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order.

      Remain now, Reader, still upon thy bench,

       In thought pursuing that which is foretasted,

       If thou wouldst jocund be instead of weary.

      I've set before thee; henceforth feed thyself,

       For to itself diverteth all my care

       That theme whereof I have been made the scribe.

      The greatest of the ministers of nature,

       Who with the power of heaven the world imprints

       And measures with his light the time for us,

      With that part which above is called to mind

       Conjoined, along the spirals was revolving,

       Where each time earlier he presents himself;

      And I was with him; but of the ascending

       I was not conscious, saving as a man

       Of a first thought is conscious ere it come;

      And Beatrice, she who is seen to pass

       From good to better, and so suddenly

       That not by time her action is expressed,

      How lucent in herself must she have been!

       And what was in the sun, wherein I entered,

       Apparent not by colour but by light,

      I, though I call on genius, art, and practice,

       Cannot so tell that it could be imagined;

       Believe one can, and let him long to see it.

      And if our fantasies too lowly are

       For altitude so great, it is no marvel,

       Since o'er the sun was never eye could go.

      Such in this place was the fourth family

       Of the high Father, who forever sates it,

       Showing how he breathes forth and how begets.

      And Beatrice began: "Give thanks, give thanks

       Unto the Sun of Angels, who to this

       Sensible one has raised thee by his grace!"

      Never was heart of mortal so disposed

       To worship, nor to give itself to God

       With all its gratitude was it so ready,

      As at those words did I myself become;

       And all my love was so absorbed in Him,

       That in oblivion Beatrice was eclipsed.

      Nor this displeased her; but she smiled at it

       So that the splendour of her laughing eyes

       My single mind on many things divided.

      Lights many saw I, vivid and triumphant,

       Make us a centre and themselves a circle,

       More sweet in voice than luminous in aspect.

      Thus girt about the daughter of Latona

       We sometimes see, when pregnant is the air,

       So that it holds the thread which makes her zone.

      Within the court of Heaven, whence I return,

       Are many jewels found, so fair and precious

       They cannot be transported from the realm;

      And of them was the singing of those lights.

       Who takes not wings that he may fly up thither,

       The tidings thence may from the dumb await!

      As soon as singing thus those burning suns

       Had round about us whirled themselves three times,

       Like unto stars neighbouring the steadfast poles,

      Ladies they seemed, not from the dance released,

       But who stop short, in silence listening

       Till they have gathered the new melody.

      And within one I heard beginning: "When

       The radiance of grace, by which is kindled

       True love, and which thereafter grows by loving,

      Within thee multiplied is so resplendent

       That it conducts thee upward by that stair,

       Where without reascending none descends,

      Who should deny the wine out of his vial

       Unto thy thirst, in liberty were not

       Except as water which descends not seaward.

      Fain wouldst thou know with what plants is enflowered

       This garland that encircles with delight

       The Lady fair who makes thee strong for heaven.

      Of the lambs was I of the holy flock

       Which Dominic conducteth by a road

       Where well one fattens if he strayeth not.

      He who is nearest to me on the right

       My brother and master was; and he Albertus

       Is of Cologne, I Thomas of Aquinum.

      If thou of all the others wouldst be certain,

       Follow behind my speaking with thy sight

       Upward along the blessed garland turning.

      That next effulgence issues from the smile

       Of Gratian, who assisted both the courts

       In such wise that it pleased in Paradise.

      The other which near by adorns our choir

       That Peter was who, e'en as the poor widow,

       Offered his treasure unto Holy Church.

      The fifth light, that among us is the fairest,

       Breathes forth from such a love, that all the world

       Below is greedy to learn tidings of it.

      Within it is the lofty mind, where knowledge

       So deep was put, that, if the true be true,

       To see so much there never rose a second.

      Thou seest next the lustre of that taper,

       Which in the flesh below looked most within

       The angelic nature and its ministry.

      Within that other little light is smiling

       The advocate of the Christian centuries,

       Out of whose rhetoric Augustine was furnished.

      Now if thou trainest thy mind's eye along

       From light to light pursuant of my praise,

       With thirst already of the eighth thou waitest.

      By seeing every good therein exults

       The sainted soul, which the fallacious world

       Makes manifest to him who listeneth well;

      The body whence 'twas hunted forth is lying

       Down in Cieldauro, and from martyrdom

       And banishment it came unto this peace.

      See farther onward flame the burning breath

       Of Isidore, of Beda, and of Richard

       Who was in contemplation more than man.

      This, whence to me returneth thy regard,

       The light is of a spirit unto whom

       In his grave meditations death seemed slow.

      It is the light eternal of Sigier,

      

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