The Vision of Dante Alighiere or Hell, Purgatory and Paradise

You raise me. Through so many streams with joy

  My soul is fill'd, that gladness wells from it;

  So that it bears the mighty tide, and bursts not

  Say then, my honour'd stem! what ancestors

  Where those you sprang from, and what years were mark'd

  In your first childhood? Tell me of the fold,

  That hath Saint John for guardian, what was then

  Its state, and who in it were highest seated?"

  As embers, at the breathing of the wind,

  Their flame enliven, so that light I saw

  Shine at my blandishments; and, as it grew

  More fair to look on, so with voice more sweet,

  Yet not in this our modern phrase, forthwith

  It answer'd: "From the day, when it was said

  ' Hail Virgin!' to the throes, by which my mother,

  Who now is sainted, lighten'd her of me

  Whom she was heavy with, this fire had come,

  Five hundred fifty times and thrice, its beams

  To reilumine underneath the foot

  Of its own lion. They, of whom I sprang,

  And I, had there our birth-place, where the last

  Partition of our city first is reach'd

  By him, that runs her annual game. Thus much

  Suffice of my forefathers: who they were,

  And whence they hither came, more honourable

  It is to pass in silence than to tell.

  All those, who in that time were there from Mars

  Until the Baptist, fit to carry arms,

  Were but the fifth of them this day alive.

  But then the citizen's blood, that now is mix'd

  From Campi and Certaldo and Fighine,

  Ran purely through the last mechanic's veins.

  O how much better were it, that these people

  Were neighbours to you, and that at Galluzzo

  And at Trespiano, ye should have your bound'ry,

  Than to have them within, and bear the stench

  Of Aguglione's hind, and Signa's, him,

  That hath his eye already keen for bart'ring!

  Had not the people, which of all the world

  Degenerates most, been stepdame unto Caesar,

  But, as a mother, gracious to her son;

  Such one, as hath become a Florentine,

  And trades and traffics, had been turn'd adrift

  To Simifonte, where his grandsire ply'd

  The beggar's craft. The Conti were possess'd

  Of Montemurlo still: the Cerchi still

  Were in Acone's parish; nor had haply

  From Valdigrieve past the Buondelmonte.

  The city's malady hath ever source

  In the confusion of its persons, as

  The body's, in variety of food:

  And the blind bull falls with a steeper plunge,

  Than the blind lamb; and oftentimes one sword

  Doth more and better execution,

  Than five. Mark Luni, Urbisaglia mark,

  How they are gone, and after them how go

  Chiusi and Sinigaglia; and 't will seem

  No longer new or strange to thee to hear,

  That families fail, when cities have their end.

  All things, that appertain t' ye, like yourselves,

  Are mortal: but mortality in some

  Ye mark not, they endure so long, and you

  Pass by so suddenly. And as the moon

  Doth, by the rolling of her heav'nly sphere,

  Hide and reveal the strand unceasingly;

  So fortune deals with Florence. Hence admire not

  At what of them I tell thee, whose renown

  Time covers, the first Florentines. I saw

  The Ughi, Catilini and Filippi,

  The Alberichi, Greci and Ormanni,

  Now in their wane, illustrious citizens:

  And great as ancient, of Sannella him,

  With him of Arca saw, and Soldanieri

  And Ardinghi, and Bostichi. At the poop,

  That now is laden with new felony,

  So cumb'rous it may speedily sink the bark,

  The Ravignani sat, of whom is sprung

  The County Guido, and whoso hath since

  His title from the fam'd Bellincione ta'en.

  Fair governance was yet an art well priz'd

  By him of Pressa: Galigaio show'd

  The gilded hilt and pommel, in his house.

  The column, cloth'd with verrey, still was seen

  Unshaken: the Sacchetti still were great,

  Giouchi, Sifanti, Galli and Barucci,

  With them who blush to hear the bushel nam'd.

  Of the Calfucci still the branchy trunk

  Was in its strength: and to the curule chairs

  Sizii and Arigucci yet were drawn.

  How mighty them I saw, whom since their pride

  Hath undone! and in all her goodly deeds

  Florence was by the bullets of bright gold

  O'erflourish'd. Such the sires of those, who now,

  As surely as your church is vacant, flock

  Into her consistory, and at leisure

  There stall them and grow fat. The o'erweening brood,

  That plays the dragon after him that flees,

  But unto such, as turn and show the tooth,

  Ay or the purse, is gentle as a lamb,

  Was on its rise, but yet so slight esteem'd,

  That Ubertino of Donati grudg'd

  His father-in-law should yoke him to its tribe.

