(2) Supplicate thee through grace for so much power That with his eyes he may uplift himself Higher towards the uttermost salvation. And I, who never burned for my own seeing More than I do for his, all of my prayers Proffer to thee, and pray they come not short, That thou wouldst scatter from him every cloud Of his mortality so with thy prayers, That the Chief Pleasure be to him displayed. Still farther do I pray thee, Queen, who canst Whate'er thou wilt, that sound thou mayst preserve After so great a vision his affections. Let thy protection conquer human movements; See Beatrice and all the blessed ones My prayers to second clasp their hands to thee!" The eyes beloved and revered of God, Fastened upon the speaker, showed to us How grateful unto her are prayers devout; Then unto the Eternal Light they turned, On which it is not credible could be By any creature bent an eye so clear. And I, who to the end of all desires Was now approaching, even as I ought The ardour of desire within me ended.

(7) Nor prayer for inspiration me availed, By means of which in dreams and otherwise I called him back, so little did he heed them. So low he fell, that all appliances For his salvation were already short, Save showing him the people of perdition. For this I visited the gates of death, And unto him, who so far up has led him, My intercessions were with weeping borne. God's lofty fiat would be violated, If Lethe should be passed, and if such viands Should tasted be, withouten any scot Of penitence, that gushes forth in tears."

(3) This sorrow, if it be truly conceived, is full of holy desire: and else might never man in this life abide it nor bear it. For were it not that a soul were somewhat fed with a manner of comfort of his right working, else should he not be able to bear the pain that he hath of the witting and feeling of his being. For as oft as he would have a true witting and a feeling of his God in purity of spirit, as it may be here, and sithen feeleth that he may not—for he findeth evermore his witting and his feeling as it were occupied and filled with a foul stinking lump of himself, the which behoveth always be hated and be despised and forsaken, if he shall be God’s perfect disciple learned of Himself in the mount of perfection—so oft, he goeth nigh mad for sorrow. Insomuch, that he weepeth and waileth, striveth, curseth, and banneth; and shortly to say, him thinketh that he beareth so heavy a burthen of himself that he careth never what betides him, so that God were pleased. And yet in all this sorrow he desireth not to unbe: for that were devil’s madness and despite unto God. But him listeth right well to be; and he intendeth full heartily thanking to God, for the worthiness and the gift of his being, for all that he desire unceasingly for to lack the witting and the feeling of his being.

(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.

(4) Envoy and servant sooth he seemed of Christ, For the first love made manifest in him Was the first counsel that was given by Christ. Silent and wakeful many a time was he Discovered by his nurse upon the ground, As if he would have said, 'For this I came.' O thou his father, Felix verily! O thou his mother, verily Joanna, If this, interpreted, means as is said! Not for the world which people toil for now In following Ostiense and Taddeo, But through his longing after the true manna, He in short time became so great a teacher, That he began to go about the vineyard, Which fadeth soon, if faithless be the dresser; And of the See, (that once was more benignant Unto the righteous poor, not through itself, But him who sits there and degenerates,) Not to dispense or two or three for six, Not any fortune of first vacancy, 'Non decimas quae sunt pauperum Dei,' He asked for, but against the errant world Permission to do battle for the seed, Of which these four and twenty plants surround thee.

