Paired, like two oxen treading under yoke,
That burdened soul and I as far had gone
As the loved Tutor let. But when he spoke
These words: "Now leave him! We must travel on,
For here 'tis good with spread of sail and stroke
Of oar, to push his boat as each best may;"
I made myself, as walking needs, erect,
But only in body; just it is to say
My thoughts were bowed, my spirit was deject.
Still I was moving, and with willing feet
Followed my Master; both began to show
How light we were, when thus he said: "'Tis meet
That, walking here, thou bend thine eyes below,
So to observe, and make the moments fleet,
Over what kind of bed thy footsteps go."
Even as, that so their memory may survive,
Our earthly tombs, above the buried, bear
The graven form of what they were alive;
Whence oft one weeps afresh the image there,
Pricked by remembrance,—which doth only give
To souls compassionate a sting of pain—
So I saw figured o'er, but with more skill
In the resemblance, all the narrow plain
Which formed our pathway, jutting from the hill.
Him[186] there I marked, on one side, noblest made
Of all God's creatures, stricken down from heaven
Like lightning! Opposite, there was displayed
Briareus, cast from where he late had striven,
Smit by celestial thunderbolts, and laid
Heavy on earth and in the frost of death.
I saw Thymbræus, Pallas too, and Mars,
Still armed, around their sire, with bated breath
Viewing the giants, their torn limbs and scars!
Nimrod I saw, at foot of his great tower,
As if bewildered, gazing on the tribes
That showed with him such haughtiness of power
In Shinar's plain, as Genesis describes.
O Niobe! with what eyes, full of woe,
Mid thy slain children, upon each hand seven,
I saw thee carved upon the road! And, O
Saul! in Gilboa, that no more from heaven
Felt rain or dew, how dead on thine own sword
Didst thou appear! Thee, mad Arachne, there
I saw, half spider! fumbling the deplored
Shreds of that work which wrought for thee despair
O Rehoboam! there no more in threat
Stands thy fierce figure; smit with fear he flies,
Whirled in a chariot, none pursuing yet:
Showed also that hard pavement to mine eyes
How young Alcmæon made his mother sell
With life the luckless ornament she wore
How, in the temple, on Sennacherib fell
The sons, and left his corpse there on the floor.
The cruel carnage and the wreck it showed
Which Tomyris made, when she to Cyrus cried:
Blood thou didst thirst for! now I give thee blood;
And showed th' Assyrians flying far and wide
In utter rout, with Holofernes dead,
And all the slaughter that befell beside,
And the grim carcase by the bloody bed.
Troy next I saw, an ashy, caverned waste:
O Ilion! how vile the work showed thee
Which there is graven,—how utterly abased!
What master of pencil or of stile[187] was he
Who so those traits and figures could have traced
That subtlest wit had been amazed thereby?
Alive the living seemed, and dead the dead!
Who saw the truth no better saw than I,
While bowed I went, all underneath my tread.
Now swell with pride, and on with lofty stalk,
Children of Eve! nor bend your visage aught
So to behold the sinful way ye walk.
More of the mountain than my busied thought
Had been aware of we had rounded now,
And much more of his course the sun had spent;
When he, who still went first with watchful brow,
Exclaimed: "Look up!—to accomplish our ascent
Time no more suffers to proceed so slow.
See yonder angel hastening on his way
To come towards us! and from her service, lo!
The sixth returning handmaid of the day.
Give to thy mien the grace of reverence, then,
That he may joy to marshal us above.
Think thus: this day will never dawn again."
I had so often felt his words reprove
My slowness, warning me to lose no time,
That on this point I read his dark words right.
With sparkling face, as glows at rosy prime
The tremulous morning star, and robed in white,
That being of beauty moved towards us, and said,
Opening his arms and then his pinions wide,
"Come, here the steps are!—easy to the tread
And close at hand: now upward ye may glide."
But very few obey this Angel's call:
O human race! born high on wings to soar,
Why at a little breath do ye so fall?
He brought us where the rock a pass revealed
Hewn out, his pinions on my forehead beat
And with his promise my safe-going sealed.
As, to the right, in climbing to the seat
Of the fair church[188] that looketh lordly down
Over the bridge that bears the name this day
Of Rubaconte, on the well-ruled town,[189]
The sharp ascent is broken by a way
Of stairs constructed in the old time, ere
Fraud was in measure and in ledger found;
Thus the steep bank is graduated there
Which falls abruptly from the other round:
On either side the tall rock grazes though.
As we turned thitherward, were voices heard,
Beati pauperes spiritu! singing so
As might not be exprest by any word.
Ah! these approaches—how unlike to Hell's!
With chant of anthems one makes entrance here;
Down there with agony's ferocious yells.
Now, as we climb, the sacred stairs appear
More easy than the plain had seemed before:
Wherefore I thus began: "O Master! say,
What heavy load is tak'n from me? No more
I feel that weariness upon my way."
"When every P, upon thy temples traced,
Almost obliterate now," he answered me,
"Shall be, like this one, totally erased,
So by right will thy feet shall vanquished be,
That they not only no fatigue shall know,
But ev'n with pleasure shall be forward sped."
Then did I like as men do when they go
Unweeting what they carry on their head,
Till signs from some one their suspicion waking,
The assistant hand its own assurance tries,
And seeks and findeth, such discovery making
As may not be afforded by the eyes.
Spreading my right-hand fingers, I could find
Six[190] letters only of the seven which he
Who bore the keys had on my forehead signed:
Observing which, my Master smiled on me.
FOOTNOTES:
[186] Lucifer.
[187] Stile here means a sculptor's tool, and not a writer's style.