Now woke within my mind the longing thirst,
Unslaked, save where Samaria's daughter sought
The fountain from which living waters burst.
Behind my guide, with eager musings fraught,
In haste along the cumber'd way I sped,
Mourning for this just penalty, in thought.
And lo! as, in the Gospel, Luke hath said
That by the two disciples Christ was seen,
Loosed from the sepulchre where he was laid,
Even thus a Shade appear'd to us, I ween;
Upon the grovelling crowd he gazed adown,
And then he spake to us with gentle mien:
“My brothers, may God's peace by you be known.”
Quickly we turn'd, to hear that voice's sound,
And Virgil greeted him and thus began:
“By thee may everlasting peace be found,
Mid the redeem'd, anear the throne of Him
Who in eternal exile me hath bound.”
He answered: “Why and wherefore would ye climb
This mount, if God doth hold you in disdain?
And who hath led you through the pathway dim?”
And Virgil thus: “Behold the signs of pain,
On this man's brow; writ by the sword of light,
As proof that with the blessëd he shall reign,
At last. Since she who toileth day and night,
Not yet for him hath meted out the line,
Which Clotho spins for every living wight,
His soul, which is akin to thine and mine,
Might not attempt alone the upward way,
Because he sees not with immortal eyne.
Thus was I summon'd to the light of day,
From the deep mouth of Hades; to instruct
His steps, as far as knowledge in me lay.
But tell us why but now the mountain rock'd,
And wherefore all cried out, as with one voice,
From hence to where the land is ocean-lock'd.”
Now at this question much did I rejoice;
I thought: “It may be that I here shall slake
The thirst which thus my longing soul annoys.”
Then he began: “Here no event may break
The order'd rule of measured sanctity,
Nor for itself a lawless course can make.
From chance and change we here are wholly free;
But when a soul is ready for the sky,
The trembling of the mountain needs must be.
For never rain, nor hail, nor snow, may lie
Upon this hill; nor dew, nor frosty air,
Than the short staircase may ascend more high.
No cloud doth ever rise nor oft nor rare,
Nor lightning flash, nor Thaumas' daughter sweet,
Whose form appears on earth, now here, now there.
No higher may the stormy vapours fleet,
Than to the steps of which but now I spake,
Whereon St. Peter's Vicar rests his feet.
Beneath, the mountain more or less may shake:
But here for prison'd winds, I know not how,
The shuddering earthquake never doth awake.
Only the trembling of the hill we know,
Whene'er some spirit, purified, would rise;
Then chaunts of praise are sung by high and low.
In will alone the proof of cleanness lies;
Which Will, that may to heavenly realms aspire,
With its new power the spirit doth surprise.
And it had earlier soar'd; but the desire
Implanted by God's justice, here is bent,
As erst on sin, now on the penal fire.
And I who to this punishment was sent,
Till full five hundred years their course should roll,
But now have known free will for the ascent.
Thus thou hast felt the earthquake; and each soul,
On all the mountain, renders holy praise:
For which I would they soon may reach their goal.”
He spake: as when the cooling stream allays
Tormenting thirst, I have no power to tell
What joy within my heart his words did raise.
Then my wise Leader said: “Now see I well
The net that holds you, and the way to flee;
And why the mountain trembles where ye dwell,
And ye rejoice. I pray thee, tell to me
Thy name, and wherefore centuries have roll'd,
While this hath been a prison-house for thee?”
“When the good Titus, in the days of old,
By aid from God took vengeance of the wounds
Whence issued forth the blood by Judas sold,”
The Shade replied, “the name that most resounds
And longest, wore I when in life; but faith
I had not yet, though to earth's furthest bounds
My fame went forth. So sweet my vocal breath,
I, of Toulouse, my lays to Rome did bring;
And there my forehead wore the myrtle wreath.
Statius my earthly name; erst did I sing
Of Thebes, then of Achilles great in fight;
But sank ere I my second goal might win.
My ardour sprang from out the sparks of light,
The burning radiance of the flame divine,
From whence a thousand minds have learn'd aright;
The Æneid I would say; dear mother mine;
And gentle nurse of each poetic strain:
Else had I never writ one worthy line.
Might I to look on Virgil once attain,
Another year full gladly had I borne,
More than is due, within this place of pain.”
Then, at these words, to me did Virgil turn,
Commanding silence with a silent glance;
But not at will may strength be ever worn:
For smiles and tears so quickly oft advance,
Behind the thoughts from whence they each arise,
That will more slowly moves. Thus did it chance,
I smiled as one in whom some secret lies;
And then the spirit stay'd his speech, the while
He gazed to read the meaning in my eyes.
“As thou wouldst win the guerdon of thy toil,”
He said, “now tell me wherefore on thy brow
There shone the sudden lightning of a smile.”
On either side was I perplexëd now:
One bade me hush; the other fain would make
Me speak. And the debate my looks did show
Was understood. “Fear not,” thus Virgil spake,
“To tell the truth; for now mayst thou declare
The thing which he so eagerly doth seek.”
Then I began: “Thou in thy thought dost bear
Much wonder at the smile which thou hast seen;
But for a greater marvel now prepare,
O ancient Shade. This man, on whom I lean,
Is that same Virgil who hath taught so well
To sing of Gods and men. If there have been
In thee some doubt, let it no longer dwell
Within thy mind, but now receive as true
The words which unto thee of him I tell.”
Then to embrace my Leader's knees he drew
Anear; but Virgil said: “My brother, stay;
For thou, a Shade, dost here a Shade pursue.”
He rose and spake: “Now mayst thou justly weigh
The love for thee wherewith my heart is rife;
When thoughts of our vain semblance pass'd away,
And I of shadows deem'd as having mortal life.”