The Divine Comedy by Dante, Illustrated, Paradise, Complete. Dante Alighieri

its desire

       Our intellect is to such depth absorb'd,

       That memory cannot follow. Nathless all,

       That in my thoughts I of that sacred realm

       Could store, shall now be matter of my song.

       Benign Apollo! this last labour aid,

       And make me such a vessel of thy worth,

       As thy own laurel claims of me belov'd.

       Thus far hath one of steep Parnassus' brows

       Suffic'd me; henceforth there is need of both

       For my remaining enterprise Do thou

       Enter into my bosom, and there breathe

       So, as when Marsyas by thy hand was dragg'd

       Forth from his limbs unsheath'd. O power divine!

       If thou to me of shine impart so much,

       That of that happy realm the shadow'd form

       Trac'd in my thoughts I may set forth to view,

       Thou shalt behold me of thy favour'd tree

       Come to the foot, and crown myself with leaves;

       For to that honour thou, and my high theme

       Will fit me. If but seldom, mighty Sire!

       To grace his triumph gathers thence a wreath

       Caesar or bard (more shame for human wills

       Deprav'd) joy to the Delphic god must spring

       From the Pierian foliage, when one breast

       Is with such thirst inspir'd. From a small spark

       Great flame hath risen: after me perchance

       Others with better voice may pray, and gain

       From the Cirrhaean city answer kind.

       Through diver passages, the world's bright lamp

       Rises to mortals, but through that which joins

       Four circles with the threefold cross, in best

       Course, and in happiest constellation set

       He comes, and to the worldly wax best gives

       Its temper and impression. Morning there,

       Here eve was by almost such passage made;

       And whiteness had o'erspread that hemisphere,

       Blackness the other part; when to the left

       I saw Beatrice turn'd, and on the sun

       Gazing, as never eagle fix'd his ken.

       As from the first a second beam is wont

       To issue, and reflected upwards rise,

       E'en as a pilgrim bent on his return,

       So of her act, that through the eyesight pass'd

       Into my fancy, mine was form'd; and straight,

       Beyond our mortal wont, I fix'd mine eyes

       Upon the sun. Much is allowed us there,

       That here exceeds our pow'r; thanks to the place

       Made for the dwelling of the human kind

       I suffer'd it not long, and yet so long

       That I beheld it bick'ring sparks around,

       As iron that comes boiling from the fire.

       And suddenly upon the day appear'd

       A day new-ris'n, as he, who hath the power,

       Had with another sun bedeck'd the sky.

       Her eyes fast fix'd on the eternal wheels,

       Beatrice stood unmov'd; and I with ken

       Fix'd upon her, from upward gaze remov'd

       At her aspect, such inwardly became

       As Glaucus, when he tasted of the herb,

       That made him peer among the ocean gods;

       Words may not tell of that transhuman change:

       And therefore let the example serve, though weak,

       For those whom grace hath better proof in store

       If I were only what thou didst create,

       Then newly, Love! by whom the heav'n is rul'd,

       Thou know'st, who by thy light didst bear me up.

       Whenas the wheel which thou dost ever guide,

       Desired Spirit! with its harmony

       Temper'd of thee and measur'd, charm'd mine ear,

       Then seem'd to me so much of heav'n to blaze

       With the sun's flame, that rain or flood ne'er made

       A lake so broad. The newness of the sound,

       And that great light, inflam'd me with desire,

       Keener than e'er was felt, to know their cause.

       Whence she who saw me, clearly as myself,

       To calm my troubled mind, before I ask'd,

       Open'd her lips, and gracious thus began:

       "With false imagination thou thyself

       Mak'st dull, so that thou seest not the thing,

       Which thou hadst seen, had that been shaken off.

       Thou art not on the earth as thou believ'st;

       For light'ning scap'd from its own proper place

       Ne'er ran, as thou hast hither now return'd."

       Although divested of my first-rais'd doubt,

       By those brief words, accompanied with smiles,

       Yet in new doubt was I entangled more,

       And said: "Already satisfied, I rest

       From admiration deep, but now admire

       How I above those lighter bodies rise."

       Whence, after utt'rance of a piteous sigh,

       She tow'rds me bent her eyes, with such a look,

       As on her frenzied child a mother casts;

       Then thus began: "Among themselves all things

       Have order; and from hence the form, which makes

       The universe resemble God. In this

       The higher creatures see the printed steps

       Of that eternal worth, which is the end

       Whither the line is drawn. All natures lean,

       In this their order, diversely, some more,

       Some less approaching to their primal source.

       Thus they to different havens are mov'd on

       Through the vast sea of being, and each one

       With instinct giv'n, that bears it in its course;

       This to the lunar sphere directs the fire,

       This prompts the hearts of mortal animals,

       This the brute earth together knits, and binds.

       Nor only creatures, void of intellect,

       Are aim'd at by this bow; but even those,

       That have intelligence and love, are pierc'd.

       That Providence, who so well orders all,

       With her own light makes ever calm the heaven,

       In which the substance, that hath greatest speed,

       Is turn'd: and thither now, as to our seat

       Predestin'd, we are carried by the force

       Of that strong