems superb,
So
she appeared to me; for somewhat bitter
Tasteth the savour of severe compassion.
Silent became she,
and the Angels sang
Suddenly,
"In te, Domine, speravi:"
But beyond 'pedes meos' did not pass.
Even as the snow
among the living rafters
Upon
the back of Italy congeals,
Blown on and drifted by Sclavonian winds,
And then,
dissolving, trickles through itself
Whene'er
the land that loses shadow breathes,
So that it seems a fire that melts a taper;
E'en thus was I
without a tear or sigh,
Before
the song of those who sing for ever
After the music of the eternal spheres.
But when I heard in
their sweet melodies
Compassion
for me, more than had they said,
"O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus upbraid him?"
The ice, that was
about my heart congealed,
To
air and water changed, and in my anguish
Through mouth and eyes came gushing from my breast.
She, on the
right-hand border of the car
Still
firmly standing, to those holy beings
Thus her discourse directed afterwards:
"Ye keep your watch
in the eternal day,
So
that nor night nor sleep can steal from you
One step the ages make upon their path;
Therefore my answer
is with greater care,
That
he may hear me who is weeping yonder,
So that the sin and dole be of one measure.
Not only by the
work of those great wheels,
That
destine every seed unto some end,
According as the stars are in conjunction,
But by the largess
of celestial graces,
Which
have such lofty vapours for their rain
That near to them our sight approaches not,
Such had this man
become in his new life
Potentially,
that every righteous habit
Would have made admirable proof in him;
But so much more
malignant and more savage
Becomes
the land untilled and with bad seed,
The more good earthly vigour it possesses.
Some time did I
sustain him with my look;
Revealing
unto him my youthful eyes,
I led him with me turned in the right way.
As soon as ever of
my second age
I
was upon the threshold and changed life,
Himself from me he took and gave to others.
When from the flesh
to spirit I ascended,
And
beauty and virtue were in me increased,
I was to him less dear and less delightful;
And into ways
untrue he turned his steps,
Pursuing
the false images of good,
That never any promises fulfil;
Nor prayer for
inspiration me availed,
By
means of which in dreams and otherwise
I called him back, so little did he heed them.
So low he fell,
that all appliances
For
his salvation were already short,
Save showing him the people of perdition.
For this I visited
the gates of death,
And
unto him, who so far up has led him,
My intercessions were with weeping borne.
God's lofty fiat
would be violated,
If
Lethe should be passed, and if such viands
Should tasted be, withouten any scot
Of penitence, that
gushes forth in tears."