The Divine Comedy - The Original Classic Edition. Dante Dante

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       Theirs and not thine shall be the crimson'd brow

       Their course shall so evince their brutishness

       T' have ta'en thy stand apart shall well become thee.

       "First refuge thou must find, first place of rest, In the great Lombard's courtesy, who bears Upon the ladder perch'd the sacred bird.

       He shall behold thee with such kind regard, That 'twixt ye two, the contrary to that

       Which falls 'twixt other men, the granting shall Forerun the asking. With him shalt thou see That mortal, who was at his birth impress

       So strongly from this star, that of his deeds

       The nations shall take note. His unripe age

       Yet holds him from observance; for these wheels

       Only nine years have compass him about. But, ere the Gascon practice on great Harry, Sparkles of virtue shall shoot forth in him, In equal scorn of labours and of gold.

       His bounty shall be spread abroad so widely, As not to let the tongues e'en of his foes

       Be idle in its praise. Look thou to him And his beneficence: for he shall cause Reversal of their lot to many people,

       Rich men and beggars interchanging fortunes. And thou shalt bear this written in thy soul

       Of him, but tell it not;" and things he told

       Incredible to those who witness them;

       Then added: "So interpret thou, my son,

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       What hath been told thee.--Lo! the ambushment

       That a few circling seasons hide for thee! Yet envy not thy neighbours: time extends

       Thy span beyond their treason's chastisement."

       Soon, as the saintly spirit, by his silence,

       Had shown the web, which I had streteh'd for him

       Upon the warp, was woven, I began, As one, who in perplexity desires

       Counsel of other, wise, benign and friendly: "My father! well I mark how time spurs on Toward me, ready to inflict the blow,

       Which falls most heavily on him, who most

       Abandoned himself. Therefore 't is good

       I should forecast, that driven from the place

       Most dear to me, I may not lose myself

       All others by my song. Down through the world

       Of infinite mourning, and along the mount

       From whose fair height my lady's eyes did lift me, And after through this heav'n from light to light, Have I learnt that, which if I tell again,

       It may with many woefully disrelish; And, if I am a timid friend to truth,

       I fear my life may perish among those,

       To whom these days shall be of ancient date."

       The brightness, where enclos'd the treasure smil'd,

       Which I had found there, first shone glisteningly,

       Like to a golden mirror in the sun;

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       Next answer'd: "Conscience, dimm'd or by its own

       Or other's shame, will feel thy saying sharp. Thou, notwithstanding, all deceit remov'd, See the whole vision be made manifest.

       And let them wince who have their withers wrung. What though, when tasted first, thy voice shall prove Unwelcome, on digestion it will turn

       To vital nourishment. The cry thou raisest,

       Shall, as the wind doth, smite the proudest summits; Which is of honour no light argument,

       For this there only have been shown to thee, Throughout these orbs, the mountain, and the deep, Spirits, whom fame hath note of. For the mind

       Of him, who hears, is loth to acquiesce

       And fix its faith, unless the instance brought

       Be palpable, and proof apparent urge."

       CANTO XVIII

       CANTO XVIII

       Now in his word, sole, ruminating, joy'd That blessed spirit; and I fed on mine, Tempting the sweet with bitter: she meanwhile, Who led me unto God, admonish'd: "Muse

       On other thoughts: bethink thee, that near Him

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       I dwell, who recompenseth every wrong."

       At the sweet sounds of comfort straight I turn'd; And, in the saintly eyes what love was seen,

       I leave in silence here: nor through distrust

       Of my words only, but that to such bliss

       The mind remounts not without aid. Thus much

       Yet may I speak; that, as I gaz'd on her, Affection found no room for other wish. While the everlasting pleasure, that did full On Beatrice shine, with second view

       From her fair countenance my gladden'd soul

       Contented; vanquishing me with a beam

       Of her soft smile, she spake: "Turn thee, and list. These eyes are not thy only Paradise."

       As here we sometimes in the looks may see

       Th' affection mark'd, when that its sway hath ta'en

       The spirit wholly; thus the hallow'd light,

       To whom I turn'd, flashing, bewray'd its will

       To talk yet further with me, and began:

       "On this fifth lodgment of the tree, whose life

       Is from its top, whose fruit is ever fair

       And leaf unwith'ring, blessed spirits abide, That were below, ere they arriv'd in heav'n, So mighty in renown, as every muse

       Might grace her triumph with them. On the horns

       Look therefore of the cross: he, whom I name,

       Shall there enact, as doth in summer cloud

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       Its nimble fire." Along the cross I saw,

       At the repeated name of Joshua,

       A splendour gliding; nor, the word was said, Ere it was done: then, at the naming saw

       Of the great Maccabee, another move

       With whirling speed; and gladness was the scourge

       Unto that top. The next for Charlemagne And for the peer Orlando, two my gaze Pursued, intently, as the eye pursues

       A falcon flying. Last, along the cross,

       William, and Renard, and Duke Godfrey drew My ken, and Robert Guiscard. And the soul, Who spake with me among the other lights Did move away, and mix; and with the choir Of heav'nly songsters prov'd his tuneful skill.

       To Beatrice on my right l bent, Looking for intimation or by word

       Or act, what next behoov'd; and did descry Such mere effulgence in her eyes, such joy, It past all former wont. And, as by sense

       Of new delight, the man, who perseveres

       In good deeds doth perceive from day to day

       His virtue growing; I e'en thus perceiv'd Of my ascent, together with the heav'n The circuit widen'd, noting the increase

       Of beauty in that wonder. Like the change

       In a brief moment on some maiden's cheek,

       Which from its fairness doth discharge the weight

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       Of pudency, that stain'd it; such in her,

       And to mine eyes so sudden was the change, Through silvery whiteness of that temperate star, Whose sixth orb now enfolded us. I saw,

       Within that Jovial cresset, the clear sparks