The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri (good e books to read txt) š
- Author: Dante Alighieri
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The strains came oāer mine ear, eāen as the sound Of choral voices, that in solemn chant With organ mingle, and, now high and clear, Come swelling, now float indistinct away.
CANTO X
When we had passed the threshold of the gate (Which the soulās ill affection doth disuse, Making the crooked seem the straighter path), I heard its closing sound. Had mine eyes turnād, For that offence what plea might have availād?
We mounted up the riven rock, that wound On either side alternate, as the wave Flies and advances. āHere some little art Behooves us,ā said my leader, āthat our steps Observe the varying flexure of the path.ā
Thus we so slowly sped, that with cleft orb The moon once more oāerhangs her watāry couch, Ere we that strait have threaded. But when free We came and open, where the mount above One solid mass retires, I spent, with toil, And both, uncertain of the way, we stood, Upon a plain more lonesome, than the roads That traverse desert wilds. From whence the brink Borders upon vacuity, to foot
Of the steep bank, that rises still, the space Had measurād thrice the stature of a man: And, distant as mine eye could wing its flight, To leftward now and now to right dispatchād, That cornice equal in extent appearād.
Not yet our feet had on that summit movād, When I discoverād that the bank around, Whose proud uprising all ascent denied, Was marble white, and so exactly wrought With quaintest sculpture, that not there alone Had Polycletus, but eāen natureās self Been shamād. The angel who came down to earth With tidings of the peace so many years Wept for in vain, that opād the heavenly gates From their long interdict) before us seemād, In a sweet act, so sculpturād to the life, He lookād no silent image. One had sworn He had said, āHail!ā for she was imagād there, By whom the key did open to Godās love, And in her act as sensibly impress That word, āBehold the handmaid of the Lord,ā
As figure sealād on wax. āFix not thy mind On one place only,ā said the guide belovād, Who had me near him on that part where lies The heart of man. My sight forthwith I turnād And markād, behind the virgin motherās form, Upon that side, where he, that movād me, stood, Another story graven on the rock.
I passed athwart the bard, and drew me near, That it might stand more aptly for my view.
There in the self-same marble were engravād The cart and kine, drawing the sacred ark, That from unbidden office awes mankind.
Before it came much people; and the whole Parted in seven quires. One sense cried, āNay,ā
Another, āYes, they sing.ā Like doubt arose Betwixt the eye and smell, from the curlād fume Of incense breathing up the well-wrought toil.
Preceding the blest vessel, onward came With light dance leaping, girt in humble guise, Sweet Israelās harper: in that hap he seemād Less and yet more than kingly. Opposite, At a great palace, from the lattice forth Lookād Michol, like a lady full of scorn And sorrow. To behold the tablet next, Which at the hack of Michol whitely shone, I movād me. There was storied on the rock Theā exalted glory of the Roman prince, Whose mighty worth movād Gregory to earn His mighty conquest, Trajan thā Emperor.
A widow at his bridle stood, attirād In tears and mourning. Round about them troopād Full throng of knights, and overhead in gold The eagles floated, struggling with the wind.
The wretch appearād amid all these to say: āGrant vengeance, sire! for, woe beshrew this heart My son is murderād.ā He replying seemād; āWait now till I return.ā And she, as one Made hasty by her grief; āO sire, if thou Dost not return?āāāWhere I am, who then is, May right thee.āāā What to thee is otherās good, If thou neglect thy own?āāāNow comfort thee,ā
At length he answers. āIt beseemeth well My duty be performād, ere I move hence: So justice wills; and pity bids me stay.ā
He, whose ken nothing new surveys, producād That visible speaking, new to us and strange The like not found on earth. Fondly I gazād Upon those patterns of meek humbleness, Shapes yet more precious for their artistās sake, When āLo,ā the poet whisperād, āwhere this way (But slack their pace), a multitude advance.
These to the lofty steps shall guide us on.ā
Mine eyes, though bent on view of novel sights Their lovād allurement, were not slow to turn.
Reader! I would not that amazād thou miss Of thy good purpose, hearing how just God Decrees our debts be cancelād. Ponder not The form of suffāring. Think on what succeeds, Think that at worst beyond the mighty doom It cannot pass. āInstructor,ā I began, āWhat I see hither tending, bears no trace Of human semblance, nor of aught beside That my foilād sight can guess.ā He answering thus: āSo courbād to earth, beneath their heavy teems Of torment stoop they, that mine eye at first Struggled as thine. But look intently thither, An disentangle with thy labāring view, What underneath those stones approacheth: now, Eāen now, mayst thou discern the pangs of each.ā
Christians and proud! O poor and wretched ones!
That feeble in the mindās eye, lean your trust Upon unstaid perverseness! Know ye not That we are worms, yet made at last to form The winged insect, impād with angel plumes That to heavenās justice unobstructed soars?
Why buoy ye up aloft your unflegād souls?
Abortive then and shapeless ye remain, Like the untimely embryon of a worm!
