(1) A will benign, in which reveals itself Ever the love that righteously inspires, As in the iniquitous, cupidity, Silence imposed upon that dulcet lyre, And quieted the consecrated chords, That Heaven's right hand doth tighten and relax. How unto just entreaties shall be deaf Those substances, which, to give me desire Of praying them, with one accord grew silent? 'Tis well that without end he should lament, Who for the love of thing that doth not last Eternally despoils him of that love! As through the pure and tranquil evening air There shoots from time to time a sudden fire, Moving the eyes that steadfast were before, And seems to be a star that changeth place, Except that in the part where it is kindled Nothing is missed, and this endureth little; So from the horn that to the right extends Unto that cross's foot there ran a star Out of the constellation shining there; Nor was the gem dissevered from its ribbon, But down the radiant fillet ran along, So that fire seemed it behind alabaster.

(10) Salutations, O gently moaning Turtle-dove! You went out contented and returned with a sad heart to a prison as narrow as Jonah's. O you who wander here and there like a fish, can you languish in ill-will? Cut off the head of this fish so that you may preen yourself on the summit of the moon.

(7) Salutations, O Nightingale of the Garden of Love! Utter your plaintive notes caused by the wounds and pains of love. Lament sweetly from the heart, like David. Open your melodious throat and sing of spiritual things. By your songs show men the true Way. Make the iron of your heart as soft as wax, and you will be like David, fervent in the love of God.

(1) The amorous Nightingale first came forward almost beside himself with passion. He poured emotion into each of the thousand notes of his song; and in each was to be found a world of secrets. When he sang of these mysteries the birds became silent. 'The secrets of love are known to me,' he said. 'All night I repeat my songs of love. Is there no unhappy David to whom I can sing the yearning psalms of love? The flute's sweet wailing is because of me, and the lamenting of the lute. I create a tumult among the roses as well as in the hearts of lovers. Always I teach new mysteries, at each instant I repeat new songs of sadness. When love overpowers my soul my singing is as the sighing sea. Who hears me forsakes his reason, though he be among the wise. If I am parted from my dear Rose I am desolate, I cease my singing and tell my secrets to none. Mv secrets are not known to everyone; only to the Rose are they known with certainty. So deep in love am I with the Rose that I do not even think of my own existence; but only of the Rose and

the coral of her petals. The journey to the Simurgh is beyond my strength; the love of the Rose is enough for the Nightingale. It is for me that she flowers with her hundred petals; what more then can I wish! The Rose which blooms today is full of longing, and for me smiles joyously. When she shows her face under the veil I know that it is for me. How then can the Nightingale remain a single night deprived of the love of this enchantress?'

(3) Never to thee presented art or nature Pleasure so great as the fair limbs wherein I was enclosed, which scattered are in earth. And if the highest pleasure thus did fail thee By reason of my death, what mortal thing Should then have drawn thee into its desire? Thou oughtest verily at the first shaft Of things fallacious to have risen up To follow me, who was no longer such. Thou oughtest not to have stooped thy pinions downward To wait for further blows, or little girl, Or other vanity of such brief use. The callow birdlet waits for two or three, But to the eyes of those already fledged, In vain the net is spread or shaft is shot." Even as children silent in their shame Stand listening with their eyes upon the ground, And conscious of their fault, and penitent; So was I standing; and she said: "If thou In hearing sufferest pain, lift up thy beard And thou shalt feel a greater pain in seeing." With less resistance is a robust holm Uprooted, either by a native wind Or else by that from regions of Iarbas,

(2) And now begin the dolesome notes to grow Audible unto me; now am I come There where much lamentation strikes upon me. I came into a place mute of all light, Which bellows as the sea does in a tempest, If by opposing winds 't is combated. The infernal hurricane that never rests Hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine; Whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them. When they arrive before the precipice, There are the shrieks, the plaints, and the laments, There they blaspheme the puissance divine. I understood that unto such a torment The carnal malefactors were condemned, Who reason subjugate to appetite. And as the wings of starlings bear them on In the cold season in large band and full, So doth that blast the spirits maledict; It hither, thither, downward, upward, drives them; No hope doth comfort them for evermore, Not of repose, but even of lesser pain. And as the cranes go chanting forth their lays, Making in air a long line of themselves, So saw I coming, uttering lamentations,

