第 45 节

ice, faith not reason’s task. Spirit, substantial form, with matter join’d Not in confusion mix’d, hath in itself Specific virtue of that union born, Which is not felt except it work, nor prov’d But through effect, as vegetable life By the green leaf. From whence his intellect Deduced its primal notices of things, Man therefore knows not, or his appetites Their first affections; such in you, as zeal In bees to gather honey; at the first, Volition, meriting nor blame nor praise. But o’er each lower faculty supreme, That as she list are summon’d to her bar, Ye have that virtue in you, whose just voice Uttereth counsel, and whose word should keep The threshold of assent. Here is the source, Whence cause of merit in you is deriv’d, E’en as the affections good or ill she takes, Or severs, winnow’d as the chaff. Those men Who reas’ning went to depth profoundest, mark’d That innate freedom, and were thence induc’d To leave their moral teaching to the world. Grant then, that from necessity arise All love that glows within you; to dismiss Or harbour it, the pow’r is in yourselves. Remember, Beatrice, in her style, Denominates free choice by eminence The noble virtue, if in talk with thee She touch upon that theme.” The moon, well nigh To midnight hour belated, made the stars Appear to wink and fade; and her broad disk Seem’d like a crag on fire, as up the vault That course she journey’d, which the sun then warms, When they of Rome behold him at his set. Betwixt Sardinia and the Corsic isle. And now the weight, that hung upon my thought, Was lighten’d by the aid of that clear spirit, Who raiseth Andes above Mantua’s name. I therefore, when my questions had obtain’d Solution plain and ample, stood as one Musing in dreary slumber; but not long Slumber’d; for suddenly a multitude,

The steep already turning, from behind, Rush’d on. With fury and like random rout, As echoing on their shores at midnight heard Ismenus and Asopus, for his Thebes If Bacchus’ help were needed; so came these Tumultuous, curving each his rapid step, By eagerness impell’d of holy love.

Soon they o’ertook us; with such swiftness mov’d The mighty crowd. Two spirits at their head Cried weeping; “Blessed Mary sought with haste The hilly region. Caesar to subdue Ilerda, darted in Marseilles his sting, And flew to Spain.”—“Oh tarry not: away;” The others shouted; “let not time be lost Through slackness of affection. Hearty zeal To serve reanimates celestial grace.”

“O ye, in whom intenser fervency Haply supplies, where lukewarm erst ye fail’d, Slow or neglectful, to absolve your part Of good and virtuous, this man, who yet lives, (Credit my tale, though strange) desires t’ ascend, So morning rise to light us. Therefore say Which hand leads nearest to the rifted rock?”

So spake my guide, to whom a shade return’d: “Come after us, and thou shalt find the cleft. We may not linger: such resistless will Speeds our unwearied course. Vouchsafe us then Thy pardon, if our duty seem to thee Discourteous rudeness. In Verona I Was abbot of San Zeno, when the hand Of Barbarossa grasp’d Imperial sway, That name, ne’er utter’d without tears in Milan. And there is he, hath one foot in his grave, Who for that monastery ere long shall weep, Ruing his power misus’d: for that his son, Of body ill compact, and worse in mind, And born in evil, he hath set in place Of its true pastor.” Whether more he spake, Or here was mute, I know not: he had sped E’en now so far beyond us. Yet thus much I heard, and in rememb’rance treasur’d it.

He then, who never fail’d me at my need, Cried, “Hither turn. Lo! two with sharp remorse Chiding their sin!” In rear of all the troop These shouted: “First they died, to whom the sea Open’d, or ever Jordan saw his heirs: And they, who with Aeneas to the end Endur’d not suffering, for their portion chose Life without glory.” Soon as they had fled Past reach of sight, new thought within me rose By others follow’d fast, and each unlike Its fellow: till led on from thought to thought, And pleasur’d with the fleeting train, mine eye Was clos’d, and meditation chang’d to dream.

CANTO XIX

It was the hour, when of diurnal heat No reliques chafe the cold beams of the moon, O’erpower’d by earth, or planetary sway Of Saturn; and the geomancer sees His Greater Fortune up the east ascend, Where gray dawn checkers first the shadowy cone; When ’fore me in my dream a woman’s shape There came, with lips that stammer’d, eyes aslant, Distorted feet, hands maim’d, and colour pale.

I look’d upon her; and as sunshine cheers Limbs numb’d by nightly cold, e’en thus my look Unloos’d her tongue, next in brief space her form Decrepit rais’d erect, and faded face With love’s own hue illum’d. Recov’ring speech She forthwith warbling such a strain began, That I, how loth soe’er, could scarce have held Attention from the song. “I,” thus she sang, “I am the Siren, she, whom mariners On the wide sea are wilder’d when they hear: Such fulness of delight the list’ner feels. I from his course Ulysses by my lay Enchanted drew. Whoe’er frequents me once Parts seldom; so I charm him, and his heart Contented knows no void.” Or ere her mouth Was clos’d, to shame her at her side appear’d A dame of semblance holy. With stern voice She utter’d; “Say, O Virgil, who is this?” Which hearing, he approach’d, with eyes still bent Toward that goodly presence: th’ other seiz’d her, And, her robes tearing, open’d her before, And show’d the belly to me, whence a smell, Exhaling loathsome, wak’d me. Round I turn’d Mine eyes, and thus the teacher: “At the least Three times my voice hath call’d thee. Rise, begone. Let us the opening find where thou mayst pass.”

I straightway rose. Now day, pour’d down from high, Fill’d all the circuits of the sacred mount; And, as we journey’d, on our shoulder smote The early ray. I follow’d, stooping low My forehead, as a man, o’ercharg’d with thought, Who bends him to the likeness of an arch, That midway spans the flood; when thus I heard, “Come, enter here,” in tone so soft and mild, As never met the ear on mortal strand.

With swan-like wings dispread and pointing up, Who thus had spoken marshal’d us along, Where each side of the solid masonry The sloping, walls retir’d; then mov’d his plumes, And fanning us, affirm’d that those, who mourn, Are blessed, for that comfort shall be theirs.

“What aileth thee, that still thou look’st to earth?” Began my leader; while th’ angelic shape A little over us his station took.

“New vision,” I replied, “hath rais’d in me Surmizings strange and anxious doubts, whereon My soul intent allows no other thought Or room or entrance.”—“Hast thou seen,” said he, “That old enchantress, her, whose wiles alone The spirits o’er us weep for? Hast thou seen How man may free him of her bonds? Enough. Let thy heels spurn the earth, and thy rais’d ken Fix on the lure, which heav’n’s eternal King Whirls in the rolling spheres.” As on his feet The falcon first looks down, then to the sky Turns, an