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an eye-witness to heavā€™nā€™s mysteries.ā€

 

CANTO XXIX

 

No longer than what time Latonaā€™s twins Coverā€™d of Libra and the fleecy star, Together both, girding theā€™ horizon hang, In even balance from the zenith poisā€™d, Till from that verge, each, changing hemisphere, Part the nice level; eā€™en so brief a space Did Beatriceā€™s silence hold. A smile Bat painted on her cheek; and her fixā€™d gaze Bent on the point, at which my vision failā€™d: When thus her words resuming she began: ā€œI speak, nor what thou wouldst inquire demand; For I have markā€™d it, where all time and place Are present. Not for increase to himself Of good, which may not be increasā€™d, but forth To manifest his glory by its beams, Inhabiting his own eternity,

Beyond timeā€™s limit or what bound soeā€™er To circumscribe his being, as he willā€™d, Into new natures, like unto himself, Eternal Love unfolded. Nor before, As if in dull inaction torpid lay.

For not in process of before or aft Upon these waters movā€™d the Spirit of God.

Simple and mixā€™d, both form and substance, forth To perfect being started, like three darts Shot from a bow three-corded. And as ray In crystal, glass, and amber, shines entire, Eā€™en at the moment of its issuing; thus Did, from thā€™ eternal Sovran, beam entire His threefold operation, at one act Producā€™d coeval. Yet in order each Created his due station knew: those highest, Who pure intelligence were made: mere power The lowest: in the midst, bound with strict league, Intelligence and power, unseverā€™d bond.

Long tract of ages by the angels past, Ere the creating of another world, Describā€™d on Jeromeā€™s pages thou hast seen.

But that what I disclose to thee is true, Those penmen, whom the Holy Spirit movā€™d In many a passage of their sacred book Attest; as thou by diligent search shalt find And reason in some sort discerns the same, Who scarce would grant the heavā€™nly ministers Of their perfection void, so long a space.

Thus when and where these spirits of love were made, Thou knowā€™st, and how: and knowing hast allayā€™d Thy thirst, which from the triple question rose.

Ere one had reckonā€™d twenty, eā€™en so soon Part of the angels fell: and in their fall Confusion to your elements ensued.

The others kept their station: and this task, Whereon thou lookst, began with such delight, That they surcease not ever, day nor night, Their circling. Of that fatal lapse the cause Was the curst pride of him, whom thou hast seen Pent with the worldā€™s incumbrance. Those, whom here Thou seest, were lowly to confess themselves Of his free bounty, who had made them apt For ministries so high: therefore their views Were by enlightā€™ning grace and their own merit Exalted; so that in their will confirmā€™d They stand, nor feel to fall. For do not doubt, But to receive the grace, which heavā€™n vouchsafes, Is meritorious, even as the soul

With prompt affection welcometh the guest.

Now, without further help, if with good heed My words thy mind have treasurā€™d, thou henceforth This consistory round about mayst scan, And gaze thy fill. But since thou hast on earth Heard vain disputers, reasoners in the schools, Canvas theā€™ angelic nature, and dispute Its powers of apprehension, memory, choice; Therefore, ā€˜t is well thou take from me the truth, Pure and without disguise, which they below, Equivocating, darken and perplex.

ā€œKnow thou, that, from the first, these substances, Rejoicing in the countenance of God, Have held unceasingly their view, intent Upon the glorious vision, from the which Naught absent is nor hid: where then no change Of newness with succession interrupts, Remembrance there needs none to gather up Divided thought and images remote

ā€œSo that men, thus at variance with the truth Dream, though their eyes be open; reckless some Of error; others well aware they err, To whom more guilt and shame are justly due.

Each the known track of sage philosophy Deserts, and has a byway of his own: So much the restless eagerness to shine And love of singularity prevail.

Yet this, offensive as it is, provokes Heavā€™nā€™s anger less, than when the book of God Is forcā€™d to yield to manā€™s authority, Or from its straightness warpā€™d: no reckā€™ning made What blood the sowing of it in the world Has cost; what favour for himself he wins, Who meekly clings to it. The aim of all Is how to shine: eā€™en they, whose office is To preach the Gospel, let the gospel sleep, And pass their own inventions off instead.

One tells, how at Christā€™s suffering the wan moon Bent back her steps, and shadowā€™d oā€™er the sun With intervenient disk, as she withdrew: Another, how the light shrouded itself Within its tabernacle, and left dark The Spaniard and the Indian, with the Jew.

Such fables Florence in her pulpit hears, Bandied about more frequent, than the names Of Bindi and of Lapi in her streets.

The sheep, meanwhile, poor witless ones, return From pasture, fed with wind: and what avails For their excuse, they do not see their harm?

Christ said not to his first conventicle, ā€˜Go forth and preach impostures to the world,ā€™

But gave them truth to build on; and the sound Was mighty on their lips; nor needed they, Beside the gospel, other spear or shield, To aid them in their warfare for the faith.

The preacher now provides himself with store Of jests and gibes; and, so there be no lack Of laughter, while he vents them, his big cowl Distends, and he has won the meed he sought: Could but the vulgar catch a glimpse the while Of that dark bird which nestles in his hood, They scarce would wait to hear the blessing said.

