Purgatorio: Canto XXVIII
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
Dante Alighieri and Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth
Eager already to search in and round The heavenly forest, dense and living-green, Which tempered to the eyes the new-born day,
Withouten more delay I left the bank, Taking the level country slowly, slowly Over the soil that everywhere breathes fragrance.
A softly-breathing air, that no mutation Had in itself, upon the forehead smote me No heavier blow than of a gentle wind,
Whereat the branches, lightly tremulous, Did all of them bow downward toward that side Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;
Yet not from their upright direction swayed, So that the little birds upon their tops Should leave the practice of each art of theirs;
But with full ravishment the hours of prime, Singing, received they in the midst of leaves, That ever bore a burden to their rhymes,
Such as from branch to branch goes gathering on Through the pine forest on the shore of Chiassi, When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco.
Already my slow steps had carried me Into the ancient wood so far, that I Could not perceive where I had entered it.
And lo! my further course a stream cut off, Which tow’rd the left hand with its little waves Bent down the grass that on its margin sprang.
All waters that on earth most limpid are Would seem to have within themselves some mixture Compared with that which nothing doth conceal,
Although it moves on with a brown, brown current Under the shade perpetual, that never Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.
With feet I stayed, and with mine eyes I passed Beyond the rivulet, to look upon The great variety of the fresh may.
And there appeared to me (even as appears Suddenly something that doth turn aside Through very wonder every other thought)
A lady all alone, who went along Singing and culling floweret after floweret, With which her pathway was all painted over.
“Ah, beauteous lady, who in rays of love Dost warm thyself, if I may trust to looks, Which the heart’s witnesses are wont to be,
May the desire come unto thee to draw Near to this river’s bank,” I said to her, “So much that I might hear what thou art singing.
Thou makest me remember where and what Proserpina that moment was when lost Her mother her, and she herself the Spring.”
As turns herself, with feet together pressed And to the ground, a lady who is dancing, And hardly puts one foot before the other,
On the vermilion and the yellow flowerets She turned towards me, not in other wise Than maiden who her modest eyes casts down;
And my entreaties made to be content, So near approaching, that the dulcet sound Came unto me together with its meaning
As soon as she was where the grasses are. Bathed by the waters of the beauteous river, To lift her eyes she granted me the boon.
I do not think there shone so great a light Under the lids of Venus, when transfixed By her own son, beyond his usual custom!
Erect upon the other bank she smiled, Bearing full many colours in her hands, Which that high land produces without seed.
Apart three paces did the river make us; But Hellespont, where Xerxes passed across, (A curb still to all human arrogance,)
More hatred from Leander did not suffer For rolling between Sestos and Abydos, Than that from me, because it oped not then.
“Ye are new-comers; and because I smile,” Began she, “peradventure, in this place Elect to human nature for its nest,
Some apprehension keeps you marvelling; But the psalm ‘Delectasti’ giveth light Which has the power to uncloud your intellect.
And thou who foremost art, and didst entreat me, Speak, if thou wouldst hear more; for I came ready To all thy questionings, as far as needful.”
“The water,” said I, “and the forest’s sound, Are combating within me my new faith In something which I heard opposed to this.”
Whence she: “I will relate how from its cause Proceedeth that which maketh thee to wonder, And purge away the cloud that smites upon thee.
The Good Supreme, sole in itself delighting, Created man good, and this goodly place Gave him as hansel of eternal peace.
By his default short while he sojourned here; By his default to weeping and to toil He changed his innocent laughter and sweet play.
That the disturbance which below is made By exhalations of the land and water, (Which far as may be follow after heat,)
Might not upon mankind wage any war, This mount ascended tow’rds the heaven so high, And is exempt, from there where it is locked.
Now since the universal atmosphere Turns in a circuit with the primal motion Unless the circle is broken on some side,
Upon this height, that all is disengaged In living ether, doth this motion strike And make the forest sound, for it is dense;
And so much power the stricken plant possesses That with its virtue it impregns the air, And this, revolving, scatters it around;
And yonder earth, according as ’tis worthy In self or in its clime, conceives and bears Of divers qualities the divers trees;
It should not seem a marvel then on earth, This being heard, whenever any plant Without seed manifest there taketh root.
And thou must know, this holy table-land In which thou art is full of every seed, And fruit has in it never gathered there.