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

Admitted to his order dwell in joy.

       And this condition, which appears so low,

       Is for this cause assign'd us, that our vows

       Were in some part neglected and made void."

       Whence I to her replied: "Something divine

       Beams in your countenance, wond'rous fair,

       From former knowledge quite transmuting you.

       Therefore to recollect was I so slow.

       But what thou sayst hath to my memory

       Given now such aid, that to retrace your forms

       Is easier. Yet inform me, ye, who here

       Are happy, long ye for a higher place

       More to behold, and more in love to dwell?"

       She with those other spirits gently smil'd,

       Then answer'd with such gladness, that she seem'd

       With love's first flame to glow: "Brother! our will

       Is in composure settled by the power

       Of charity, who makes us will alone

       What we possess, and nought beyond desire;

       If we should wish to be exalted more,

       Then must our wishes jar with the high will

       Of him, who sets us here, which in these orbs

       Thou wilt confess not possible, if here

       To be in charity must needs befall,

       And if her nature well thou contemplate.

       Rather it is inherent in this state

       Of blessedness, to keep ourselves within

       The divine will, by which our wills with his

       Are one. So that as we from step to step

       Are plac'd throughout this kingdom, pleases all,

       E'en as our King, who in us plants his will;

       And in his will is our tranquillity;

       It is the mighty ocean, whither tends

       Whatever it creates and nature makes."

       Then saw I clearly how each spot in heav'n

       Is Paradise, though with like gracious dew

       The supreme virtue show'r not over all.

       But as it chances, if one sort of food

       Hath satiated, and of another still

       The appetite remains, that this is ask'd,

       And thanks for that return'd; e'en so did I

       In word and motion, bent from her to learn

       What web it was, through which she had not drawn

       The shuttle to its point. She thus began:

       "Exalted worth and perfectness of life

       The Lady higher up enshrine in heaven,

       By whose pure laws upon your nether earth

       The robe and veil they wear, to that intent,

       That e'en till death they may keep watch or sleep

       With their great bridegroom, who accepts each vow,

       Which to his gracious pleasure love conforms.

       from the world, to follow her, when young

       Escap'd; and, in her vesture mantling me,

       Made promise of the way her sect enjoins.

       Thereafter men, for ill than good more apt,

       Forth snatch'd me from the pleasant cloister's pale.

       God knows how after that my life was fram'd.

       This other splendid shape, which thou beholdst

       At my right side, burning with all the light

       Of this our orb, what of myself I tell

       May to herself apply. From her, like me

       A sister, with like violence were torn

       The saintly folds, that shaded her fair brows.

       E'en when she to the world again was brought

       In spite of her own will and better wont,

       Yet not for that the bosom's inward veil

       Did she renounce. This is the luminary

       Of mighty Constance, who from that loud blast,

       Which blew the second over Suabia's realm,

       That power produc'd, which was the third and last."

       She ceas'd from further talk, and then began

       "Ave Maria" singing, and with that song

       Vanish'd, as heavy substance through deep wave.

       Mine eye, that far as it was capable,

       Pursued her, when in dimness she was lost,

       Turn'd to the mark where greater want impell'd,

       And bent on Beatrice all its gaze.

       But she as light'ning beam'd upon my looks:

       So that the sight sustain'd it not at first.

       Whence I to question her became less prompt.

CANTO IV

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       Between two kinds of food, both equally

       Remote and tempting, first a man might die

       Of hunger, ere he one could freely choose.

       E'en so would stand a lamb between the maw

       Of two fierce wolves, in dread of both alike:

       E'en so between two deer a dog would stand,

       Wherefore, if I was silent, fault nor praise

       I to myself impute, by equal doubts

       Held in suspense, since of necessity

       It happen'd. Silent was I, yet desire

       Was painted in my looks; and thus I spake

       My wish more earnestly than language could.

       As Daniel, when the haughty king he freed

       From ire, that spurr'd him on to deeds unjust

       And violent; so look'd Beatrice then.

       "Well I discern," she thus her words address'd,

       "How contrary desires each way constrain thee,

       So that thy anxious thought is in itself

       Bound up and stifled, nor breathes freely forth.

       Thou arguest; if the good intent remain;

       What reason that another's violence

       Should stint the measure of my fair desert?

       "Cause too thou findst for doubt, in that it seems,

       That spirits to the stars, as Plato deem'd,

       Return. These are the questions which thy will

       Urge equally; and therefore I the first

       Of that will treat which hath the more of gall.

       Of seraphim he who is most ensky'd,

       Moses and Samuel, and either John,

       Choose which thou wilt, nor even Mary's self,

       Have not in any other heav'n their seats,