Paradiso: Canto XV
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
Dante Alighieri and Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth
A will benign, in which reveals itself Ever the love that righteously inspires, As in the iniquitous, cupidity,
Silence imposed upon that dulcet lyre, And quieted the consecrated chords, That Heaven’s right hand doth tighten and relax.
How unto just entreaties shall be deaf Those substances, which, to give me desire Of praying them, with one accord grew silent?
’Tis well that without end he should lament, Who for the love of thing that doth not last Eternally despoils him of that love!
As through the pure and tranquil evening air There shoots from time to time a sudden fire, Moving the eyes that steadfast were before,
And seems to be a star that changeth place, Except that in the part where it is kindled Nothing is missed, and this endureth little;
So from the horn that to the right extends Unto that cross’s foot there ran a star Out of the constellation shining there;
Nor was the gem dissevered from its ribbon, But down the radiant fillet ran along, So that fire seemed it behind alabaster.
Thus piteous did Anchises’ shade reach forward, If any faith our greatest Muse deserve, When in Elysium he his son perceived.
“O sanguis meus, O superinfusa Gratia Dei, sicut tibi, cui Bis unquam Coeli janua reclusa?”
Thus that effulgence; whence I gave it heed; Then round unto my Lady turned my sight, And on this side and that was stupefied;
For in her eyes was burning such a smile That with mine own methought I touched the bottom Both of my grace and of my Paradise!
Then, pleasant to the hearing and the sight, The spirit joined to its beginning things I understood not, so profound it spake;
Nor did it hide itself from me by choice, But by necessity; for its conception Above the mark of mortals set itself.
And when the bow of burning sympathy Was so far slackened, that its speech descended Towards the mark of our intelligence,
The first thing that was understood by me Was “Benedight be Thou, O Trine and One, Who hast unto my seed so courteous been!”
And it continued: “Hunger long and grateful, Drawn from the reading of the mighty volume Wherein is never changed the white nor dark,
Thou hast appeased, my son, within this light In which I speak to thee, by grace of her Who to this lofty flight with plumage clothed thee.
Thou thinkest that to me thy thought doth pass From Him who is the first, as from the unit, If that be known, ray out the five and six;
And therefore who I am thou askest not, And why I seem more joyous unto thee Than any other of this gladsome crowd.
Thou think’st the truth; because the small and great Of this existence look into the mirror Wherein, before thou think’st, thy thought thou showest.
But that the sacred love, in which I watch With sight perpetual, and which makes me thirst With sweet desire, may better be fulfilled,
Now let thy voice secure and frank and glad Proclaim the wishes, the desire proclaim, To which my answer is decreed already.”
To Beatrice I turned me, and she heard Before I spake, and smiled to me a sign, That made the wings of my desire increase;
Then in this wise began I: “Love and knowledge, When on you dawned the first Equality, Of the same weight for each of you became;
For in the Sun, which lighted you and burned With heat and radiance, they so equal are, That all similitudes are insufficient.
But among mortals will and argument, For reason that to you is manifest, Diversely feathered in their pinions are.
Whence I, who mortal am, feel in myself This inequality; so give not thanks, Save in my heart, for this paternal welcome.
Truly do I entreat thee, living topaz! Set in this precious jewel as a gem, That thou wilt satisfy me with thy name.”
“O leaf of mine, in whom I pleasure took E’en while awaiting, I was thine own root!” Such a beginning he in answer made me.
Then said to me: “That one from whom is named Thy race, and who a hundred years and more Has circled round the mount on the first cornice,
A son of mine and thy great-grandsire was; Well it behoves thee that the long fatigue Thou shouldst for him make shorter with thy works.
Florence, within the ancient boundary From which she taketh still her tierce and nones, Abode in quiet, temperate and chaste.
No golden chain she had, nor coronal, Nor ladies shod with sandal shoon, nor girdle That caught the eye more than the person did.
Not yet the daughter at her birth struck fear Into the father, for the time and dower Did not o’errun this side or that the measure.
No houses had she void of families, Not yet had thither come Sardanapalus To show what in a chamber can be done;
Not yet surpassed had Montemalo been By your Uccellatojo, which surpassed Shall in its downfall be as in its rise.
Bellincion Berti saw I go begirt With leather and with bone, and from the mirror His dame depart without a painted face;
And him of Nerli saw, and him of Vecchio, Contented with their simple suits of buff And with the spindle and the flax their dames.
O fortunate women! and each one was certain Of her own burial-place, and none as yet For sake of France was in her bed deserted.