CANTO XXIII.
Argument.
The triumph of Christ. — The Archangel Gabriel descends in the form of a flame to crown the Virgin Mary.
E VEN as the bird mid her belovid leaves,
Who hath reposed above her cherish'd brood,
During the darkness which from us bereaves
All power of sight; that she may find their food,
And on the much-lov'd aspect feast her eyes
Of those for whom seem sweet all labours rude,
Ere from the morn the nightly shadow flies,
She seeks the opening boughs, with eager quest,
And waits the sun before the dawn arise:
My fairest Lady thus intent did rest,
All turn'd toward the region where the beam
Of Day doth ever journey in less haste.
I, seeing her who seem'd as in a dream
Of vague and eager longing, was as one
Who, still desiring somewhat, in the gleam
Of hope would be content; yet had there gone
Short space between my wish and the clear light
Which o'er this heaven in fairer radiance shone.
Thus Beatrice: " Behold the armies bright
Of Christ's own triumph; and the holy fruit,
Won from the circling spheres by his high might. "
And then, methought, a splendour so acute
And dazzling in its pure and joyous sheen,
Flash'd from her brow, that here I must be mute
As, when the moon is full, in nights serene,
Fair Trivia smiles among the nymphs etern,
Who spangling all the heavenly shore are seen;
Above a thousand fires did I discern
A Sun that shed o'er all the rest its glow,
As ours doth light the starry host supern.
The living and transparent ray did show
The shining form within, so bright and clear,
Mine eyes were forced to sink before it low.
O Beatrice, my gentle guide and dear! —
She spake to me: " The thing which thus doth o'er
Thy strength prevail, is virtue, whence is here
No shelter. There, the wisdom and the power
Dwell, which hath oped the path 'twixt earth and heaven,
By distance sever'd far, in days of yore. "
As fire from out the thunder-cloud is riven,
Dilated till it there doth find no space,
But; 'gainst its nature, unto earth is driven:
Even so my mind, amid this feast of grace,
Enlarged, came forth from its own self amain;
But of its acts my memory hath no trace.
" Now ope thine eyes, and gaze on me again;
Already thou hast look'd on things whence thou
Mayst well my smile be strengthen'd to sustain. "
I was as one to whom once more doth flow
Some vision faint of a forgotten dream,
And who in vain would its full memory know,
When this I heard, which I might surely deem
Such that it ne'er from out the Book should fade
Which ever signid with the past doth seem.
If I might summon now unto mine aid
All the melodious voices which, of yore,
Were by Polymnia and each sister-maid
Most sweetly nourish'd, yet, with all that ore,
Not even a thousandth portion might I sing
Of the pure smile her radiant aspect wore.
Thus, when I fain my sacred verse would bring
To tell the joys of Paradise, 'tis well
That o'er the arduous step my strain should spring,
As where some gaping rent is visible:
But if ye think upon the pond'rous theme,
And the weak shoulder where its weight must dwell,
Yet this as cowardice ye should not deem,
Though somewhat here I tremble. This great sea,
Cleft by a daring prow, is, sooth, no stream
For a small bark, nor helmsman who would be
Of idle mood. " Now wherefore do thy eyne
From Christ's fair blooming garden turn to me?
There is the rose in which the Word Divine
Took flesh; and there are the white lilies pure,
Whose odours sweet do lead in paths benign. "
Thus Beatrice: and I, who to her sure
And holy counsel still as wont obey'd,
Prepar'd mine eyes that radiance to endure.
As when a sunbeam from the misty shade
Is pourid forth upon a field of flowers,
Through a rent cloud, when all beside is stay'd
In dimness; thus I saw the dazzling showers
Of glory on those starry splendours stream,
While yet I saw not whence flow'd forth their powers.
O light benign, which there didst shed thy gleam,
Thou rais'dst thyself unto a higher bourne,
To leave more space unto my visual beam!
The name of the fair flower, which, eve and morn,
I still invoke, now drew me to behold
The rays which by the loveliest light were worn.
As to my longing eyes there did unfold,
The form and brightness of that living star,
Fairest on high, as on the earth, of old,
Within this heaven descended from afar
A splendour circling round her clearest light,
Even like a glittering crown. All sounds that are,
On earth, of power with melody aright
The hearts of men most deeply to inspire,
Seem but a cloud whence breaks the thunder's might,
Compared with the sweet music of this lyre,
Whose golden rays the beauteous sapphire crown'd,
Which gems the brightest land of heavenly fire.
" I am the Love Angelic, circling round
The lofty gladness which doth breathe from thee,
Whose womb awhile the Highest Hope did bound;
And, Lady of the Heavens, my flight shall be
Still round thee, as thou followest thy Son,
And shedd'st more radiance on the crystal sea
Of the last, highest sphere. " The course was run
Of that sweet voice; then all those starry rays
Sang Mary's name, in strains whose sound was one.
The mantle which its regal splendour lays
On all created realms, and burneth more
With living heat when nearest to the ways
Of God and to his breath, extended o'er
Our heads so far that yet my straining eyes
Might not attain to reach its inmost shore;
And therefore had my glance no power to rise,
And follow the most fair and crownid flame,
Who in her Son's own track still ever flies.
Now, as a child with out-stretch'd arms doth claim
Its mother's love, when it hath suck'd its fill;
For as the heart, the action is the same:
Thus the white-glistening fires, with eager will,
Stretch'd upwards, so that here I saw the might
Of lofty love which unto Mary still
They bore. And there they tarried in my sight
" Regina Caeli " singing, in a strain
So sweet, that aye doth linger its delight.
