Classic Poem

Together, even as oxen in the yoke,
Beside that burden'd spirit, bending low
I went, until my gentle Master spoke:
" Leave him, and on thy journey speed; for know,
Here it is good the sail and oars be strain'd,
That swiftly on its course thy bark may go. "
As one who would press onward I regain'd
At once my stature's fullest height, though still
Low in humility my thoughts remain'd.
And in my Master's steps, with ready will
I follow'd eagerly, as he and I
Sprang lightly up to climb the arduous hill.
When thus he said: " Now downward turn thine eye;
It shall be well for thee to cheer thy way,
With sight of that whereon thy footsteps lie. "
As, lest the memory should pass away
Of those who in the sepulchre are laid,
The name they bore, when in the land of day,
Is written on their tomb; and thence the dead
Remembrances awake, and once again
Flow forth the tears that gentle spirits shed:
Thus did I see, but lovelier, I ween,
The sculptured forms our rock-hewn pathway bore;
For cut by loftier artist it had been.
And him I saw, who noblest aspect wore,
Of all created beings, from the sky
Like lightning downward hurl'd for evermore.
And there I saw the great Briareus die,
Pierced by celestial arrow; in my sight,
Cold in the chill of death he seem'd to lie.
And Mars, and Pallas, and the Lord of light,
Still arm'd around their father stood, and gazed
On the dead giants slaughter'd in the fight.
Nimrod, beneath the mighty work he raised,
Look'd upon them who erst in Shinar's plain
Were with him, all bewilder'd and amazed.
O Niobe, with what a mournful mien
Thy sculptured image on the path I knew,
'Twixt seven and seven of thy loved children slain!
O Saul, who seem'd as though thy weapon slew
Its master, even as on Gilboa's hill,
Which from that hour hath felt nor rain nor dew!
O mad Arachne, there I saw thee still,
To spider half transform'd, upon the thread
Which thou, in spinning, work'dst for thine own ill!
O Rehoboam, now thy semblance shed
No menacing, but through a city's gate,
Hotly pursued, thy chariot swiftly fled!
And still the lifeless pavement did relate
How erst Alcmaeon paid, in vengeance dire,
The gems his mother won for evil fate.
It told the tale, how, in unfilial ire,
Sennacherib by his own sons was kill'd,
Who in the temple left their murder'd sire.
The deed of cruel fierceness was reveal'd,
Done when Tamyris unto Cyrus said:
" For blood thou thirsted'st; now with blood be fill'd. "
And there the army of Assyria fled,
When Holofernes met his death of woe,
And there I saw the relics of the dead.
And Troy in dust and wilderness lay low;
O Ilion, how thou wert all mean and vile,
Traced in the picture which thy fate did show!
Who was the master of the pen or style,
That to those shadowy forms had power to give
The life which seem'd to move and breathe, the while?
The dead were dead; the living seem'd to live:
Nor truth itself a truer semblance hath,
Than what I bending trod. O sons of Eve,
On earth ye walk in haughtiness and wrath,
Erect, with brow uplifted as in pride,
Nor bend that ye may see your evil path!
Our footsteps turn'd along the circuit wide,
Around the mountain; and the day was spent,
More than by unfreed thought might be descried,
When he who heedfully before me went
Began: " Now raise thy head; no longer may
Thine eyes so wholly on the path be bent.
Behold a heavenly angel on his way
Toward us; and again the footsteps turn,
Of the sixth maiden in the band of day.
With reverence thy looks and acts adorn,
And thus to aid us upward he may choose;
Think that this day can never more return. "
My Master, sooth to say, did often use
To chide, and say: " Thy steps too ling'ring are; "
And here I now his meaning might not lose.
Then came that lovely Being from afar,
Clothed in white robes, and bearing on his brow
The trembling glory of the morning star.
On outspread wings he floated; and he now
His arms extended tow'rds us, as he spake:
" Behold the steps where ye with ease may go.
Few, few there are who will this pathway take;
O mortals, born to soar unto the skies,
Why doth so little wind your pinions break? "
He led us where a rugged entrance lies;
And then he swept my forehead with his wing,
And bade me to ascend in fearless guise.
As when ye try the arduous heights which bring
Your steps unto the church that looks adown,
Where Rubiconti o'er the flood doth fling
His arch, amid the nobly guided town;
Yet for the staircase, made in olden days,
When fraud in count or cask was all unknown,
More easy: thus by gentler-sloping ways,
The pilgrim climbs unto the higher bourne;
Yet him on either side the stone doth graze.
And as we hither did our footsteps turn,
" Beati pauperes spiritu " we heard,
Melodious more than ye on earth may learn.
Ah! how unlike these portal gates appear'd,
To those of Hell; ye enter here with song,
And there with lamentations wild and weird.
And now we pass'd the sacred stair along;
And more, meseem'd, than erst upon the plain,
To climb the summit I was light and strong.
Then I: " My Master, say, what weight hath lain
On me so sore, from which I now am free,
That scarcely do I feel fatigue or pain? "
He answer'd: " When the seven times written P;
The sign of sin, imprinted on thy brow,
As one is blotted out, shall wholly flee,
Then from thy forward will such strength shall flow,
Thy limbs no longer weariness must bear,
But in the steep ascent delight shall know. "
And then I did as one who still doth wear
Some strange thing on his brow, nor doth he wot
Thereof, until he sees the people stare;
And as, to search it out, his hand is brought,
And seeks, and finds, and doth fulfil the quest,
Of which his eye, in sooth, perceiveth nought:
Thus, with my fingers wide outspread, I traced
But six the letters that my brow defiled,
Erst by the guardian of the keys imprest;
And, looking at me now, my gentle Leader smiled.