Paradiso: Canto IX
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
Dante Alighieri and Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth
Beautiful Clemence, after that thy Charles Had me enlightened, he narrated to me The treacheries his seed should undergo;
But said: “Be still and let the years roll round;” So I can only say, that lamentation Legitimate shall follow on your wrongs.
And of that holy light the life already Had to the Sun which fills it turned again, As to that good which for each thing sufficeth.
Ah, souls deceived, and creatures impious, Who from such good do turn away your hearts, Directing upon vanity your foreheads!
And now, behold, another of those splendours Approached me, and its will to pleasure me It signified by brightening outwardly.
The eyes of Beatrice, that fastened were Upon me, as before, of dear assent To my desire assurance gave to me.
“Ah, bring swift compensation to my wish, Thou blessed spirit,” I said, “and give me proof That what I think in thee I can reflect!”
Whereat the light, that still was new to me, Out of its depths, whence it before was singing, As one delighted to do good, continued:
“Within that region of the land depraved Of Italy, that lies between Rialto And fountain-heads of Brenta and of Piava,
Rises a hill, and mounts not very high, Wherefrom descended formerly a torch That made upon that region great assault.
Out of one root were born both I and it; Cunizza was I called, and here I shine Because the splendour of this star o’ercame me.
But gladly to myself the cause I pardon Of my allotment, and it does not grieve me; Which would perhaps seem strong unto your vulgar.
Of this so luculent and precious jewel, Which of our heaven is nearest unto me, Great fame remained; and ere it die away
This hundredth year shall yet quintupled be. See if man ought to make him excellent, So that another life the first may leave!
And thus thinks not the present multitude Shut in by Adige and Tagliamento, Nor yet for being scourged is penitent.
But soon ’twill be that Padua in the marsh Will change the water that Vicenza bathes, Because the folk are stubborn against duty;
And where the Sile and Cagnano join One lordeth it, and goes with lofty head, For catching whom e’en now the net is making.
Feltro moreover of her impious pastor Shall weep the crime, which shall so monstrous be That for the like none ever entered Malta.
Ample exceedingly would be the vat That of the Ferrarese could hold the blood, And weary who should weigh it ounce by ounce,
Of which this courteous priest shall make a gift To show himself a partisan; and such gifts Will to the living of the land conform.
Above us there are mirrors, Thrones you call them, From which shines out on us God Judicant, So that this utterance seems good to us.”
Here it was silent, and it had the semblance Of being turned elsewhither, by the wheel On which it entered as it was before.
The other joy, already known to me, Became a thing transplendent in my sight, As a fine ruby smitten by the sun.
Through joy effulgence is acquired above, As here a smile; but down below, the shade Outwardly darkens, as the mind is sad.
“God seeth all things, and in Him, blest spirit, Thy sight is,” said I, “so that never will Of his can possibly from thee be hidden;
Thy voice, then, that for ever makes the heavens Glad, with the singing of those holy fires Which of their six wings make themselves a cowl,
Wherefore does it not satisfy my longings? Indeed, I would not wait thy questioning If I in thee were as thou art in me.”
“The greatest of the valleys where the water Expands itself,” forthwith its words began, “That sea excepted which the earth engarlands,
Between discordant shores against the sun Extends so far, that it meridian makes Where it was wont before to make the horizon.
I was a dweller on that valley’s shore ’Twixt Ebro and Magra that with journey short Doth from the Tuscan part the Genoese.
With the same sunset and same sunrise nearly Sit Buggia and the city whence I was, That with its blood once made the harbour hot.
Folco that people called me unto whom My name was known; and now with me this heaven Imprints itself, as I did once with it;
For more the daughter of Belus never burned, Offending both Sichaeus and Creusa, Than I, so long as it became my locks,
Nor yet that Rodophean, who deluded was by Demophoon, nor yet Alcides, When Iole he in his heart had locked.
Yet here is no repenting, but we smile, Not at the fault, which comes not back to mind, But at the power which ordered and foresaw.
Here we behold the art that doth adorn With such affection, and the good discover Whereby the world above turns that below.
But that thou wholly satisfied mayst bear Thy wishes hence which in this sphere are born, Still farther to proceed behoveth me.
Thou fain wouldst know who is within this light That here beside me thus is scintillating, Even as a sunbeam in the limpid water.
Then know thou, that within there is at rest Rahab, and being to our order joined, With her in its supremest grade ’tis sealed.
Into this heaven, where ends the shadowy cone Cast by your world, before all other souls First of Christ’s triumph was she taken up.