Part 29

Opposite Peter seest thou Anna seated, So well content to look upon her daughter, Her eyes she moves not while she sings Hosanna.

And opposite the eldest household father Lucia sits, she who thy Lady moved When to rush downward thou didst bend thy brows.

But since the moments of thy vision fly, Here will we make full stop, as a good tailor Who makes the gown according to his cloth,

And unto the first Love will turn our eyes, That looking upon Him thou penetrate As far as possible through his effulgence.

Truly, lest peradventure thou recede, Moving thy wings believing to advance, By prayer behoves it that grace be obtained;

Grace from that one who has the power to aid thee; And thou shalt follow me with thy affection That from my words thy heart turn not aside.”

And he began this holy orison.

Paradiso: Canto XXXIII

“Thou Virgin Mother, daughter of thy Son, Humble and high beyond all other creature, The limit fixed of the eternal counsel,

Thou art the one who such nobility To human nature gave, that its Creator Did not disdain to make himself its creature.

Within thy womb rekindled was the love, By heat of which in the eternal peace After such wise this flower has germinated.

Here unto us thou art a noonday torch Of charity, and below there among mortals Thou art the living fountain-head of hope.

Lady, thou art so great, and so prevailing, That he who wishes grace, nor runs to thee, His aspirations without wings would fly.

Not only thy benignity gives succour To him who asketh it, but oftentimes Forerunneth of its own accord the asking.

In thee compassion is, in thee is pity, In thee magnificence; in thee unites Whate’er of goodness is in any creature.

Now doth this man, who from the lowest depth Of the universe as far as here has seen One after one the spiritual lives,

Supplicate thee through grace for so much power That with his eyes he may uplift himself Higher towards the uttermost salvation.

And I, who never burned for my own seeing More than I do for his, all of my prayers Proffer to thee, and pray they come not short,

That thou wouldst scatter from him every cloud Of his mortality so with thy prayers, That the Chief Pleasure be to him displayed.

Still farther do I pray thee, Queen, who canst Whate’er thou wilt, that sound thou mayst preserve After so great a vision his affections.

Let thy protection conquer human movements; See Beatrice and all the blessed ones My prayers to second clasp their hands to thee!”

The eyes beloved and revered of God, Fastened upon the speaker, showed to us How grateful unto her are prayers devout;

Then unto the Eternal Light they turned, On which it is not credible could be By any creature bent an eye so clear.

And I, who to the end of all desires Was now approaching, even as I ought The ardour of desire within me ended.

Bernard was beckoning unto me, and smiling, That I should upward look; but I already Was of my own accord such as he wished;

Because my sight, becoming purified, Was entering more and more into the ray Of the High Light which of itself is true.

From that time forward what I saw was greater Than our discourse, that to such vision yields, And yields the memory unto such excess.

Even as he is who seeth in a dream, And after dreaming the imprinted passion Remains, and to his mind the rest returns not,

Even such am I, for almost utterly Ceases my vision, and distilleth yet Within my heart the sweetness born of it;

Even thus the snow is in the sun unsealed, Even thus upon the wind in the light leaves Were the soothsayings of the Sibyl lost.

O Light Supreme, that dost so far uplift thee From the conceits of mortals, to my mind Of what thou didst appear re-lend a little,

And make my tongue of so great puissance, That but a single sparkle of thy glory It may bequeath unto the future people;

For by returning to my memory somewhat, And by a little sounding in these verses, More of thy victory shall be conceived!

I think the keenness of the living ray Which I endured would have bewildered me, If but mine eyes had been averted from it;

And I remember that I was more bold On this account to bear, so that I joined My aspect with the Glory Infinite.

O grace abundant, by which I presumed To fix my sight upon the Light Eternal, So that the seeing I consumed therein!

I saw that in its depth far down is lying Bound up with love together in one volume, What through the universe in leaves is scattered;

Substance, and accident, and their operations, All interfused together in such wise That what I speak of is one simple light.

The universal fashion of this knot Methinks I saw, since more abundantly In saying this I feel that I rejoice.

One moment is more lethargy to me, Than five and twenty centuries to the emprise That startled Neptune with the shade of Argo!

My mind in this wise wholly in suspense, Steadfast, immovable, attentive gazed, And evermore with gazing grew enkindled.

In presence of that light one such becomes, That to withdraw therefrom for other prospect It is impossible he e’er consent;

Because the good, which object is of will, Is gathered all in this, and out of it That is defective which is perfect there.