  Already Caponsacco had descended

  Into the mart from Fesole: and Giuda

  And Infangato were good citizens.

  A thing incredible I tell, tho' true:

  The gateway, named from those of Pera, led

  Into the narrow circuit of your walls.

  Each one, who bears the sightly quarterings

  Of the great Baron (he whose name and worth

  The festival of Thomas still revives)

  His knighthood and his privilege retain'd;

  Albeit one, who borders them With gold,

  This day is mingled with the common herd.

  In Borgo yet the Gualterotti dwelt,

  And Importuni: well for its repose

  Had it still lack'd of newer neighbourhood.

  The house, from whence your tears have had their spring,

  Through the just anger that hath murder'd ye

  And put a period to your gladsome days,

  Was honour'd, it, and those consorted with it.

  O Buondelmonte! what ill counseling

  Prevail'd on thee to break the plighted bond

  Many, who now are weeping, would rejoice,

  Had God to Ema giv'n thee, the first time

  Thou near our city cam'st. But so was doom'd:

  On that maim'd stone set up to guard the bridge,

  At thy last peace, the victim, Florence! fell.

  With these and others like to them, I saw

  Florence in such assur'd tranquility,

  She had no cause at which to grieve: with these

  Saw her so glorious and so just, that ne'er

  The lily from the lance had hung reverse,

  Or through division been with vermeil dyed."

  CANTO XVII

  Such as the youth, who came to Clymene

  To certify himself of that reproach,

  Which had been fasten'd on him, (he whose end

  Still makes the fathers chary to their sons,

  E'en such was I; nor unobserv'd was such

  Of Beatrice, and that saintly lamp,

  Who had erewhile for me his station mov'd;

  When thus by lady: "Give thy wish free vent,

  That it may issue, bearing true report

  Of the mind's impress; not that aught thy words

  May to our knowledge add, but to the end,

  That thou mayst use thyself to own thy thirst

/>   And men may mingle for thee when they hear."

  "O plant! from whence I spring! rever'd and lov'd!

  Who soar'st so high a pitch, thou seest as clear,

  As earthly thought determines two obtuse

  In one triangle not contain'd, so clear

  Dost see contingencies, ere in themselves

  Existent, looking at the point whereto

  All times are present, I, the whilst I scal'd

  With Virgil the soul purifying mount,

  And visited the nether world of woe,

  Touching my future destiny have heard

  Words grievous, though I feel me on all sides

  Well squar'd to fortune's blows. Therefore my will

  Were satisfied to know the lot awaits me,

  The arrow, seen beforehand, slacks its flight."

  So said I to the brightness, which erewhile

  To me had spoken, and my will declar'd,

  As Beatrice will'd, explicitly.

  Nor with oracular response obscure,

  Such, as or ere the Lamb of God was slain,

  Beguil'd the credulous nations; but, in terms

  Precise and unambiguous lore, replied

  The spirit of paternal love, enshrin'd,

  Yet in his smile apparent; and thus spake:

  "Contingency, unfolded not to view

  Upon the tablet of your mortal mold,

  Is all depictur'd in the' eternal sight;

  But hence deriveth not necessity,

  More then the tall ship, hurried down the flood,

  Doth from the vision, that reflects the scene.

  From thence, as to the ear sweet harmony

  From organ comes, so comes before mine eye

  The time prepar'd for thee. Such as driv'n out

  From Athens, by his cruel stepdame's wiles,

  Hippolytus departed, such must thou

  Depart from Florence. This they wish, and this

  Contrive, and will ere long effectuate, there,

  Where gainful merchandize is made of Christ,

  Throughout the livelong day. The common cry,

  Will, as 't is ever wont, affix the blame

  Unto the party injur'd: but the truth

  Shall, in the vengeance it dispenseth, find

  A faithful witness. Thou shall leave each thing

  Belov'd most dearly: this is the first shaft

  Shot from the bow of exile. Thou shalt prove

  How salt the savour is of other's bread,

  How hard the passage to descend and climb

  By other's stairs, But that shall gall thee most

  Will he the worthless and vile company,

  With whom thou must be thrown into these straits.