(10) How, then, has he any more need of fortitude, who is not in the midst of dangers, being not present, but already wholly with the object of love? And what necessity for self-restraint to him who has not need of it? For to have such desires, as require self-restraint in order to their control, is characteristic of one who is not yet pure, but subject to passion. Now, fortitude is assumed by reason of fear and cowardice. For it were no longer seemly that the friend of God, whom "God hath fore-ordained before the foundation of the world" to be enrolled in the highest "adoption," should fall into pleasures or fears, and be occupied in the repression of the passions. For I venture to assert, that as he is predestinated through what he shall do, and what he shall obtain, so also has he predestinated himself by reason of what he knew and whom he loved; not having the future indistinct, as the multitude live, conjecturing it, but having grasped by gnostic faith what is hidden from others. And through love, the future is for him already present. For he has believed, through prophecy and the advent, on God who lies not. And what he believes he possesses, and keeps hold of the promise. And He who hath promised is truth. And through the trustworthiness of Him who has promised, he has firmly laid hold of the end of the promise by knowledge. And he, who knows the sure comprehension of the future which there is in the circumstances, in which he is placed, by love goes to meet the future. So he, that is persuaded that he will obtain the things that are really good, will not pray to obtain what is here, but that he may always cling to the faith which hits the mark and succeeds. And besides, he will pray that as many as possible may become like him, to the glory of God, which is perfected through knowledge. For he who is made like the Saviour is also devoted to saving; performing unerringly the commandments as far as the human nature may admit of the image. And this is to worship God by deeds and knowledge of the true righteousness. The Lord will not wait for the voice of this man in prayer.

(6) "Summae Deus clementiae," in the bosom Of the great burning chanted then I heard, Which made me no less eager to turn round; And spirits saw I walking through the flame; Wherefore I looked, to my own steps and theirs Apportioning my sight from time to time. After the close which to that hymn is made, Aloud they shouted, "Virum non cognosco;" Then recommenced the hymn with voices low. This also ended, cried they: "To the wood Diana ran, and drove forth Helice Therefrom, who had of Venus felt the poison." Then to their song returned they; then the wives They shouted, and the husbands who were chaste. As virtue and the marriage vow imposes. And I believe that them this mode suffices, For all the time the fire is burning them; With such care is it needful, and such food, That the last wound of all should be closed up.

(3) See by ensample. He that is thy deadly enemy, an thou hear him so afraid that he cry in the height of his spirit this little word “fire,” or this word “out”; yet without any beholding to him for he is thine enemy, but for pure pity in thine heart stirred and raised with the dolefulness of this cry, thou risest up—yea, though it be about midwinter’s night—and helpest him to slack his fire, or for to still him and rest him in his distress. Oh, Lord! since a man may be made so merciful in grace, to have so much mercy and so much pity of his enemy, notwithstanding his enmity, what pity and what mercy shall God have then of a ghostly cry in soul, made and wrought in the height and the deepness, the length and the breadth of his spirit; the which hath all by nature that man hath by grace? And much more, surely without comparison, much more mercy will He have; since it is, that that thing that is so had by nature is nearer to an eternal thing than that which is had by grace.

(4) The more conformed thereto, the more it pleases; For the blest ardour that irradiates all things In that most like itself is most vivacious. With all of these things has advantaged been The human creature; and if one be wanting, From his nobility he needs must fall. 'Tis sin alone which doth disfranchise him, And render him unlike the Good Supreme, So that he little with its light is blanched, And to his dignity no more returns, Unless he fill up where transgression empties With righteous pains for criminal delights. Your nature when it sinned so utterly In its own seed, out of these dignities Even as out of Paradise was driven, Nor could itself recover, if thou notest With nicest subtilty, by any way, Except by passing one of these two fords: Either that God through clemency alone Had pardon granted, or that man himself Had satisfaction for his folly made. Fix now thine eye deep into the abyss Of the eternal counsel, to my speech As far as may be fastened steadfastly!

(4) For the same wish doth lead us to the tree Which led the Christ rejoicing to say 'Eli,' When with his veins he liberated us." And I to him: "Forese, from that day When for a better life thou changedst worlds, Up to this time five years have not rolled round. If sooner were the power exhausted in thee Of sinning more, than thee the hour surprised Of that good sorrow which to God reweds us, How hast thou come up hitherward already? I thought to find thee down there underneath, Where time for time doth restitution make." And he to me: "Thus speedily has led me To drink of the sweet wormwood of these torments, My Nella with her overflowing tears; She with her prayers devout and with her sighs Has drawn me from the coast where one where one awaits, And from the other circles set me free. So much more dear and pleasing is to God My little widow, whom so much I loved, As in good works she is the more alone; For the Barbagia of Sardinia By far more modest in its women is Than the Barbagia I have left her in.

