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THE DIVINE COMEDY.

PARADISO.

CANTO I.

THE glory of Him who moveth everything
Doth penetrate the universe, and shine
In one part more and in another less.
Within that heaven which most his light receives
Was I, and things beheld which to repeat

Nor knows, nor can, who from above descends;
Because in drawing near to its desire
Our intellect ingulphs itself so far,
That after it the memory cannot go.
Truly whatever of the holy realm

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I had the power to treasure in my mind
Shall now become the subject of my song.

O good Apollo, for this last emprise
Make of me such a vessel of thy power

As giving the beloved laurel asks!

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One summit of Parnassus hitherto

Has been enough for me, but now with both
I needs must enter the arena left.

Enter into my bosom, thou, and breathe

As at the time when Marsyas thou didst draw
Out of the scabbard of those limbs of his.
O power divine, lend'st thou thyself to me
So that the shadow of the blessed realm
Stamped in my brain I can make manifest,

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Thou'lt see me come unto thy darling tree,

And crown myself thereafter with those leaves

Of which the theme and thou shall make me worthy.

So seldom, Father, do we gather them

For triumph or of Cæsar or of Poet,

(The fault and shame of human inclinations,)

That the Peneian foliage should bring forth
Joy to the joyous Delphic deity,

When any one it makes to thirst for it.
A little spark is followed by great flame;
Perchance with better voices after me

Shall prayer be made that Cyrrha may respond! To mortal men by passages diverse

Uprises the world's lamp; but by that one Which circles four uniteth with three crosses, With better course and with a better star Conjoined it issues, and the mundane wax Tempers and stamps more after its own fashion. Almost that passage had made morning there

And evening here, and there was wholly white
That hemisphere, and black the other part,
When Beatrice towards the left-hand side

I saw turned round, and gazing at the sun;
Never did eagle fasten so upon it!

And even as a second ray is wont
To issue from the first and reascend,
Like to a pilgrim who would fain return,

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Thus of her action, through the eyes infused

In my imagination, mine I made,

And sunward fixed mine eyes beyond our wont.

There much is lawful which is here unlawful

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Unto our powers, by virtue of the place
Made for the human species as its own.

Not long I bore it, nor so little while
But I beheld it sparkle round about

Like iron that comes molten from the fire;

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And suddenly it seemed that day to day
Was added, as if He who has the power
Had with another sun the heaven adorned.
With eyes upon the everlasting wheels
Stood Beatrice all intent, and I, on her
Fixing my vision from above removed,
Such at her aspect inwardly became

As Glaucus, tasting of the herb that made him
Peer of the other gods beneath the sea.
To represent transhumanize in words
Impossible were; the example, then, suffice
Him for whom Grace the experience reserves.
If I was merely what of me thou newly

Createdst, Love who governest the heaven,
Thou knowest, who didst lift me with thy light!
When now the wheel, which thou dost make eternal
Desiring thee, made me attentive to it

By harmony thou dost modulate and measure,
Then seemed to me so much of heaven enkindled

By the sun's flame, that neither rain nor river
E'er made a lake so widely spread abroad.
The newness of the sound and the great light
Kindled in me a longing for their cause,
Never before with such acuteness felt;
Whence she, who saw me as I saw myself,
To quiet in me my perturbed mind,
Opened her mouth, ere I did mine to ask,

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And she began: "Thou makest thyself so dull
With false imagining, that thou seest not

What thou wouldst see if thou hadst shaken it off.

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Thou art not upon earth, as thou believest;

But lightning, fleeing its appropriate site,

Ne'er ran as thou, who thitherward returnest."

If of my former doubt I was divested

By these brief little words more smiled than spoken,
I in a new one was the more ensnared;

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And said: "Already did I rest content

From great amazement; but am now amazed
In what way I transcend these bodies light."
Whereupon she, after a pitying sigh,

Her eyes directed tow'rds me with that look
A mother casts on a delirious child;
And she began: "All things whate'er they be
Have order among themselves, and this is form,
That makes the universe resemble God.
Here do the higher creatures see the footprints
Of the Eternal Power, which is the end
Whereto is made the law already mentioned.
In the order that I speak of are inclined
All natures, by their destinies diverse,
More or less near unto their origin;
Hence they move onward unto ports diverse
O'er the great sea of being; and each one
With instinct given it which bears it on.
This bears away the fire towards the moon;
This is in mortal hearts the motive power;
This binds together and unites the earth.
Nor only the created things that are

Without intelligence this bow shoots forth,
But those that have both intellect and love.

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Which aims its arrows at a joyous mark. True is it, that as oftentimes the form Accords not with the intention of the art, Because in answering is matter deaf,

So likewise from this course doth deviate

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Sometimes the creature, who the power possesses,
Though thus impelled, to swerve some other way,

(In the same wise as one may see the fire
Fall from a cloud,) if the first impetus
Earthward is wrested by some false delight.

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Thou shouldst not wonder more, if well I judge,

At thine ascent, than at a rivulet

From some high mount descending to the lowland.

Marvel it would be in thee, if deprived

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Of hindrance, thou wert seated down below, As if on earth the living fire were quiet.” Thereat she heavenward turned again her face.

CANTO II.

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YE, who in some pretty little boat,
Eager to listen, have been following

Behind my ship, that singing sails along,
Turn back to look again upon your shores;
Do not put out to sea, lest peradventure,
In losing me, you might yourselves be lost.
The sea I sail has never yet been passed;
Minerva breathes, and pilots me Apollo,
And Muses nine point out to me the Bears.

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Ye other few who have the neck uplifted
Betimes to th' bread of Angels upon which
One liveth here and grows not sated by it,
Well may you launch upon the deep salt-sea

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Your vessel, keeping still my wake before you
Upon the water that grows smooth again.
Those glorious ones who unto Colchos passed
Were not so wonder-struck as you shall be,
When Jason they beheld a ploughman made!
The con-created and perpetual thirst
For the realm deiform did bear us on,
As swift almost as ye the heavens behold.

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