In the planet Mars the poet meets with his ancestor Cacciaguida, who describes the simple manners of the Florentines in olden time.
THAT will benevolent, which ever flows
From heart wherein true charity abounds
As selfish love a will malignant showsNow still'd the lyre of that melodious band,
And made the chords to cease their holy soundsThose chords relax'd or braced by Heav'n's right hand.
How shall such spirits to a righteous prayer
Ever be deaf-who that they might to me
Audience afford, together silent were?
Well may he ever grieve, that for the love
Of things which cannot last eternally,
Loses this fervent charity above!
As oft along the pure and tranquil sky
A sudden fire by night is seen to dart,
Attracting forcibly the heedless eye ;—
And seems to be a star that changes place,
Save that no star is lost from out the part
It quits, and that it lasts a moment's
So from the horn extending to the right,
E'en to the foot of that high cross, there shone
A star from out the constellation bright;
Nor left that gem the line whereon it beam'd,
But through the radiant track swift passing on,
Like fire behind pure alabaster seem'd.
Such fond delight Anchises' soul display'd
(If our most honour'd Muse may be believed) His son beholding in the Elysian shade. "O my descendant! O Grace, richly given !
Who, like to thee, hath e'er such share received,
For whom is open'd twice the gate of heaven?"
So spake the light;—then as mine ear I bent,
My looks I turn'd unto my Lady's face,
And drew on either hand astonishment:
For such a smile was glowing in her eyes,
That I appear'd to reach the depth of grace,
And utmost rapture of my Paradise.
Anon-all joyous both in look and speech-
The spirit from his bosom's depth outpour'd
Things that my understanding fail'd to reach.
Yet not by choice my reasoning powers he outran,
But of necessity;-so highly soar'd
His thoughts above the aim of mortal man.
And when the bow of his impassion'd thought
Had spent its force, so that his speech at last
Down to the level of our minds was brought,
The first thing that my senses understood
Was,
"Blessed art Thou, Trinal God, who hast
Display'd such courtesy unto my blood:"
And this he added:- "Know that in the flame,
In which I now, my Son, with thee confer,-
That long delicious thirst, which o'er me came
While reading in the mighty book, which time
Affects not, thou has sated ;-thanks to her
Who imp'd thy pinions for the flight sublime.
Thou deemest that thy thoughts pass on to me
From Him whence thought proceeds-the Primal One;
As five, or six diverge from unity;
And therefore thou my name dost not demand,
Or why more transport in my look is shown
Than any other of this joyful band:
And what thou deem'st is true; for each one here
Looks on that mirror, upon which thy thought,
Ere yet conceived, is drawn distinct and clear.
But that the sacred love, which constantly
Urges to watchfulness, and a sweet drought
Brings o'er my sense, may more contented be,—
With joyful voice, and with undaunted brow
Declare what wish, and what desire is thine,
Whereto an answer is prepared e'en now."
I turn'd to Beatrice, who heard before
I spake to her, and smiled to me a sign,
Which made the wings of hope increase the more.
Love, and the power to express it," I commenced, 73 "When ye beheld the First Equality,
To each of you were equally dispensed;
Since they exist so equal in the Sun
Whence ye derive your heat and brilliancy,
Likeness beside may be imagined none.
But among mortals, will and sense are things,
Which, for the cause to you made manifest,
Are far from being trimm'd with equal wings :
Wherefore by me, a mortal, may be shown
For the paternal love thou hast express'd,
My gratitude but in the heart alone.
Prayer unto thee I make with earnest claim,
O living topaz, who this jewel dear
Adornest, to inform me what thy name."
"O thou my branch, know that thy root was I;
And my first joy is to expect thee here:"
Such a beginning made he in reply:
And added, "He whose name to thine is bound,
And who some hundred years and more hath made His progress through the mountain's lowest round, Was thy great grandsire, and was son to me:
How would it grace thee, if through filial aid
His heavy sufferings were abridged by thee. Florence, confined within that ancient wall,
Whence still the chimes at noon and evening sound,
Was sober, modest, and at peace with all.
No chain, no crown had she;-no dames that drew
Rich sandals on their feet, and clasp'd around
The girdle, brighter than themselves to view.
The father, at his daughter's birth, with fears
Was troubled not, lest she should ask a dower
Too ample, or too early for her years.
No houses then were void of families;
And no Sardanapalus yet had power
To introduce unheard of luxuries.
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