(6) After I had my body lacerated By these two mortal stabs, I gave myself Weeping to Him, who willingly doth pardon. Horrible my iniquities had been; But Infinite Goodness hath such ample arms, That it receives whatever turns to it. Had but Cosenza's pastor, who in chase Of me was sent by Clement at that time, In God read understandingly this page, The bones of my dead body still would be At the bridge-head, near unto Benevento, Under the safeguard of the heavy cairn. Now the rain bathes and moveth them the wind, Beyond the realm, almost beside the Verde, Where he transported them with tapers quenched.

(3) It should no longer now seem difficult To thee, when it is said that a just vengeance By a just court was afterward avenged. But now do I behold thy mind entangled From thought to thought within a knot, from which With great desire it waits to free itself. Thou sayest, 'Well discern I what I hear; But it is hidden from me why God willed For our redemption only this one mode.' Buried remaineth, brother, this decree Unto the eyes of every one whose nature Is in the flame of love not yet adult. Verily, inasmuch as at this mark One gazes long and little is discerned, Wherefore this mode was worthiest will I say. Goodness Divine, which from itself doth spurn All envy, burning in itself so sparkles That the eternal beauties it unfolds. Whate'er from this immediately distils Has afterwards no end, for ne'er removed Is its impression when it sets its seal. Whate'er from this immediately rains down Is wholly free, because it is not subject Unto the influences of novel things.

(5) The ice, that was about my heart congealed, To air and water changed, and in my anguish Through mouth and eyes came gushing from my breast. She, on the right-hand border of the car Still firmly standing, to those holy beings Thus her discourse directed afterwards: "Ye keep your watch in the eternal day, So that nor night nor sleep can steal from you One step the ages make upon their path; Therefore my answer is with greater care, That he may hear me who is weeping yonder, So that the sin and dole be of one measure. Not only by the work of those great wheels, That destine every seed unto some end, According as the stars are in conjunction, But by the largess of celestial graces, Which have such lofty vapours for their rain That near to them our sight approaches not, Such had this man become in his new life Potentially, that every righteous habit Would have made admirable proof in him;

(5) Not in the guise that man o'ercometh man, But conquers it because it will be conquered, And conquered conquers by benignity. The first life of the eyebrow and the fifth Cause thee astonishment, because with them Thou seest the region of the angels painted. They passed not from their bodies, as thou thinkest, Gentiles, but Christians in the steadfast faith Of feet that were to suffer and had suffered. For one from Hell, where no one e'er turns back Unto good will, returned unto his bones, And that of living hope was the reward,— Of living hope, that placed its efficacy In prayers to God made to resuscitate him, So that 'twere possible to move his will. The glorious soul concerning which I speak, Returning to the flesh, where brief its stay, Believed in Him who had the power to aid it; And, in believing, kindled to such fire Of genuine love, that at the second death Worthy it was to come unto this joy. The other one, through grace, that from so deep A fountain wells that never hath the eye Of any creature reached its primal wave,

(7) And sweet to us is such a deprivation, Because our good in this good is made perfect, That whatsoe'er God wills, we also will." After this manner by that shape divine, To make clear in me my short-sightedness, Was given to me a pleasant medicine; And as good singer a good lutanist Accompanies with vibrations of the chords, Whereby more pleasantness the song acquires, So, while it spake, do I remember me That I beheld both of those blessed lights, Even as the winking of the eyes concords, Moving unto the words their little flames.

