English

As much as, 'twixt the third hour of the day
And dawn, appeareth of the heavenly sphere
Which ever moveth as a child at play,
There seem'd, as now the eventide drew near,
The same, ere yet the sun should sink to rest;
The hour of vesper there, and midnight here.
Upon my brow the golden rays imprest
Their seal, because we journey'd round the hill
In such a manner that we faced the west.
When I more blinding than at first did feel

Now we had gain'd the summit of the stair,
Where for the second time recedes that hill,
Which from the pilgrim all his sins doth bear.
And here, as at the first, a cornice still
Encircles all the mountain; but I knew
Its are more quickly did the circuit fill.
No sign, or form of sculpture met my view;
But on the bank, and on the level way,
The stone was of a dull and livid hue.
" If here to ask the passengers we stay, "

Together, even as oxen in the yoke,
Beside that burden'd spirit, bending low
I went, until my gentle Master spoke:
" Leave him, and on thy journey speed; for know,
Here it is good the sail and oars be strain'd,
That swiftly on its course thy bark may go. "
As one who would press onward I regain'd
At once my stature's fullest height, though still
Low in humility my thoughts remain'd.
And in my Master's steps, with ready will

" Father, who hast thy dwelling-place on high,
Not circumscribed, but that thou lovest more
Thy first-created of the empyreal sky,
To hymn thy wondrous name let praises soar
From every creature; as 'tis meet and right
To render thanks unto thy glorious power.
Send unto us thy heavenly kingdom bright;
For of ourselves we have no strength to gain
Its peace, although we strive with all our might.
Even as thy holy angels aye are fain

After we pass'd the threshold of the gate,
The which our souls, from love of ill, disuse,
The ill that makes the crooked way seem straight,
Sounding with heavy clang I heard it close:
Had I a backward glance toward it thrown,
What for my error had been fit excuse?
Now we ascended through the fissured stone,
That fled and then advanced, on either part,
Like ocean billows, ever and anon.
" In truth, we somewhat here have need of art, "

Now Tithon's mistress, famed in ancient song,
On the far orient sky shed silver light,
As from her lover's arms she pass'd along:
Her brow with starry diamonds was bright,
In figure of the creature swift and cold,
That with its tail strikes, darting in quick flight;
And twice the footsteps of the Night were told,
The steps which slowly ever onward pace;
Downward the third its dusky wings did fold,

Now was the hour that hath the softest spell,
To turn the sailor's heart on homeward way,
When he that morn hath bade his friends farewell;
And on the pilgrim saddest thoughts doth lay
Of love, whene'er he heareth from afar
The bell that seems to weep the dying day.
Then I began to have no further care
Of hearing, as I look'd with eager eye
At one who raised his hands as if in prayer;
Fixing his gaze upon the orient sky,

After the warm embrace of welcome glad
Had been repeated more than twice or thrice,
Sordell drew back, and " Who are ye? " he said.
" Ere to this mount the spirits might arise,
Worthy the paradise of God to win,
Octavius laid my corpse where now it lies;
For I am Virgil; and no other sin
But lack of faith hath lost me heavenly bliss: "
Thus did my leader his reply begin.
As one who sees some wond'rous thing, I wis,

Departing from those shades, I strove to hold
Still the same path as did my trusty guide;
When one, with finger pointing, said: " Behold!
What wondrous thing is this? At his left side,
No ray of sunshine on the path is found:
Meseemeth, yet in life he doth abide. "
I turn'd my eyes toward the voice's sound,
And saw them look with wonder and amaze
At me, and at the shadow on the ground.
My Master said: " Why dost thou backward gaze,

The sun now low on the horizon lay,
On the horizon of the Holy Land,
Shedding on Sion's mount the close of day;
And Night, who aye opposed to him doth stand,
Came slowly forth from out the Ganges stream,
Bearing the balances, that from her hand
At midnight fall: and thus the rosy gleam,
Tinging the cheeks of the fair Nymph of Day,
All changed to orange hue to us did seem.
And still beside the shore did we delay,