Divine Comedy: Purgatory | Page 4

on the oozy bed?Produces store of reeds. No other plant,?Cover'd with leaves, or harden'd in its stalk,?There lives, not bending to the water's sway.?After, this way return not; but the sun?Will show you, that now rises, where to take?The mountain in its easiest ascent."
He disappear'd; and I myself uprais'd?Speechless, and to my guide retiring close,?Toward him turn'd mine eyes. He thus began;?"My son! observant thou my steps pursue.?We must retreat to rearward, for that way?The champain to its low extreme declines."
The dawn had chas'd the matin hour of prime,?Which deaf before it, so that from afar?I spy'd the trembling of the ocean stream.
We travers'd the deserted plain, as one?Who, wander'd from his track, thinks every step?Trodden in vain till he regain the path.
When we had come, where yet the tender dew?Strove with the sun, and in a place, where fresh?The wind breath'd o'er it, while it slowly dried;?Both hands extended on the watery grass?My master plac'd, in graceful act and kind.?Whence I of his intent before appriz'd,?Stretch'd out to him my cheeks suffus'd with tears.?There to my visage he anew restor'd?That hue, which the dun shades of hell conceal'd.
Then on the solitary shore arriv'd,?That never sailing on its waters saw?Man, that could after measure back his course,?He girt me in such manner as had pleas'd?Him who instructed, and O, strange to tell!?As he selected every humble plant,?Wherever one was pluck'd, another there?Resembling, straightway in its place arose.
CANTO II
Now had the sun to that horizon reach'd,?That covers, with the most exalted point?Of its meridian circle, Salem's walls,?And night, that opposite to him her orb?Sounds, from the stream of Ganges issued forth,?Holding the scales, that from her hands are dropp'd?When she reigns highest: so that where I was,?Aurora's white and vermeil-tinctur'd cheek?To orange turn'd as she in age increas'd.
Meanwhile we linger'd by the water's brink,?Like men, who, musing on their road, in thought?Journey, while motionless the body rests.?When lo! as near upon the hour of dawn,?Through the thick vapours Mars with fiery beam?Glares down in west, over the ocean floor;?So seem'd, what once again I hope to view,?A light so swiftly coming through the sea,?No winged course might equal its career.?From which when for a space I had withdrawn?Thine eyes, to make inquiry of my guide,?Again I look'd and saw it grown in size?And brightness: thou on either side appear'd?Something, but what I knew not of bright hue,?And by degrees from underneath it came?Another. My preceptor silent yet?Stood, while the brightness, that we first discern'd,?Open'd the form of wings: then when he knew?The pilot, cried aloud, "Down, down; bend low?Thy knees; behold God's angel: fold thy hands:?Now shalt thou see true Ministers indeed.?Lo how all human means he sets at naught!?So that nor oar he needs, nor other sail?Except his wings, between such distant shores.?Lo how straight up to heaven he holds them rear'd,?Winnowing the air with those eternal plumes,?That not like mortal hairs fall off or change!"
As more and more toward us came, more bright?Appear'd the bird of God, nor could the eye?Endure his splendor near: I mine bent down.?He drove ashore in a small bark so swift?And light, that in its course no wave it drank.?The heav'nly steersman at the prow was seen,?Visibly written blessed in his looks.?Within a hundred spirits and more there sat.?"In Exitu Israel de Aegypto;"?All with one voice together sang, with what?In the remainder of that hymn is writ.?Then soon as with the sign of holy cross?He bless'd them, they at once leap'd out on land,?The swiftly as he came return'd. The crew,?There left, appear'd astounded with the place,?Gazing around as one who sees new sights.
From every side the sun darted his beams,?And with his arrowy radiance from mid heav'n?Had chas'd the Capricorn, when that strange tribe?Lifting their eyes towards us: If ye know,?Declare what path will Lead us to the mount."
Them Virgil answer'd. "Ye suppose perchance?Us well acquainted with this place: but here,?We, as yourselves, are strangers. Not long erst?We came, before you but a little space,?By other road so rough and hard, that now?The' ascent will seem to us as play." The spirits,?Who from my breathing had perceiv'd I liv'd,?Grew pale with wonder. As the multitude?Flock round a herald, sent with olive branch,?To hear what news he brings, and in their haste?Tread one another down, e'en so at sight?Of me those happy spirits were fix'd, each one?Forgetful of its errand, to depart,?Where cleans'd from sin, it might be made all fair.
Then one I saw darting before the rest?With such fond ardour to embrace me, I?To do the like was mov'd. O shadows vain?Except in outward semblance! thrice my hands?I clasp'd behind it, they as oft return'd?Empty into my breast again. Surprise?I needs must think was painted in my looks,?For that the shadow smil'd and backward drew.?To follow it I hasten'd, but with voice?Of sweetness