Divine Comedy, Cary's Translation, Complete

by Dante Alighieri

Freely the sage, though wrapt in musings high,
Assum’d the teacher’s part, and mild began:
“The wound, that Mary clos’d, she open’d first,
Who sits so beautiful at Mary’s feet.
The third in order, underneath her, lo!
Rachel with Beatrice. Sarah next,
Judith, Rebecca, and the gleaner maid,
Meek ancestress of him, who sang the songs
Of sore repentance in his sorrowful mood.
All, as I name them, down from deaf to leaf,
Are in gradation throned on the rose.
And from the seventh step, successively,
Adown the breathing tresses of the flow’r
Still doth the file of Hebrew dames proceed.
For these are a partition wall, whereby
The sacred stairs are sever’d, as the faith
In Christ divides them. On this part, where blooms
Each leaf in full maturity, are set
Such as in Christ, or ere he came, believ’d.
On th’ other, where an intersected space
Yet shows the semicircle void, abide
All they, who look’d to Christ already come.
And as our Lady on her glorious stool,
And they who on their stools beneath her sit,
This way distinction make: e’en so on his,
The mighty Baptist that way marks the line
(He who endur’d the desert and the pains
Of martyrdom, and for two years of hell,
Yet still continued holy), and beneath,
Augustin, Francis, Benedict, and the rest,
Thus far from round to round. So heav’n’s decree
Forecasts, this garden equally to fill.
With faith in either view, past or to come,
Learn too, that downward from the step, which cleaves
Midway the twain compartments, none there are
Who place obtain for merit of their own,
But have through others’ merit been advanc’d,
On set conditions: spirits all releas’d,
Ere for themselves they had the power to choose.
And, if thou mark and listen to them well,
Their childish looks and voice declare as much.

“Here, silent as thou art, I know thy doubt;
And gladly will I loose the knot, wherein
Thy subtle thoughts have bound thee. From this realm
Excluded, chalice no entrance here may find,
No more shall hunger, thirst, or sorrow can.
A law immutable hath establish’d all;
Nor is there aught thou seest, that doth not fit,
Exactly, as the finger to the ring.
It is not therefore without cause, that these,
O’erspeedy comers to immortal life,
Are different in their shares of excellence.
Our Sovran Lord—that settleth this estate
In love and in delight so absolute,
That wish can dare no further—every soul,
Created in his joyous sight to dwell,
With grace at pleasure variously endows.
And for a proof th’ effect may well suffice.
And ’tis moreover most expressly mark’d
In holy scripture, where the twins are said
To, have struggled in the womb. Therefore, as grace
Inweaves the coronet, so every brow
Weareth its proper hue of orient light.
And merely in respect to his prime gift,
Not in reward of meritorious deed,
Hath each his several degree assign’d.
In early times with their own innocence
More was not wanting, than the parents’ faith,
To save them: those first ages past, behoov’d
That circumcision in the males should imp
The flight of innocent wings: but since the day
Of grace hath come, without baptismal rites
In Christ accomplish’d, innocence herself
Must linger yet below. Now raise thy view
Unto the visage most resembling Christ:
For, in her splendour only, shalt thou win
The pow’r to look on him.” Forthwith I saw
Such floods of gladness on her visage shower’d,
From holy spirits, winging that profound;
That, whatsoever I had yet beheld,
Had not so much suspended me with wonder,
Or shown me such similitude of God.
And he, who had to her descended, once,
On earth, now hail’d in heav’n; and on pois’d wing.
“Ave, Maria, Gratia Plena,” sang:
To whose sweet anthem all the blissful court,
From all parts answ’ring, rang: that holier joy
Brooded the deep serene. “Father rever’d:
Who deign’st, for me, to quit the pleasant place,
Wherein thou sittest, by eternal lot!
Say, who that angel is, that with such glee
Beholds our queen, and so enamour’d glows
Of her high beauty, that all fire he seems.”
So I again resorted to the lore
Of my wise teacher, he, whom Mary’s charms
Embellish’d, as the sun the morning star;
Who thus in answer spake: “In him are summ’d,
Whatever of buxomness and free delight
May be in Spirit, or in angel, met:
And so beseems: for that he bare the palm
Down unto Mary, when the Son of God
Vouchsaf’d to clothe him in terrestrial weeds.
Now let thine eyes wait heedful on my words,
And note thou of this just and pious realm
The chiefest nobles. Those, highest in bliss,
The twain, on each hand next our empress thron’d,
Are as it were two roots unto this rose.
He to the left, the parent, whose rash taste
Proves bitter to his seed; and, on the right,
That ancient father of the holy church,
Into whose keeping Christ did give the keys
Of this sweet flow’r: near whom behold the seer,
That, ere he died, saw all the grievous times
Of the fair bride, who with the lance and nails
Was won. And, near unto the other, rests
The leader, under whom on manna fed
Th’ ungrateful nation, fickle and perverse.
On th’ other part, facing to Peter, lo!
Where Anna sits, so well content to look
On her lov’d daughter, that with moveless eye
She chants the loud hosanna: while, oppos’d
To the first father of your mortal kind,
Is Lucia, at whose hest thy lady sped,
When on the edge of ruin clos’d thine eye.

“But (for the vision hasteneth so an end)
Here break we off, as the good workman doth,
That shapes the cloak according to the cloth:
And to the primal love our ken shall rise;
That thou mayst penetrate the brightness, far
As sight can bear thee. Yet, alas! in sooth
Beating thy pennons, thinking to advance,
Thou backward fall’st. Grace then must first be gain’d;
Her grace, whose might can help thee. Thou in prayer
Seek her: and, with affection, whilst I sue,
Attend, and yield me all thy heart.” He said,
And thus the saintly orison began.