As, to support incumbent floor or roof, For corbel is a figure sometimes seen, That crumples up its knees unto its breast, With the feignād posture stirring ruth unfeignād In the beholderās fancy; so I saw
These fashionād, when I noted well their guise.
Each, as his back was laden, came indeed Or more or less contract; but it appearād As he, who showād most patience in his look, Wailing exclaimād: āI can endure no more.ā
CANTO XI
O thou Almighty Father, who dost make The heavens thy dwelling, not in bounds confinād, But that with love intenser there thou viewāst Thy primal effluence, hallowād be thy name: Join each created being to extol
Thy might, for worthy humblest thanks and praise Is thy blest Spirit. May thy kingdomās peace Come unto us; for we, unless it come, With all our striving thither tend in vain.
As of their will the angels unto thee Tender meet sacrifice, circling thy throne With loud hosannas, so of theirs be done By saintly men on earth. Grant us this day Our daily manna, without which he roams Through this rough desert retrograde, who most Toils to advance his steps. As we to each Pardon the evil done us, pardon thou Benign, and of our merit take no count.
āGainst the old adversary prove thou not Our virtue easily subduād; but free From his incitements and defeat his wiles.
This last petition, dearest Lord! is made Not for ourselves, since that were needless now, But for their sakes who after us remain.ā
Thus for themselves and us good speed imploring, Those spirits went beneath a weight like that We sometimes feel in dreams, all, sore beset, But with unequal anguish, wearied all, Round the first circuit, purging as they go, The worldās gross darkness off: In our behalf If there vows still be offerād, what can here For them be vowād and done by such, whose wills Have root of goodness in them? Well beseems That we should help them wash away the stains They carried hence, that so made pure and light, They may spring upward to the starry spheres.
āAh! so may mercy-temperād justice rid Your burdens speedily, that ye have power To stretch your wing, which eāen to your desire Shall lift you, as ye show us on which hand Toward the ladder leads the shortest way.
And if there be more passages than one, Instruct us of that easiest to ascend; For this man who comes with me, and bears yet The charge of fleshly raiment Adam left him, Despite his better will but slowly mounts.ā
From whom the answer came unto these words, Which my guide spake, appearād not; but ātwas said āAlong the bank to rightward come with us, And ye shall find a pass that mocks not toil Of living man to climb: and were it not That I am hinderād by the rock, wherewith This arrogant neck is tamād, whence needs I stoop My visage to the ground, him, who yet lives, Whose name thou speakāst not him I fain would view.
To mark if eāer I knew him? and to crave His pity for the fardel that I bear.
I was of Latiun, of a Tuscan horn A mighty one: Aldobranlescoās name My sireās, I know not if ye eāer have heard.
My old blood and forefathersā gallant deeds Made me so haughty, that I clean forgot The common mother, and to such excess, Waxād in my scorn of all men, that I fell, Fell therefore; by what fate Siennaās sons, Each child in Campagnatico, can tell.
I am Omberto; not me only pride
Hath injurād, but my kindred all involvād In mischief with her. Here my lot ordains Under this weight to groan, till I appease Godās angry justice, since I did it not Amongst the living, here amongst the dead.ā
Listāning I bent my visage down: and one (Not he who spake) twisted beneath the weight That urgād him, saw me, knew me straight, and callād, Holding his eyes With difficulty fixād Intent upon me, stooping as I went Companion of their way. āO!ā I exclaimād, āArt thou not Oderigi, art not thou Agobbioās glory, glory of that art Which they of Paris call the limmerās skill?ā
āBrother!ā said he, āwith tints that gayer smile, Bolognian Francoās pencil lines the leaves.
His all the honour now; mine borrowād light.
In truth I had not been thus courteous to him, The whilst I livād, through eagerness of zeal For that pre-eminence my heart was bent on.
Here of such pride the forfeiture is paid.
Nor were I even here; if, able still To sin, I had not turnād me unto God.
O powers of man! how vain your glory, nippād Eāen in its height of verdure, if an age Less bright succeed not! Cimabue thought To lord it over paintingās field; and now The cry is Giottoās, and his name eclipsād.
Thus hath one Guido from the other snatchād The letterād prize: and he perhaps is born, Who shall drive either from their nest. The noise Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind, That blows from divers points, and shifts its name Shifting the point it blows from. Shalt thou more Live in the mouths of mankind, if thy flesh Part shrivelād from thee, than if thou hadst died, Before the coral and the pap were left, Or ere some thousand years have passed? and that Is, to eternity comparād, a space, Briefer than is the twinkling of an eye To the heavenās slowest orb. He there who treads So leisurely before me, far and wide Through Tuscany resounded once; and now Is in Sienna scarce with whispers namād: There was he sovāreign, when destruction caught The maddāning rage of Florence, in that day Proud as she now is loathsome. Your renown Is as the herb, whose hue doth come and go, And his might withers it, by whom it sprang Crude from the lap of earth.ā I thus to him: āTrue are thy sayings: to my heart they breathe The kindly spirit of meekness, and allay What tumours rankle there.
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