(5) For of a righteous will his own is made. He, sooth to say, for three months past has taken Whoever wished to enter with all peace; Whence I, who now had turned unto that shore Where salt the waters of the Tiber grow, Benignantly by him have been received. Unto that outlet now his wing is pointed, Because for evermore assemble there Those who tow'rds Acheron do not descend." And I: "If some new law take not from thee Memory or practice of the song of love, Which used to quiet in me all my longings, Thee may it please to comfort therewithal Somewhat this soul of mine, that with its body Hitherward coming is so much distressed." "Love, that within my mind discourses with me," Forthwith began he so melodiously, The melody within me still is sounding. My Master, and myself, and all that people Which with him were, appeared as satisfied As if naught else might touch the mind of any. We all of us were moveless and attentive Unto his notes; and lo! the grave old man, Exclaiming: "What is this, ye laggard spirits?

(3) And turning to the pole which he had dragged, He drew it close beneath the widowed bough, And what was of it unto it left bound. In the same manner as our trees (when downward Falls the great light, with that together mingled Which after the celestial Lasca shines) Begin to swell, and then renew themselves, Each one with its own colour, ere the Sun Harness his steeds beneath another star: Less than of rose and more than violet A hue disclosing, was renewed the tree That had erewhile its boughs so desolate. I never heard, nor here below is sung, The hymn which afterward that people sang, Nor did I bear the melody throughout. Had I the power to paint how fell asleep Those eyes compassionless, of Syrinx hearing, Those eyes to which more watching cost so dear, Even as a painter who from model paints I would portray how I was lulled asleep; He may, who well can picture drowsihood. Therefore I pass to what time I awoke, And say a splendour rent from me the veil Of slumber, and a calling: "Rise, what dost thou?"

(5) Whatever melody most sweetly soundeth On earth, and to itself most draws the soul, Would seem a cloud that, rent asunder, thunders, Compared unto the sounding of that lyre Wherewith was crowned the sapphire beautiful, Which gives the clearest heaven its sapphire hue. "I am Angelic Love, that circle round The joy sublime which breathes from out the womb That was the hostelry of our Desire; And I shall circle, Lady of Heaven, while Thou followest thy Son, and mak'st diviner The sphere supreme, because thou enterest there." Thus did the circulated melody Seal itself up; and all the other lights Were making to resound the name of Mary. The regal mantle of the volumes all Of that world, which most fervid is and living With breath of God and with his works and ways, Extended over us its inner border, So very distant, that the semblance of it There where I was not yet appeared to me. Therefore mine eyes did not possess the power Of following the incoronated flame, Which mounted upward near to its own seed.

(1) It was the hour when the diurnal heat No more can warm the coldness of the moon, Vanquished by earth, or peradventure Saturn, When geomancers their Fortuna Major See in the orient before the dawn Rise by a path that long remains not dim, There came to me in dreams a stammering woman, Squint in her eyes, and in her feet distorted, With hands dissevered and of sallow hue. I looked at her; and as the sun restores The frigid members which the night benumbs, Even thus my gaze did render voluble Her tongue, and made her all erect thereafter In little while, and the lost countenance As love desires it so in her did colour. When in this wise she had her speech unloosed, She 'gan to sing so, that with difficulty Could I have turned my thoughts away from her. "I am," she sang, "I am the Siren sweet Who mariners amid the main unman, So full am I of pleasantness to hear. I drew Ulysses from his wandering way Unto my song, and he who dwells with me Seldom departs so wholly I content him."

(2) Even thus, relieved from the delay of waiting, That murmuring of the eagle mounted up Along its neck, as if it had been hollow. There it became a voice, and issued thence From out its beak, in such a form of words As the heart waited for wherein I wrote them. "The part in me which sees and bears the sun In mortal eagles," it began to me, "Now fixedly must needs be looked upon; For of the fires of which I make my figure, Those whence the eye doth sparkle in my head Of all their orders the supremest are. He who is shining in the midst as pupil Was once the singer of the Holy Spirit, Who bore the ark from city unto city; Now knoweth he the merit of his song, In so far as effect of his own counsel, By the reward which is commensurate. Of five, that make a circle for my brow, He that approacheth nearest to my beak Did the poor widow for her son console; Now knoweth he how dearly it doth cost Not following Christ, by the experience Of this sweet life and of its opposite.

(7) And he to us: "O souls, that hither come To look upon the shameful massacre That has so rent away from me my leaves, Gather them up beneath the dismal bush; I of that city was which to the Baptist Changed its first patron, wherefore he for this Forever with his art will make it sad. And were it not that on the pass of Arno Some glimpses of him are remaining still, Those citizens, who afterwards rebuilt it Upon the ashes left by Attila, In vain had caused their labour to be done. Of my own house I made myself a gibbet."

