Now was the day departing, and the air,

      Imbrown'd with shadows, from their toils releas'd

      All animals on earth; and I alone

      Prepar'd myself the conflict to sustain,

      Both of sad pity, and that perilous road,

      Which my unerring memory shall retrace.

      O Muses! O high genius! now vouchsafe

      Your aid! O mind! that all I saw hast kept

      Safe in a written record, here thy worth

      And eminent endowments come to proof.

      I thus began: “Bard! thou who art my guide,

      Consider well, if virtue be in me

      Sufficient, ere to this high enterprise

      Thou trust me. Thou hast told that Silvius' sire,

      Yet cloth'd in corruptible flesh, among

      Th' immortal tribes had entrance, and was there

      Sensible present. Yet if heaven's great Lord,

      Almighty foe to ill, such favour shew'd,

      In contemplation of the high effect,

      Both what and who from him should issue forth,

      It seems in reason's judgment well deserv'd:

      Sith he of Rome, and of Rome's empire wide,

      In heaven's empyreal height was chosen sire:

      Both which, if truth be spoken, were ordain'd

      And 'stablish'd for the holy place, where sits

      Who to great Peter's sacred chair succeeds.

      He from this journey, in thy song renown'd,

      Learn'd things, that to his victory gave rise

      And to the papal robe. In after-times

      The chosen vessel also travel'd there,

      To bring us back assurance in that faith,

      Which is the entrance to salvation's way.

      But I, why should I there presume? or who

      Permits it? not Aeneas I nor Paul.

      Myself I deem not worthy, and none else

      Will deem me. I, if on this voyage then

      I venture, fear it will in folly end.

      Thou, who art wise, better my meaning know'st,

      Than I can speak.” As one, who unresolves

      What he hath late resolv'd, and with new thoughts

      Changes his purpose, from his first intent

      Remov'd; e'en such was I on that dun coast,

      Wasting in thought my enterprise, at first

      So eagerly embrac'd. “If right thy words

      I scan,” replied that shade magnanimous,

      “Thy soul is by vile fear assail'd, which oft

      So overcasts a man, that he recoils

      From noblest resolution, like a beast

      At some false semblance in the twilight gloom.

      That from this terror thou mayst free thyself,

      I will instruct thee why I came, and what

      I heard in that same instant, when for thee

      Grief touch'd me first. I was among the tribe,

      Who rest suspended, when a dame, so blest

      And lovely, I besought her to command,

      Call'd me; her eyes were brighter than the star

      Of day; and she with gentle voice and soft

      Angelically tun'd her speech address'd:

      “O courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fame

      Yet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts!

      A friend, not of my fortune but myself,

      On the wide desert in his road has met

      Hindrance so great, that he through fear has turn'd.

      Now much I dread lest he past help have stray'd,

      And I be ris'n too late for his relief,

      From what in heaven of him I heard. Speed now,

      And by thy eloquent persuasive tongue,

      And by all means for his deliverance meet,

      Assist him. So to me will comfort spring.

      I who now bid thee on this errand forth

      Am Beatrice; from a place I come.

      (Note: Beatrice. I use this word, as it is

      pronounced in the Italian, as consisting of four

      syllables, of which the third is a long one.)

      Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence,

      Who prompts my speech. When in my Master's sight

      I stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell.”

      She then was silent, and I thus began:

      “O Lady! by whose influence alone,

      Mankind excels whatever is contain'd

      Within that heaven which hath the smallest orb,

      So thy command delights me, that to obey,

      If it were done already, would seem late.

      No need hast thou farther to speak thy will;

      Yet tell the reason, why thou art not loth

      To leave that ample space, where to return

      Thou burnest, for this centre here beneath.”

      She then: “Since thou so deeply wouldst inquire,

      I will instruct thee briefly, why no dread

      Hinders my entrance here. Those things alone

      Are to be fear'd, whence evil may proceed,

      None else, for none are terrible beside.

      I am so fram'd by God, thanks to his grace!

      That any suff'rance of your misery

      Touches me not, nor flame of that fierce fire

      Assails me. In high heaven a blessed dame

      Besides, who mourns with such effectual grief

      That hindrance, which I send thee to remove,

      That God's stern judgment to her will inclines.”

      To Lucia calling, her she thus bespake:

      “Now doth thy faithful servant need thy aid

      And I commend him to thee.” At her word

      Sped Lucia, of all cruelty the foe,

      And coming to the place, where I abode

      Seated with Rachel, her of ancient days,

      She thus address'd me: “Thou true praise of God!

      Beatrice! why is not thy succour lent

      To him, who so much lov'd thee, as to leave

      For thy sake all the multitude admires?

      Dost thou not hear how pitiful his wail,

      Nor mark the death, which in the torrent flood,

      Swoln