| |
| WITH equal pace, as oxen in the yoke, | |
| I, with that laden spirit, journey’d on, | |
| Long as the mild instructor suffer’d me; | |
| But, when he bade me quit him, and proceed, | |
| (For “Here,” said he, “behoves with sail and oars | 5 |
| Each man, as best he may, push on his bark,”) | |
| Upright, as one disposed for speed, I raised | |
| My body, still in thought submissive bow’d. | |
| I now my leader’s track not loth pursued; | |
| And each had shown how light we fared along, | 10 |
| When thus he warned me: “Bend thine eyesight down, | |
| For thou, to ease the way, shalt find it good | |
| To ruminate the bed beneath thy feet.” | |
| As, in memorial of the buried, drawn | |
| Upon earth-level tombs, the sculptured form | 15 |
| Of what was once, appears, (at sight whereof | |
| Tears often stream forth, by remembrance waked, | |
| Whose sacred stings the piteous often feel), | |
| So saw I there, but with more curious skill | |
| Of portraiture o’erwrought, whate’er of space | 20 |
| From forth the mountain stretches. On one part | |
| Him I beheld, above all creatures erst | |
| Created noblest, lightening fall from Heaven: | |
| On the other side, with bolt celestial pierced, | |
| Briareus; cumbering earth he lay, through dint | 25 |
| Of mortal ice-stroke. The Thymbræan god, 1 | |
| With Mars, I saw, and Pallas, round their sire, | |
| Arm’d still, and gazing on the giants’ limbs | |
| Strewn o’er the ethereal field. Nimrod I saw: | |
| At foot of the stupendous work he stood, | 30 |
| As if bewilder’d, looking on the crowd | |
| Leagued in his proud attempt on Sennaar’s plain. | |
| O Niobe! in what a trance of woe | |
| Thee I beheld, upon that highway drawn, | |
| Seven sons on either side thee slain. O Saul! | 35 |
| How ghastly didst thou look, on thine own sword | |
| Expiring, in Gilboa, from that hour | |
| Ne’er visited with rain from heaven, or dew. | |
| O fond Arachne! thee I also saw, | |
| Half spider now, in anguish, crawling up | 40 |
| The unfinish’d web thou weaved’st to thy bane. | |
| O Rehoboam! here thy shape doth seem | |
| Louring no more defiance; but fear-smote, | |
| With none to chase him, in his chariot whirl’d. | |
| Was shown beside upon the solid floor, | 45 |
| How dear Alcmæon forced his mother rate | |
| That ornament, in evil hour received: | |
| How, in the temple, on Sennacherib fell | |
| His sons, and how a corpse they left him there. | |
| Was shown the scath, and cruel mangling made | 50 |
| By Tomyris on Cyrus, when she cried, | |
| “Blood thou didst thirst for: take thy fill of blood.” | |
| Was shown how routed in the battle fled | |
| The Assyrians, Holofernes slain, and e’en | |
| The relics of the carnage. Troy I mark’d, | 55 |
| In ashes and in caverns. Oh! how fallen, | |
| How abject, Ilion, was thy semblance there. | |
| What master of the pencil or the style | |
| Had traced the shades and lines, that might have made | |
| The subtlest workman wonder? Dead, the dead; | 60 |
| The living seem’d alive: with clearer view, | |
| His eye beheld not, who beheld the truth, | |
| Than mine what I did tread on, while I went | |
| Low bending. Now swell out, and with stiff necks | |
| Pass on, ye sons of Eve! vale not your looks, | 65 |
| Lest they descry the evil of your path. | |
| I noted not (so busied was my thought) | |
| How much we now had circled of the mount; | |
| And of his course yet more the sun had spent; | |
| When he, who with still wakeful caution went, | 70 |
| Admonish’d: “Raise thou up thy head: for know | |
| Time is not now for slow suspense. Behold, | |
| That way, an Angel hasting toward us. Lo, | |
| When duly the sixth handmaid doth return | |
| From service on the day. Wear thou, in look | 75 |
| And gesture, seemly grace of reverent awe; | |
| That gladly he may forward us aloft. | |
| Consider that this day ne’er dawns again.” | |
| Time’s loss he had so often warn’d me ’gainst, | |
| I could not miss the scope at which he aim’d. | 80 |
| The goodly shape approach’d us, snowy white | |
| In vesture, and with visage casting streams | |
| Of tremulous lustre like the matin star. | |
| His arms he open’d, then his wings; and spake: | |
| “Onward! the steps, behold, are near; and now | 85 |
| The ascent is without difficulty gain’d.” | |
| A scanty few are they, who, when they hear | |
| Such tidings, hasten. O, ye race of men! | |
| Though born to soar, why suffer ye a wind | |
| So slight to baffle ye? He led us on | 90 |
| Where the rock parted; here, against my front, | |
| Did beat his wings; then promised I should fare | |
| In safety on my way. As to ascend | |
| That steep, upon whose brow the chapel stands, 2 | |
| (O’er Rubaconte, looking lordly down | 95 |
| On the well-guided city 3), up the right | |
| The impetuous rise is broken by the steps | |
| Carved in that old and simple age, when still | |
| The registry 4 and label rested safe; | |
| Thus is the acclivity relieved, which here, | 100 |
| Precipitous, from the other circuit falls: | |
| But, on each hand, the tall cliff presses close. | |
| As, entering, there we turn’d, voices, in strain | |
| Ineffable, sang: “Blessed 5 are the poor | |
| In spirit.” Ah! how far unlike to these | 105 |
| The straits of Hell: here songs to usher us, | |
| There shrieks of woe. We climb the holy stairs: | |
| And lighter to myself by far I seem’d | |
| Than on the plain before; whence thus I spake: | |
| “Say, master, of what heavy thing have I | 110 |
| Been lighten’d; that scarce aught the sense of toil | |
| Affects me journeying?” He in few replied: | |
| “When sin’s broad characters, 6 that yet remain | |
| Upon thy temples, though well nigh effaced, | |
| Shall be, as one is, all clean razed out; | 115 |
| Then shall thy feet by heartiness of will | |
| Be so o’ercome, they not alone shall feel | |
| No sense of labor, but delight much more | |
| Shall wait them, urged along their upward way.” | |
| Then like to one, upon whose head is placed | 120 |
| Somewhat he deems not of, but from the becks | |
| Of others, as they pass him by; his hand | |
| Lends therefore help to assure him, searches, finds, | |
| And well performs such office as the eye | |
| Wants power to execute; so stretching forth | 125 |
| The fingers of my right hand, did I find | |
| Six only of the letters, which his sword, | |
| Who bare the keys, had traced upon my brow. | |
| The leader, as he mark’d mine action, smiled. | |