  For all ungrateful, impious all and mad,

  Shall turn 'gainst thee: but in a little while

  Theirs and not thine shall be the crimson'd brow

  Their course shall so evince their brutishness

  T' have ta'en thy stand apart shall well become thee.

  "First refuge thou must find, first place of rest,

  In the great Lombard's courtesy, who bears

  Upon the ladder perch'd the sacred bird.

  He shall behold thee with such kind regard,

  That 'twixt ye two, the contrary to that

  Which falls 'twixt other men, the granting shall

  Forerun the asking. With him shalt thou see

  That mortal, who was at his birth impress

  So strongly from this star, that of his deeds

  The nations shall take note. His unripe age

  Yet holds him from observance; for these wheels

  Only nine years have compass him about.

  But, ere the Gascon practice on great Harry,

  Sparkles of virtue shall shoot forth in him,

  In equal scorn of labours and of gold.

  His bounty shall be spread abroad so widely,

  As not to let the tongues e'en of his foes

  Be idle in its praise. Look thou to him

  And his beneficence: for he shall cause

  Reversal of their lot to many people,

  Rich men and beggars interchanging fortunes.

  And thou shalt bear this written in thy soul

  Of him, but tell it not; "and things he told

  Incredible to those who witness them;

  Then added: "So interpret thou, my son,

  What hath been told thee.--Lo! the ambushment

  That a few circling seasons hide for thee!

  Yet envy not thy neighbours: time extends

  Thy span beyond their treason's chastisement."

  Soon, as the saintly spirit, by his silence,

  Had shown the web, which I had streteh'd for him

  Upon the warp, was woven, I began,

  As one, who in perplexity desires

  Counsel of other, wise, benign and friendly:

  "My father! well I mark how time spurs on

  Toward me, ready to inflict the blow,

  Which falls most heavily on him, who most

  Abandoned himself. Therefore 't is good

  I should forecast, that driven from the place

  Most dear to me, I may not lose myself

  All others by my song. Down through the world

  Of infinite mourning, and along the mount

  From whose fair height my lady's eyes did lift me,

  And after through this heav'n from light to light,

  Have I learnt that, which if I tell again,

  It may with many woefully disrelish;

  And, if I am a timid friend to truth,

  I fear my life may perish among those,

  To whom these days shall be of ancient date."

  The brightness, where enclos'd the treasure smil'd,

  Which I had found there, first shone glisteningly,

  Like to a golden mirror in the sun;

  Next answer'd: "Conscience, dimm'd or by its own

  Or other's shame, will feel thy saying sharp.

  Thou, notwithstanding, all deceit remov'd,

  See the whole vision be made manifest.

  And let them wince who have their withers wrung.

  What though, when tasted first, thy voice shall prove

  Unwelcome, on digestion it will turn

  To vital nourishment. The cry thou raisest,

  Shall, as the wind doth, smite the proudest summits;

  Which is of honour no light argument,

  For this there only have been shown to thee,

  Throughout these orbs, the mountain, and the deep,

  Spirits, whom fame hath note of. For the mind

  Of him, who hears, is loth to acquiesce

  And fix its faith, unless the instance brought

  Be palpable, and proof apparent urge."

  CANTO XVIII

  Now in his word, sole, ruminating, joy'd

  That blessed spirit; and I fed on mine,

  Tempting the sweet with bitter: she meanwhile,

  Who led me unto God, admonish'd: "Muse

  On other thoughts: bethink thee, that near Him

  I dwell, who recompenseth every wrong."

  At the sweet sounds of comfort straight I turn'd;

  And, in the saintly eyes what love was seen,

  I leave in silence here: nor through distrust

  Of my words only, but that to such bliss

  The mind remounts not without aid. Thus much

  Yet may I speak; that, as I gaz'd on her,

  Affection found no room for other wish.

  While the everlasting pleasure, that did full

  On Beatrice shine, with second view

  From her fair countenance my gladden'd soul

  Contented; vanquishing me with a beam

  Of her soft smile, she spake: "Turn thee, and list.

  These eyes are not thy only Paradise."