CANTO XXXIII

“O virgin mother, daughter of thy Son,
Created beings all in lowliness
Surpassing, as in height, above them all,
Term by th’ eternal counsel pre-ordain’d,
Ennobler of thy nature, so advanc’d
In thee, that its great Maker did not scorn,
Himself, in his own work enclos’d to dwell!
For in thy womb rekindling shone the love
Reveal’d, whose genial influence makes now
This flower to germin in eternal peace!
Here thou to us, of charity and love,
Art, as the noon-day torch: and art, beneath,
To mortal men, of hope a living spring.
So mighty art thou, lady! and so great,
That he who grace desireth, and comes not
To thee for aidance, fain would have desire
Fly without wings. Nor only him who asks,
Thy bounty succours, but doth freely oft
Forerun the asking. Whatsoe’er may be
Of excellence in creature, pity mild,
Relenting mercy, large munificence,
Are all combin’d in thee. Here kneeleth one,
Who of all spirits hath review’d the state,
From the world’s lowest gap unto this height.
Suppliant to thee he kneels, imploring grace
For virtue, yet more high to lift his ken
Toward the bliss supreme. And I, who ne’er
Coveted sight, more fondly, for myself,
Than now for him, my prayers to thee prefer,
(And pray they be not scant) that thou wouldst drive
Each cloud of his mortality away;
That on the sovran pleasure he may gaze.
This also I entreat of thee, O queen!
Who canst do what thou wilt! that in him thou
Wouldst after all he hath beheld, preserve
Affection sound, and human passions quell.
Lo! Where, with Beatrice, many a saint
Stretch their clasp’d hands, in furtherance of my suit!”

The eyes, that heav’n with love and awe regards,
Fix’d on the suitor, witness’d, how benign
She looks on pious pray’rs: then fasten’d they
On th’ everlasting light, wherein no eye
Of creature, as may well be thought, so far
Can travel inward. I, meanwhile, who drew
Near to the limit, where all wishes end,
The ardour of my wish (for so behooved),
Ended within me. Beck’ning smil’d the sage,
That I should look aloft: but, ere he bade,
Already of myself aloft I look’d;
For visual strength, refining more and more,
Bare me into the ray authentical
Of sovran light. Thenceforward, what I saw,
Was not for words to speak, nor memory’s self
To stand against such outrage on her skill.
As one, who from a dream awaken’d, straight,
All he hath seen forgets; yet still retains
Impression of the feeling in his dream;
E’en such am I: for all the vision dies,
As ’twere, away; and yet the sense of sweet,
That sprang from it, still trickles in my heart.
Thus in the sun-thaw is the snow unseal’d;
Thus in the winds on flitting leaves was lost
The Sybil’s sentence. O eternal beam!
(Whose height what reach of mortal thought may soar?)
Yield me again some little particle
Of what thou then appearedst, give my tongue
Power, but to leave one sparkle of thy glory,
Unto the race to come, that shall not lose
Thy triumph wholly, if thou waken aught
Of memory in me, and endure to hear
The record sound in this unequal strain.

Such keenness from the living ray I met,
That, if mine eyes had turn’d away, methinks,
I had been lost; but, so embolden’d, on
I pass’d, as I remember, till my view
Hover’d the brink of dread infinitude.

O grace! unenvying of thy boon! that gav’st
Boldness to fix so earnestly my ken
On th’ everlasting splendour, that I look’d,
While sight was unconsum’d, and, in that depth,
Saw in one volume clasp’d of love, whatever
The universe unfolds; all properties
Of substance and of accident, beheld,
Compounded, yet one individual light
The whole. And of such bond methinks I saw
The universal form: for that whenever
I do but speak of it, my soul dilates
Beyond her proper self; and, till I speak,
One moment seems a longer lethargy,
Than five-and-twenty ages had appear’d
To that emprize, that first made Neptune wonder
At Argo’s shadow darkening on his flood.

With fixed heed, suspense and motionless,
Wond’ring I gaz’d; and admiration still
Was kindled, as I gaz’d. It may not be,
That one, who looks upon that light, can turn
To other object, willingly, his view.
For all the good, that will may covet, there
Is summ’d; and all, elsewhere defective found,
Complete. My tongue shall utter now, no more
E’en what remembrance keeps, than could the babe’s
That yet is moisten’d at his mother’s breast.
Not that the semblance of the living light
Was chang’d (that ever as at first remain’d)
But that my vision quickening, in that sole
Appearance, still new miracles descry’d,
And toil’d me with the change. In that abyss
Of radiance, clear and lofty, seem’d methought,
Three orbs of triple hue clipt in one bound:
And, from another, one reflected seem’d,
As rainbow is from rainbow: and the third
Seem’d fire, breath’d equally from both. Oh speech
How feeble and how faint art thou, to give
Conception birth! Yet this to what I saw
Is less than little. Oh eternal light!
Sole in thyself that dwellst; and of thyself
Sole understood, past, present, or to come!
Thou smiledst; on that circling, which in thee
Seem’d as reflected splendour, while I mus’d;
For I therein, methought, in its own hue
Beheld our image painted: steadfastly
I therefore por’d upon the view. As one
Who vers’d in geometric lore, would fain
Measure the circle; and, though pondering long
And deeply, that beginning, which he needs,
Finds not; e’en such was I, intent to scan
The novel wonder, and trace out the form,
How to the circle fitted, and therein
How plac’d: but the flight was not for my wing;
Had not a flash darted athwart my mind,
And in the spleen unfolded what it sought.

Here vigour fail’d the tow’ring fantasy:
But yet the will roll’d onward, like a wheel
In even motion, by the Love impell’d,
That moves the sun in heav’n and all the stars.