(1) To run o'er better waters hoists its sail The little vessel of my genius now, That leaves behind itself a sea so cruel; And of that second kingdom will I sing Wherein the human spirit doth purge itself, And to ascend to heaven becometh worthy. But let dead Poesy here rise again, O holy Muses, since that I am yours, And here Calliope somewhat ascend, My song accompanying with that sound, Of which the miserable magpies felt The blow so great, that they despaired of pardon. Sweet colour of the oriental sapphire, That was upgathered in the cloudless aspect Of the pure air, as far as the first circle, Unto mine eyes did recommence delight Soon as I issued forth from the dead air, Which had with sadness filled mine eyes and breast. The beauteous planet, that to love incites, Was making all the orient to laugh, Veiling the Fishes that were in her escort. To the right hand I turned, and fixed my mind Upon the other pole, and saw four stars Ne'er seen before save by the primal people.

(1) The while among the verdant leaves mine eyes I riveted, as he is wont to do Who wastes his life pursuing little birds, My more than Father said unto me: "Son, Come now; because the time that is ordained us More usefully should be apportioned out." I turned my face and no less soon my steps Unto the Sages, who were speaking so They made the going of no cost to me; And lo! were heard a song and a lament, "Labia mea, Domine," in fashion Such that delight and dolence it brought forth. "O my sweet Father, what is this I hear?" Began I; and he answered: "Shades that go Perhaps the knot unloosing of their debt." In the same way that thoughtful pilgrims do, Who, unknown people on the road o'ertaking, Turn themselves round to them, and do not stop, Even thus, behind us with a swifter motion Coming and passing onward, gazed upon us A crowd of spirits silent and devout. Each in his eyes was dark and cavernous, Pallid in face, and so emaciate That from the bones the skin did shape itself.

(1) Appeared before me with its wings outspread The beautiful image that in sweet fruition Made jubilant the interwoven souls; Appeared a little ruby each, wherein Ray of the sun was burning so enkindled That each into mine eyes refracted it. And what it now behoves me to retrace Nor voice has e'er reported, nor ink written, Nor was by fantasy e'er comprehended; For speak I saw, and likewise heard, the beak, And utter with its voice both 'I' and 'My,' When in conception it was 'We' and 'Our.' And it began: "Being just and merciful Am I exalted here unto that glory Which cannot be exceeded by desire; And upon earth I left my memory Such, that the evil-minded people there Commend it, but continue not the story." So doth a single heat from many embers Make itself felt, even as from many loves Issued a single sound from out that image. Whence I thereafter: "O perpetual flowers Of the eternal joy, that only one Make me perceive your odours manifold,

(4) "God seeth all things, and in Him, blest spirit, Thy sight is," said I, "so that never will Of his can possibly from thee be hidden; Thy voice, then, that for ever makes the heavens Glad, with the singing of those holy fires Which of their six wings make themselves a cowl, Wherefore does it not satisfy my longings? Indeed, I would not wait thy questioning If I in thee were as thou art in me." "The greatest of the valleys where the water Expands itself," forthwith its words began, "That sea excepted which the earth engarlands, Between discordant shores against the sun Extends so far, that it meridian makes Where it was wont before to make the horizon. I was a dweller on that valley's shore 'Twixt Ebro and Magra that with journey short Doth from the Tuscan part the Genoese. With the same sunset and same sunrise nearly Sit Buggia and the city whence I was, That with its blood once made the harbour hot. Folco that people called me unto whom My name was known; and now with me this heaven Imprints itself, as I did once with it;

(1) Singing like unto an enamoured lady She, with the ending of her words, continued: "Beati quorum tecta sunt peccata." And even as Nymphs, that wandered all alone Among the sylvan shadows, sedulous One to avoid and one to see the sun, She then against the stream moved onward, going Along the bank, and I abreast of her, Her little steps with little steps attending. Between her steps and mine were not a hundred, When equally the margins gave a turn, In such a way, that to the East I faced. Nor even thus our way continued far Before the lady wholly turned herself Unto me, saying, "Brother, look and listen!" And lo! a sudden lustre ran across On every side athwart the spacious forest, Such that it made me doubt if it were lightning. But since the lightning ceases as it comes, And that continuing brightened more and more, Within my thought I said, "What thing is this?" And a delicious melody there ran Along the luminous air, whence holy zeal Made me rebuke the hardihood of Eve;