(1) AND hereby mayest thou see that we should direct all our beholding unto this meek stirring of love in our will. And in all other sweetness and comforts, bodily or ghostly, be they never so liking nor so holy, if it be courteous and seemly to say, we should have a manner of recklessness. If they come, welcome them: but lean not too much on them for fear of feebleness, for it will take full much of thy powers to bide any long time in such sweet feelings and weepings. And peradventure thou mayest be stirred for to love God for them, and that shalt thou feel by this: if thou grumble overmuch when they be away. And if it be thus, thy love is not yet neither chaste nor perfect. For a love that is chaste and perfect, though it suffer that the body be fed and comforted in the presence of such sweet feelings and weepings, nevertheless yet it is not grumbling, but full well pleased for to lack them at God’s will. And yet it is not commonly without such comforts in some creatures, and in some other creatures such sweetness and comforts be but seldom.

(5) And lo! at one who was upon our side There darted forth a serpent, which transfixed him There where the neck is knotted to the shoulders. Nor 'O' so quickly e'er, nor 'I' was written, As he took fire, and burned; and ashes wholly Behoved it that in falling he became. And when he on the ground was thus destroyed, The ashes drew together, and of themselves Into himself they instantly returned. Even thus by the great sages 'tis confessed The phoenix dies, and then is born again, When it approaches its five-hundredth year; On herb or grain it feeds not in its life, But only on tears of incense and amomum, And nard and myrrh are its last winding-sheet. And as he is who falls, and knows not how, By force of demons who to earth down drag him, Or other oppilation that binds man, When he arises and around him looks, Wholly bewildered by the mighty anguish Which he has suffered, and in looking sighs; Such was that sinner after he had risen. Justice of God! O how severe it is, That blows like these in vengeance poureth down!

(2) As soon as I was free from all those shades Who only prayed that some one else may pray, So as to hasten their becoming holy, Began I: "It appears that thou deniest, O light of mine, expressly in some text, That orison can bend decree of Heaven; And ne'ertheless these people pray for this. Might then their expectation bootless be? Or is to me thy saying not quite clear?" And he to me: "My writing is explicit, And not fallacious is the hope of these, If with sane intellect 'tis well regarded; For top of judgment doth not vail itself, Because the fire of love fulfils at once What he must satisfy who here installs him. And there, where I affirmed that proposition, Defect was not amended by a prayer, Because the prayer from God was separate. Verily, in so deep a questioning Do not decide, unless she tell it thee, Who light 'twixt truth and intellect shall be. I know not if thou understand; I speak Of Beatrice; her shalt thou see above, Smiling and happy, on this mountain's top."

(2) By not enduring on the power that wills Curb for his good, that man who ne'er was born, Damning himself damned all his progeny; Whereby the human species down below Lay sick for many centuries in great error, Till to descend it pleased the Word of God To where the nature, which from its own Maker Estranged itself, he joined to him in person By the sole act of his eternal love. Now unto what is said direct thy sight; This nature when united to its Maker, Such as created, was sincere and good; But by itself alone was banished forth From Paradise, because it turned aside Out of the way of truth and of its life. Therefore the penalty the cross held out, If measured by the nature thus assumed, None ever yet with so great justice stung, And none was ever of so great injustice, Considering who the Person was that suffered, Within whom such a nature was contracted. From one act therefore issued things diverse; To God and to the Jews one death was pleasing; Earth trembled at it and the Heaven was opened.

(3) I wept not, I within so turned to stone; They wept; and darling little Anselm mine Said: 'Thou dost gaze so, father, what doth ail thee?' Still not a tear I shed, nor answer made All of that day, nor yet the night thereafter, Until another sun rose on the world. As now a little glimmer made its way Into the dolorous prison, and I saw Upon four faces my own very aspect, Both of my hands in agony I bit; And, thinking that I did it from desire Of eating, on a sudden they uprose, And said they: 'Father, much less pain 'twill give us If thou do eat of us; thyself didst clothe us With this poor flesh, and do thou strip it off.' I calmed me then, not to make them more sad. That day we all were silent, and the next. Ah! obdurate earth, wherefore didst thou not open? When we had come unto the fourth day, Gaddo Threw himself down outstretched before my feet, Saying, 'My father, why dost thou not help me?' And there he died; and, as thou seest me, I saw the three fall, one by one, between The fifth day and the sixth; whence I betook me,