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.

       ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE

       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 walks in doubt might stand to look.

       "O spirits perfect! O already chosen!"

       Virgil to them began, "by that blest peace,

       Which, as I deem, is for you all prepar'd,

       Instruct us where the mountain low declines,

       So that attempt to mount it be not vain.

       For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves."

       As sheep, that step from forth their fold, by one,

       Or pairs, or three at once; meanwhile the rest

       Stand fearfully, bending the eye and nose

       To ground, and what the foremost does, that do

       The others, gath'ring round her, if she stops,

       Simple and quiet, nor the cause discern;

       So saw I moving to advance the first,

       Who of that fortunate crew were at the head,

       Of modest mien and graceful in their gait.

       When they before me had beheld the light

       From my right side fall broken on the ground,

       So that the shadow reach'd the cave, they stopp'd

       And somewhat back retir'd: the same did all,

       Who follow'd, though unweeting of the cause.

       "Unask'd of you, yet freely I confess,

       This is a human body which ye see.

       That the sun's light is broken on the ground,

       Marvel not: but believe, that not without

       Virtue deriv'd from Heaven, we to climb

       Over this wall aspire." So them bespake

       My master; and that virtuous tribe rejoin'd;

       "Turn, and before you there the entrance lies,"

       Making a signal to us with bent hands.

       Then of them one began. "Whoe'er thou art,

       Who journey'st thus this way, thy visage turn,

       Think if me elsewhere thou hast ever seen."

       I tow'rds him turn'd, and with fix'd eye beheld.

       Comely, and fair, and gentle of aspect,

       He seem'd, but on one brow a gash was mark'd.

       When humbly I disclaim'd to have beheld

       Him ever: "Now behold!" he said, and show'd

       High on his breast a wound: then smiling spake.

       "I am Manfredi, grandson to the Queen

       Costanza: whence I pray thee, when return'd,

       To my fair daughter go, the parent glad

       Of Aragonia and Sicilia's pride;

       And of the truth inform her, if of me

       Aught else be told. When by two mortal blows

       My frame was shatter'd, I betook myself

       Weeping to him, who of free will forgives.

       My sins were horrible; but so wide arms

       Hath goodness infinite, that it receives

       All who turn to it. Had this text divine

       Been of Cosenza's shepherd better scann'd,

       Who then by Clement on my hunt was set,

       Yet at the bridge's head my bones had lain,

       Near Benevento, by the heavy mole

       Protected; but the rain now drenches them,

       And the wind drives, out of the kingdom's bounds,

      

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