Which now the dotards hold in such esteem, That every counterfeit, who spreads abroad The hands of holy promise, finds a throng Of credulous fools beneath. Saint Anthony Fattens with this his swine, and others worse Than swine, who diet at his lazy board, Paying with unstampā€™d metal for their fare.

ā€œBut (for we far have wanderā€™d) let us seek The forward path again; so as the way Be shortenā€™d with the time. No mortal tongue Nor thought of man hath ever reachā€™d so far, That of these natures he might count the tribes.

What Daniel of their thousands hath revealā€™d With finite number infinite conceals.

The fountain at whose source these drink their beams, With light supplies them in as many modes, As there are splendours, that it shines on: each According to the virtue it conceives, Differing in love and sweet affection.

Look then how lofty and how huge in breadth Theā€™ eternal might, which, broken and dispersā€™d Over such countless mirrors, yet remains Whole in itself and one, as at the first.ā€

 

CANTO XXX

 

Noonā€™s fervid hour perchance six thousand miles From hence is distant; and the shadowy cone Almost to level on our earth declines; When from the midmost of this blue abyss By turns some star is to our vision lost.

And straightway as the handmaid of the sun Puts forth her radiant brow, all, light by light, Fade, and the spangled firmament shuts in, Eā€™en to the loveliest of the glittering throng.

Thus vanishā€™d gradually from my sight The triumph, which plays ever round the point, That overcame me, seeming (for it did) Engirt by that it girdeth. Wherefore love, With loss of other object, forcā€™d me bend Mine eyes on Beatrice once again.

If all, that hitherto is told of her, Were in one praise concluded, ā€˜t were too weak To furnish out this turn. Mine eyes did look On beauty, such, as I believe in sooth, Not merely to exceed our human, but, That save its Maker, none can to the full Enjoy it. At this point oā€™erpowerā€™d I fail, Unequal to my theme, as never bard Of buskin or of sock hath failā€™d before.

For, as the sun doth to the feeblest sight, Eā€™en so remembrance of that witching smile Hath dispossess my spirit of itself.

Not from that day, when on this earth I first Beheld her charms, up to that view of them, Have I with song applausive ever ceasā€™d To follow, but not follow them no more; My course here bounded, as each artistā€™s is, When it doth touch the limit of his skill.

She (such as I bequeath her to the bruit Of louder trump than mine, which hasteneth on, Urging its arduous matter to the close), Her words resumā€™d, in gesture and in voice Resembling one accustomā€™d to command: ā€œForth from the last corporeal are we come Into the heavā€™n, that is unbodied light, Light intellectual replete with love, Love of true happiness replete with joy, Joy, that transcends all sweetness of delight.

Here shalt thou look on either mighty host Of Paradise; and one in that array, Which in the final judgment thou shalt see.ā€

As when the lightning, in a sudden spleen Unfolded, dashes from the blinding eyes The visive spirits dazzled and bedimmā€™d; So, round about me, fulminating streams Of living radiance playā€™d, and left me swathā€™d And veilā€™d in dense impenetrable blaze.

Such weal is in the love, that stills this heavā€™n; For its own flame the torch this fitting ever!

No sooner to my listā€™ning ear had come The brief assurance, than I understood New virtue into me infusā€™d, and sight Kindled afresh, with vigour to sustain Excess of light, however pure. I lookā€™d; And in the likeness of a river saw Light flowing, from whose amber-seeming waves Flashā€™d up effulgence, as they glided on ā€˜Twixt banks, on either side, painted with spring, Incredible how fair; and, from the tide, There ever and anon, outstarting, flew Sparkles instinct with life; and in the flowā€™rs Did set them, like to rubies chasā€™d in gold; Then, as if drunk with odors, plungā€™d again Into the wondrous flood; from which, as one Reā€™enterā€™d, still another rose. ā€œThe thirst Of knowledge high, whereby thou art inflamā€™d, To search the meaning of what here thou seest, The more it warms thee, pleases me the more.

But first behooves thee of this water drink, Or ere that longing be allayā€™d.ā€ So spake The day-star of mine eyes; then thus subjoinā€™d: ā€œThis stream, and these, forth issuing from its gulf, And diving back, a living topaz each, With all this laughter on its bloomy shores, Are but a preface, shadowy of the truth They emblem: not that, in themselves, the things Are crude; but on thy part is the defect, For that thy views not yet aspire so high.ā€

Never did babe, that had outslept his wont, Rush, with such eager straining, to the milk, As I toward the water, bending me, To make the better mirrors of mine eyes In the refining wave; and, as the eaves Of mine eyelids did drink of it, forthwith Seemā€™d it unto me turnā€™d from length to round, Then as a troop of maskers, when they put Their vizors off, look other than before, The counterfeited semblance thrown aside; So into greater jubilee were changā€™d Those flowers and sparkles, and distinct I saw Before me either court of heavā€™n displacā€™d.

O prime enlightener! thou who cravā€™st me strength On the high triumph of thy realm to gaze!

Grant virtue now to utter what I kennā€™d, There is in heavā€™n a light, whose goodly shine Makes the Creator visible to all

Created, that in seeing him alone

Have peace; and in a circle spreads so far, That the circumference were too loose a zone To girdle in the sun. All is one beam, Reflected from the summit of the first, That moves, which being hence and vigour takes, And as some cliff, that from the bottom eyes Its image mirrorā€™d in the crystal flood, As if ā€˜t admire its brave appareling Of verdure and of flowers: so, round about,

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