Neither Creator nor a creature ever,

Son," he began, "was destitute of love Natural or spiritual; and thou knowest it. The natural was ever without error;

But err the other may by evil object,

Or by too much, or by too little vigor.

While in the first it well directed is,

And in the second moderates itself,
It cannot be the cause of sinful pleasure;

But when to ill it turns, and, with more care
Or lesser than it ought, runs after good,

'Gainst the Creator works his own creation. Hence thou mayst comprehend that love must be The seed within yourselves of every virtue,

And

every act that merits punishment. Now inasmuch as never from the welfare

Of its own subject can love turn its sight,
From their own hatred all things are secure;

And since we cannot think of any being

Standing alone, nor from the First divided,
Of hating Him is all desire cut off.
Hence if, discriminating, I judge well,

The evil that one loves is of one's neighbor,
And this is born in three modes in your clay.

There are, who, by abasement of their neighbor,
Hope to excel, and therefore only long
That from his greatness he may be cast down;
There are,
who power, grace, honor, and renown
Fear they may lose because another rises,
Thence are so sad that the reverse they love;
And there are those whom injury seems to chafe,
So that it makes them greedy for revenge,
And such must needs shape out another's harm.
This threefold love is wept for down below;

Now of the other will I have thee hear,
That runneth after good with measure faulty.
Each one confusedly a good conceives

Wherein the mind may rest, and longeth for it;

Therefore to overtake it each one strives.

If languid love to look on this attract you,
Or in attaining unto it, this cornice,

After just penitence, torments you for it. There's other good that does not make man happy ; "T is not felicity, 't is not the good

Essence, of every good the fruit and root.
The love that yields itself too much to this
Above us is lamented in three circles;
But how tripartite it may be described,
I say not, that thou seek it for thyself."

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CANTO XVIII.

N end had put unto his reasoning

AN

The lofty Teacher, and attent was looking

Into my face, if I appeared content;

And I, whom a new thirst still goaded on,

Without was mute, and said within: "Perchance 5 The too much questioning I make annoys him." But that true Father, who had comprehended The timid wish, that opened not itself,

By speaking gave me hardihood to speak.
Whence I: "My sight is, Master, vivified

So in thy light, that clearly I discern
Whate'er thy speech importeth or describes.
Therefore I thee entreat, sweet Father dear,
To teach me love, to which thou dost refer
Every good action and its contrary."

"Direct," he said, "towards me the keen eyes

Of intellect, and clear will be to thee

The error of the blind, who would be leaders.

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The soul, which is created apt to love,

Is mobile unto everything that pleases,
Soon as by pleasure she is waked to action.
Your apprehension from some real thing

An image draws, and in yourselves displays it,
So that it makes the soul turn unto it.
And if, when turned, towards it she incline,
Love is that inclination; it is nature,
Which is by pleasure bound in you anew.

Then even as the fire doth upward move
By its own form, which to ascend is born,
Where longest in its matter it endures,

So comes the captive soul into desire,

Which is a motion spiritual, and ne'er rests
Until she doth enjoy the thing beloved.
Now may apparent be to thee how hidden
The truth is from those people, who aver
All love is in itself a laudable thing;

Because its matter may perchance appear

Aye to be good; but yet not each impression Is good, albeit good may be the wax." "Thy words, and my sequacious intellect,"

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I answered him, "have love revealed to me;
But that has made me more impregned with doubt;

For if love from without be offered us,

And with another foot the soul

go not,

If right or wrong she go, 't is not her merit."
And he to me: "What reason seeth here,

Myself can tell thee; beyond that await
For Beatrice, since 't is a work of faith.

Every substantial form, that segregate

From matter is, and with it is united, Specific power has in itself collected, Which without act is not perceptible,

leaves.

Nor shows itself except by its effect,
As life does in a plant by the green
But still, whence cometh the intelligence
Of the first notions, man is ignorant,
And the affection for the first allurements,

Which are in you as instinct in the bee

To make its honey; and this first desire Merit of praise or blame containeth not. Now, that to this all others may be gathered,

Innate within you is the power that counsels, And it should keep the threshold of assent. This is the principle, from which is taken. Occasion of desert in you, according

As good and guilty loves it takes and winnows.

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