Shorter henceforward will my language fall Of what I yet remember, than an infant’s Who still his tongue doth moisten at the breast.

Not because more than one unmingled semblance Was in the living light on which I looked, For it is always what it was before;

But through the sight, that fortified itself In me by looking, one appearance only To me was ever changing as I changed.

Within the deep and luminous subsistence Of the High Light appeared to me three circles, Of threefold colour and of one dimension,

And by the second seemed the first reflected As Iris is by Iris, and the third Seemed fire that equally from both is breathed.

O how all speech is feeble and falls short Of my conceit, and this to what I saw Is such, ’tis not enough to call it little!

O Light Eterne, sole in thyself that dwellest, Sole knowest thyself, and, known unto thyself And knowing, lovest and smilest on thyself!

That circulation, which being thus conceived Appeared in thee as a reflected light, When somewhat contemplated by mine eyes,

Within itself, of its own very colour Seemed to me painted with our effigy, Wherefore my sight was all absorbed therein.

As the geometrician, who endeavours To square the circle, and discovers not, By taking thought, the principle he wants,

Even such was I at that new apparition; I wished to see how the image to the circle Conformed itself, and how it there finds place;

But my own wings were not enough for this, Had it not been that then my mind there smote A flash of lightning, wherein came its wish.

Here vigour failed the lofty fantasy: But now was turning my desire and will, Even as a wheel that equally is moved,

The Love which moves the sun and the other stars.

APPENDIX

SIX SONNETS ON DANTE’S DIVINE COMEDY BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (1807-1882)

I

Oft have I seen at some cathedral door A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat, Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor Kneel to repeat his paternoster o’er; Far off the noises of the world retreat; The loud vociferations of the street Become an undistinguishable roar. So, as I enter here from day to day, And leave my burden at this minster gate, Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray, The tumult of the time disconsolate To inarticulate murmurs dies away, While the eternal ages watch and wait.

II

How strange the sculptures that adorn these towers! This crowd of statues, in whose folded sleeves Birds build their nests; while canopied with leaves Parvis and portal bloom like trellised bowers, And the vast minster seems a cross of flowers! But fiends and dragons on the gargoyled eaves Watch the dead Christ between the living thieves, And, underneath, the traitor Judas lowers! Ah! from what agonies of heart and brain, What exultations trampling on despair, What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong, What passionate outcry of a soul in pain, Uprose this poem of the earth and air, This mediaeval miracle of song!

III

I enter, and I see thee in the gloom Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine! And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine. The air is filled with some unknown perfume; The congregation of the dead make room For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine; Like rooks that haunt Ravenna’s groves of pine, The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb. From the confessionals I hear arise Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, And lamentations from the crypts below And then a voice celestial that begins With the pathetic words, “Although your sins As scarlet be,” and ends with “as the snow.”

IV

With snow-white veil, and garments as of flame, She stands before thee, who so long ago Filled thy young heart with passion and the woe From which thy song in all its splendors came; And while with stern rebuke she speaks thy name, The ice about thy heart melts as the snow On mountain heights, and in swift overflow Comes gushing from thy lips in sobs of shame. Thou makest full confession; and a gleam As of the dawn on some dark forest cast, Seems on thy lifted forehead to increase; Lethe and Eunoe—the remembered dream And the forgotten sorrow—bring at last That perfect pardon which is perfect peace.

V

I Lift mine eyes, and all the windows blaze With forms of saints and holy men who died, Here martyred and hereafter glorified; And the great Rose upon its leaves displays Christ’s Triumph, and the angelic roundelays, With splendor upon splendor multiplied; And Beatrice again at Dante’s side No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise. And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love And benedictions of the Holy Ghost; And the melodious bells among the spires O’er all the house-tops and through heaven above Proclaim the elevation of the Host!

VI

O star of morning and of liberty! O bringer of the light, whose splendor shines Above the darkness of the Apennines, Forerunner of the day that is to be! The voices of the city and the sea, The voices of the mountains and the pines, Repeat thy song, till the familiar lines Are footpaths for the thought of Italy! Thy fame is blown abroad from all the heights, Through all the nations; and a sound is heard, As of a mighty wind, and men devout, Strangers of Rome, and the new proselytes, In their own language hear thy wondrous word, And many are amazed and many doubt.