Purgatorio: Canto XXXI

O THOU who art beyond the sacred stream"
Turning her utterance then point-blank to me.
Which even edgewise keen and sharp did seem,

She then began again immediately,
Say, say if this be true; with charge so great
Thine own confession should commingled be."

So crushed was I beneath that burden's weight.
That my voice moved, and yet all broken fled.
Ere from its organs speech was separate.

Awhile she bore it, then, " What think'st thou?" said;
"Answer me now; for those thy memories sad
Are by the stream not yet extinguished."

Confusion and dismay together bade
A " Yes " from out my lips in such wise flow.
That to hear it sight's help must needs be had."

E'en like an arbalest, when string and bow
Are overstrained, and with full force no more
The arrow to its destined mark doth go.

So I gave way beneath that burden sore,
Pouring full flood of many tears and sighs,
And my voice failed ere half its course was o'er.

Whence she to me: " Why didst thou not arise
To my desires, that thou should'st love the Good,
Beyond which nought that men aspire to lies,

What pits that lay across, what chains withstood,
So that thy hope of passing farther on
Thou shouldst have laid aside in reckless mood?

And what allurements or what vantage shone
Upon the brow of others to thine eye,
So that thy steps to seek for them were won?"

Then, after I had drawn one bitter sigh.
Scarce had I voice wherewith to answer her,
And my lips struggled hard to make reply.

Weeping I said, " The things that present were
With their false pleasure led my steps aside
Soon as thy face was hidden from me there." as

And she: " Hadst thou been silent or denied
What thou confessest, not less known had been
Thy guilt: from such a Judge thou canst not hide.

But when a man's own mouth is open seen
Himself of sin accusing, then the wheel
In our court turns against the sword-edge keen.

Howe'er this be, that thou more shame mayst feel
For that thine error, and in other years,
Hearing the Sirens, more thine heart mayst steel,.

List thou, and cease awhile to sow in tears;
So learn thou how, though buried in the tomb,
I should have led thee up the heavenly stairs.

Never to thee did such full rapture come
From art or nature, as from that fair frame
I dwelt in, for which now earth finds a home;

And if to thee through my departure came
The loss of highest joy, what mortal thing
Should then have stirred thee with hot passion's flame?

By the first stroke that did experience bring"
Of earth's false shows, thou shouldst have upward striven
Thy flight to me, no longer such, to wing.

Ill was it when thy pinions down were driven
To wait new wounds, — some girl of little price,
Or other vain thing, for but brief use given.

The callow bird makes trial twice or thrice;
But all in vain the net is spread, or dart
Shot from the bow before the fledged one's eyes."

As little children, dumb with shame's keen smart,
Will listening stand with eyes upon the ground,
Owning their faults with penitential heart.

So then stood I, and she said, " Since 'tis found
So hard for thee to listen, lift thy beard;
In seeing shall thy pain yet more abound."

With less resistance is a stout holm cleared
From out the soil by wind from our clime sent
Or land where great Iarbas was revered.

Than I my chin at her command upbent;
And when she said " thy beard " instead of " face,"
I knew the barbed sting of her argument.

And as my face I lifted up a space.
Mine eyes then saw those primal creatures blest
Had ceased to scatter flowers all o'er the place.

And then those orbs, their fear still manifest.
Saw Beatrice to the Creature turn"
Which Natures twain in Person one possessed.

Beneath her veil beyond the river's bourne
She seemed to me her old self to excel,
More than, when here, all others ever born.

So did the sting of penitence impel,
That of all else, what most had drawn me on
To love it, now I loathed as foe most fell.

And such self-knowledge preyed my heart upon.
That I fell conquered; and what I was then
She knows who gave the first occasion.

Then, when my heart new outward strength did gain.
The lady fair, whom I had found alone,
Near me I saw, saying, ' Hold me, hold," again.

Up to the throat within the river thrown.
She drew me on behind her, while she went,
As though a shuttle o'er the stream had flown;

And as my way to that blest shore I went,
"Asperges me " I heard so sweetly sung,
I cannot it in thought or words present.

And then her arms the beauteous lady flung
Around my head, and plunged me in the tide,
So that the water flowed down o'er my tongue;

Thence me she drew, and led me, purified.
Within the dance of that quaternion bright,
And each embraced me in her arms oped wide.

"Here we are nymphs, in Heaven are stars of light;
Ere Beatrice trod earth's lower ways,
We were her handmaids by God's order right;

We to her eyes will lead thee, but to gaze
Upon the joyous light within, the three"
Whose glance goes deeper must thy vision raise.''

Thus singing they began, and then led me.
With them conjoined, towards the Gryphon's breast,
Where Beatrice turned to us we see.

They said, " Take heed thou give thine eyes no rest;"
Before those emeralds thee we now have set
Whence Love against thee drew his weapons blest."

A thousand longings, hotter than e'er yet
Was flame, mine eyes to those clear bright eyes drew,
Whose steadfast gazing still the Gryphon met.

As the sun's image in a glass we view,
So was that twy-formed Creature beaming seen.
Now with these looks, now those, reflected true.

Think, Reader, what my wonder must have been,
When I beheld the object changeless stand,
Yet in its image changed in form and mien.

While, full of joy, yet slow to understand.
My soul its hunger fed with nourishment
Which satisfies, yet stimulates, demand.

Showing in every act their high descent,
The other three moved on to harmonies
With their angelic dancing in consent.

"Turn, Beatrice, turn thy holy eyes,"
So ran their song, " to this thy servant true.
Who to see thee hath dared such high emprise.

For grace' sake grant this grace, to yield to view
Thy face to him, that he may well discern,
What thou dost hide, thy second beauty new.

O splendour of the living light eterne!
Who is there that beneath Parnassus' shade
Hath paled, or quenched his thirst from its fresh burn,

And would not seem to have his mind down-weighed,
Seeking what thou appearedst to make known,
Overshadowed by the heavens that music made,

When to the open air thy form was shown?"