Divine Comedy: Paradise | Page 6

fair,?From former knowledge quite transmuting you.?Therefore to recollect was I so slow.?But what thou sayst hath to my memory?Given now such aid, that to retrace your forms?Is easier. Yet inform me, ye, who here?Are happy, long ye for a higher place?More to behold, and more in love to dwell?"
She with those other spirits gently smil'd,?Then answer'd with such gladness, that she seem'd?With love's first flame to glow: "Brother! our will?Is in composure settled by the power?Of charity, who makes us will alone?What we possess, and nought beyond desire;?If we should wish to be exalted more,?Then must our wishes jar with the high will?Of him, who sets us here, which in these orbs?Thou wilt confess not possible, if here?To be in charity must needs befall,?And if her nature well thou contemplate.?Rather it is inherent in this state?Of blessedness, to keep ourselves within?The divine will, by which our wills with his?Are one. So that as we from step to step?Are plac'd throughout this kingdom, pleases all,?E'en as our King, who in us plants his will;?And in his will is our tranquillity;?It is the mighty ocean, whither tends?Whatever it creates and nature makes."
Then saw I clearly how each spot in heav'n?Is Paradise, though with like gracious dew?The supreme virtue show'r not over all.
But as it chances, if one sort of food?Hath satiated, and of another still?The appetite remains, that this is ask'd,?And thanks for that return'd; e'en so did I?In word and motion, bent from her to learn?What web it was, through which she had not drawn?The shuttle to its point. She thus began:?"Exalted worth and perfectness of life?The Lady higher up enshrine in heaven,?By whose pure laws upon your nether earth?The robe and veil they wear, to that intent,?That e'en till death they may keep watch or sleep?With their great bridegroom, who accepts each vow,?Which to his gracious pleasure love conforms.?from the world, to follow her, when young?Escap'd; and, in her vesture mantling me,?Made promise of the way her sect enjoins.?Thereafter men, for ill than good more apt,?Forth snatch'd me from the pleasant cloister's pale.?God knows how after that my life was fram'd.?This other splendid shape, which thou beholdst?At my right side, burning with all the light?Of this our orb, what of myself I tell?May to herself apply. From her, like me?A sister, with like violence were torn?The saintly folds, that shaded her fair brows.?E'en when she to the world again was brought?In spite of her own will and better wont,?Yet not for that the bosom's inward veil?Did she renounce. This is the luminary?Of mighty Constance, who from that loud blast,?Which blew the second over Suabia's realm,?That power produc'd, which was the third and last."
She ceas'd from further talk, and then began?"Ave Maria" singing, and with that song?Vanish'd, as heavy substance through deep wave.
Mine eye, that far as it was capable,?Pursued her, when in dimness she was lost,?Turn'd to the mark where greater want impell'd,?And bent on Beatrice all its gaze.?But she as light'ning beam'd upon my looks:?So that the sight sustain'd it not at first.?Whence I to question her became less prompt.
CANTO IV
Between two kinds of food, both equally?Remote and tempting, first a man might die?Of hunger, ere he one could freely choose.?E'en so would stand a lamb between the maw?Of two fierce wolves, in dread of both alike:?E'en so between two deer a dog would stand,?Wherefore, if I was silent, fault nor praise?I to myself impute, by equal doubts?Held in suspense, since of necessity?It happen'd. Silent was I, yet desire?Was painted in my looks; and thus I spake?My wish more earnestly than language could.
As Daniel, when the haughty king he freed?From ire, that spurr'd him on to deeds unjust?And violent; so look'd Beatrice then.
"Well I discern," she thus her words address'd,?"How contrary desires each way constrain thee,?So that thy anxious thought is in itself?Bound up and stifled, nor breathes freely forth.?Thou arguest; if the good intent remain;?What reason that another's violence?Should stint the measure of my fair desert?
"Cause too thou findst for doubt, in that it seems,?That spirits to the stars, as Plato deem'd,?Return. These are the questions which thy will?Urge equally; and therefore I the first?Of that will treat which hath the more of gall.?Of seraphim he who is most ensky'd,?Moses and Samuel, and either John,?Choose which thou wilt, nor even Mary's self,?Have not in any other heav'n their seats,?Than have those spirits which so late thou saw'st;?Nor more or fewer years exist; but all?Make the first circle beauteous, diversely?Partaking of sweet life, as more or less?Afflation of eternal bliss pervades them.?Here were they shown thee, not that fate assigns?This for their sphere, but for a sign to thee?Of that celestial furthest from the height.?Thus needs, that ye may apprehend, we speak:?Since from things sensible alone ye learn?That, which digested rightly after turns?To intellectual. For no other cause?The scripture,