  As here we sometimes in the looks may
see

  Th' affection mark'd, when that its sway hath ta'en

  The spirit wholly; thus the hallow'd light,

  To whom I turn'd, flashing, bewray'd its will

  To talk yet further with me, and began:

  "On this fifth lodgment of the tree, whose life

  Is from its top, whose fruit is ever fair

  And leaf unwith'ring, blessed spirits abide,

  That were below, ere they arriv'd in heav'n,

  So mighty in renown, as every muse

  Might grace her triumph with them. On the horns

  Look therefore of the cross: he, whom I name,

  Shall there enact, as doth 1n summer cloud

  Its nimble fire." Along the cross I saw,

  At the repeated name of Joshua,

  A splendour gliding; nor, the word was said,

  Ere it was done: then, at the naming saw

  Of the great Maccabee, another move

  With whirling speed; and gladness was the scourge

  Unto that top. The next for Charlemagne

  And for the peer Orlando, two my gaze

  Pursued, intently, as the eye pursues

  A falcon flying. Last, along the cross,

  William, and Renard, and Duke Godfrey drew

  My ken, and Robert Guiscard. And the soul,

  Who spake with me among the other lights

  Did move away, and mix; and with the choir

  Of heav'nly songsters prov'd his tuneful skill.

  To Beatrice on my right l bent,

  Looking for intimation or by word

  Or act, what next behoov'd; and did descry

  Such mere effulgence in her eyes, such joy,

  It past all former wont. And, as by sense

  Of new delight, the man, who perseveres

  In good deeds doth perceive from day to day

  His virtue growing; I e'en thus perceiv'd

  Of my ascent, together with the heav'n

  The circuit widen'd, noting the increase

  Of beauty in that wonder. Like the change

  In a brief moment on some maiden's cheek,

  Which from its fairness doth discharge the weight

  Of pudency, that stain'd it; such in her,

  And to mine eyes so sudden was the change,

  Through silvery whiteness of that temperate star,

  Whose sixth orb now enfolded us. I saw,

  Within that Jovial cresset, the clear sparks

  Of love, that reign'd there, fashion to my view

  Our language. And as birds, from river banks

  Arisen, now in round, now lengthen'd troop,

  Array them in their flight, greeting, as seems,

  Their new-found pastures; so, within the lights,

  The saintly creatures flying, sang, and made

  Now D. now I. now L. figur'd I' th' air.

  First, singing, to their notes they mov'd, then one

  Becoming of these signs, a little while

  Did rest them, and were mute. O nymph divine

  Of Pegasean race! whose souls, which thou

  Inspir'st, mak'st glorious and long-liv'd, as they

  Cities and realms by thee! thou with thyself

  Inform me; that I may set forth the shapes,

  As fancy doth present them. Be thy power

  Display'd in this brief song. The characters,

  Vocal and consonant, were five-fold seven.

  In order each, as they appear'd, I mark'd.

  Diligite Justitiam, the first,

  Both verb and noun all blazon'd; and the extreme

  Qui judicatis terram. In the M.

  Of the fifth word they held their station,

  Making the star seem silver streak'd with gold.

  And on the summit of the M. I saw

  Descending other lights, that rested there,

  Singing, methinks, their bliss and primal good.

  Then, as at shaking of a lighted brand,

  Sparkles innumerable on all sides

  Rise scatter'd, source of augury to th' unwise;

  Thus more than thousand twinkling lustres hence

  Seem'd reascending, and a higher pitch

  Some mounting, and some less; e'en as the sun,

  Which kindleth them, decreed. And when each one

  Had settled in his place, the head and neck

  Then saw I of an eagle, lively

  Grav'd in that streaky fire. Who painteth there,

  Hath none to guide him; of himself he guides;

  And every line and texture of the nest

  Doth own from him the virtue, fashions it.

  The other bright beatitude, that seem'd

  Erewhile, with lilied crowning, well content

  To over-canopy the M. mov'd forth,

  Following gently the impress of the bird.

  Sweet star! what glorious and thick-studded gems

  Declar'd to me our justice on the earth

  To be the effluence of that heav'n, which thou,

  Thyself a costly jewel, dost inlay!

  Therefore I pray the Sovran Mind, from whom

  Thy motion and thy virtue are begun,

  That he would look from whence the fog doth rise,

  To vitiate thy beam: so that once more

  He may put forth his hand 'gainst such, as drive

  Their traffic in that sanctuary, whose walls

  With miracles and martyrdoms were built.

  Ye host of heaven! whose glory I survey l

  O beg ye grace for those, that are on earth

  All after ill example gone astray.

  War once had for its instrument the sword:

  But now 't is made, taking the bread away

  Which the good Father locks from none. --And thou,

  That writes but to cancel, think, that they,

  Who for the vineyard, which thou wastest, died,