Divine Comedy: Purgatory | Page 5

it enjoin'd me to desist.?Then who it was I knew, and pray'd of it,?To talk with me, it would a little pause.?It answered: "Thee as in my mortal frame?I lov'd, so loos'd forth it I love thee still,?And therefore pause; but why walkest thou here?"
"Not without purpose once more to return,?Thou find'st me, my Casella, where I am?Journeying this way;" I said, "but how of thee?Hath so much time been lost?" He answer'd straight:?"No outrage hath been done to me, if he?Who when and whom he chooses takes, me oft?This passage hath denied, since of just will?His will he makes. These three months past indeed,?He, whose chose to enter, with free leave?Hath taken; whence I wand'ring by the shore?Where Tyber's wave grows salt, of him gain'd kind?Admittance, at that river's mouth, tow'rd which?His wings are pointed, for there always throng?All such as not to Archeron descend."
Then I: "If new laws have not quite destroy'd?Memory and use of that sweet song of love,?That while all my cares had power to 'swage;?Please thee with it a little to console?My spirit, that incumber'd with its frame,?Travelling so far, of pain is overcome."
"Love that discourses in my thoughts." He then?Began in such soft accents, that within?The sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guide?And all who came with him, so well were pleas'd,?That seem'd naught else might in their thoughts have room.
Fast fix'd in mute attention to his notes?We stood, when lo! that old man venerable?Exclaiming, "How is this, ye tardy spirits??What negligence detains you loit'ring here??Run to the mountain to cast off those scales,?That from your eyes the sight of God conceal."
As a wild flock of pigeons, to their food?Collected, blade or tares, without their pride?Accustom'd, and in still and quiet sort,?If aught alarm them, suddenly desert?Their meal, assail'd by more important care;?So I that new-come troop beheld, the song?Deserting, hasten to the mountain's side,?As one who goes yet where he tends knows not.
Nor with less hurried step did we depart.
CANTO III
Them sudden flight had scatter'd over the plain,?Turn'd tow'rds the mountain, whither reason's voice?Drives us; I to my faithful company?Adhering, left it not. For how of him?Depriv'd, might I have sped, or who beside?Would o'er the mountainous tract have led my steps?He with the bitter pang of self-remorse?Seem'd smitten. O clear conscience and upright?How doth a little fling wound thee sore!
Soon as his feet desisted (slack'ning pace),?From haste, that mars all decency of act,?My mind, that in itself before was wrapt,?Its thoughts expanded, as with joy restor'd:?And full against the steep ascent I set?My face, where highest to heav'n its top o'erflows.
The sun, that flar'd behind, with ruddy beam?Before my form was broken; for in me?His rays resistance met. I turn'd aside?With fear of being left, when I beheld?Only before myself the ground obscur'd.?When thus my solace, turning him around,?Bespake me kindly: "Why distrustest thou??Believ'st not I am with thee, thy sure guide??It now is evening there, where buried lies?The body, in which I cast a shade, remov'd?To Naples from Brundusium's wall. Nor thou?Marvel, if before me no shadow fall,?More than that in the sky element?One ray obstructs not other. To endure?Torments of heat and cold extreme, like frames?That virtue hath dispos'd, which how it works?Wills not to us should be reveal'd. Insane?Who hopes, our reason may that space explore,?Which holds three persons in one substance knit.?Seek not the wherefore, race of human kind;?Could ye have seen the whole, no need had been?For Mary to bring forth. Moreover ye?Have seen such men desiring fruitlessly;?To whose desires repose would have been giv'n,?That now but serve them for eternal grief.?I speak of Plato, and the Stagyrite,?And others many more." And then he bent?Downwards his forehead, and in troubled mood?Broke off his speech. Meanwhile we had arriv'd?Far as the mountain's foot, and there the rock?Found of so steep ascent, that nimblest steps?To climb it had been vain. The most remote?Most wild untrodden path, in all the tract?'Twixt Lerice and Turbia were to this?A ladder easy' and open of access.
"Who knows on which hand now the steep declines?"?My master said and paus'd, "so that he may?Ascend, who journeys without aid of wine,?"?And while with looks directed to the ground?The meaning of the pathway he explor'd,?And I gaz'd upward round the stony height,?Of spirits, that toward us mov'd their steps,?Yet moving seem'd not, they so slow approach'd.
I thus my guide address'd: "Upraise thine eyes,?Lo that way some, of whom thou may'st obtain?Counsel, if of thyself thou find'st it not!"
Straightway he look'd, and with free speech replied:?"Let us tend thither: they but softly come.?And thou be firm in hope, my son belov'd."
Now was that people distant far in space?A thousand paces behind ours, as much?As at a throw the nervous arm could fling,?When all drew backward on the messy crags?Of the steep bank, and firmly stood unmov'd?As one who