That soldiery of the celestial kingdom
Which marched in the advance had wholly passed us
Before the chariot had turned its pole.
Then to the wheels the maidens turned themselves,
And the Griffin moved his burden benedight,
But so that not a feather of him fluttered.
The lady fair who drew me through the ford
Followed with Statius and myself the wheel
Which made its orbit with the lesser arc.
So passing through the lofty forest, vacant
By fault of her who in the serpent trusted,
Angelic music made our steps keep time.
Perchance as great a space had in three flights
An arrow loosened from the string o’erpassed,
As we had moved when Beatrice descended.
I heard them murmur altogether, “Adam!”
Then circled they about a tree despoiled
Of blooms and other leafage on each bough.
Its tresses, which so much the more dilate
As higher they ascend, had been by Indians
Among their forests marvelled at for height.
“Blessed art thou, O Griffin, who dost not
Pluck with thy beak these branches sweet to taste,
Since appetite by this was turned to evil.”
After this fashion round the tree robust
The others shouted; and the twofold creature:
“Thus is preserved the seed of all the just.”
And turning to the pole which he had dragged,
He drew it close beneath the widowed bough,
And what was of it unto it left bound.