What store hath in those wealthy coffers lain,
Erst wont to sow on earth, in days of old,
A plenteous measure of the richest grain!
Here do they live, and here the treasure hold,
Which, weeping sore, in exile they have won,
In Babylon, where erst they left their gold.
Here triumpheth, beneath the Holy Son
Of God and Mary, with the Saints on high,
Whose deeds in old and latter times were done,
He in whose hand the keys of all these glories lie.
Argument.
The triumph of Christ. — The Archangel Gabriel descends in the form of a flame to crown the Virgin Mary.
E VEN as the bird mid her belovid leaves,
Who hath reposed above her cherish'd brood,
During the darkness which from us bereaves
All power of sight; that she may find their food,
And on the much-lov'd aspect feast her eyes
Of those for whom seem sweet all labours rude,
Ere from the morn the nightly shadow flies,
She seeks the opening boughs, with eager quest,
And waits the sun before the dawn arise:
My fairest Lady thus intent did rest,
All turn'd toward the region where the beam
Of Day doth ever journey in less haste.
I, seeing her who seem'd as in a dream
Of vague and eager longing, was as one
Who, still desiring somewhat, in the gleam
Of hope would be content; yet had there gone
Short space between my wish and the clear light
Which o'er this heaven in fairer radiance shone.
Thus Beatrice: " Behold the armies bright
Of Christ's own triumph; and the holy fruit,
Won from the circling spheres by his high might. "
And then, methought, a splendour so acute
And dazzling in its pure and joyous sheen,
Flash'd from her brow, that here I must be mute
As, when the moon is full, in nights serene,
Fair Trivia smiles among the nymphs etern,
Who spangling all the heavenly shore are seen;
Above a thousand fires did I discern
A Sun that shed o'er all the rest its glow,
As ours doth light the starry host supern.
The living and transparent ray did show
The shining form within, so bright and clear,
Mine eyes were forced to sink before it low.
O Beatrice, my gentle guide and dear! —
She spake to me: " The thing which thus doth o'er
Thy strength prevail, is virtue, whence is here
No shelter. There, the wisdom and the power
Dwell, which hath oped the path 'twixt earth and heaven,
By distance sever'd far, in days of yore. "
As fire from out the thunder-cloud is riven,
Dilated till it there doth find no space,
But; 'gainst its nature, unto earth is driven:
Even so my mind, amid this feast of grace,
Enlarged, came forth from its own self amain;
But of its acts my memory hath no trace.
" Now ope thine eyes, and gaze on me again;
Already thou hast look'd on things whence thou
Mayst well my smile be strengthen'd to sustain. "
I was as one to whom once more doth flow
Some vision faint of a forgotten dream,
And who in vain would its full memory know,
When this I heard, which I might surely deem
Such that it ne'er from out the Book should fade
Which ever signid with the past doth seem.
If I might summon now unto mine aid
All the melodious voices which, of yore,
Were by Polymnia and each sister-maid
Most sweetly nourish'd, yet, with all that ore,
Not even a thousandth portion might I sing
Of the pure smile her radiant aspect wore.
Thus, when I fain my sacred verse would bring
To tell the joys of Paradise, 'tis well
That o'er the arduous step my strain should spring,
As where some gaping rent is visible:
But if ye think upon the pond'rous theme,
And the weak shoulder where its weight must dwell,
Yet this as cowardice ye should not deem,
Though somewhat here I tremble. This great sea,
Cleft by a daring prow, is, sooth, no stream
For a small bark, nor helmsman who would be
Of idle mood. " Now wherefore do thy eyne
From Christ's fair blooming garden turn to me?
There is the rose in which the Word Divine
Took flesh; and there are the white lilies pure,
Whose odours sweet do lead in paths benign. "
Thus Beatrice: and I, who to her sure
And holy counsel still as wont obey'd,
Prepar'd mine eyes that radiance to endure.
As when a sunbeam from the misty shade
Is pourid forth upon a field of flowers,
Through a rent cloud, when all beside is stay'd
In dimness; thus I saw the dazzling showers
Of glory on those starry splendours stream,
While yet I saw not whence flow'd forth their powers.
O light benign, which there didst shed thy gleam,
Thou rais'dst thyself unto a higher bourne,
To leave more space unto my visual beam!
The name of the fair flower, which, eve and morn,
I still invoke, now drew me to behold
The rays which by the loveliest light were worn.
As to my longing eyes there did unfold,
The form and brightness of that living star,
Fairest on high, as on the earth, of old,
Within this heaven descended from afar
A splendour circling round her clearest light,
Even like a glittering crown. All sounds that are,
On earth, of power with melody aright
The hearts of men most deeply to inspire,
Seem but a cloud whence breaks the thunder's might,
Compared with the sweet music of this lyre,
Whose golden rays the beauteous sapphire crown'd,
Which gems the brightest land of heavenly fire.
" I am the Love Angelic, circling round
The lofty gladness which doth breathe from thee,
Whose womb awhile the Highest Hope did bound;
And, Lady of the Heavens, my flight shall be
Still round thee, as thou followest thy Son,
And shedd'st more radiance on the crystal sea
Of the last, highest sphere. " The course was run
Of that sweet voice; then all those starry rays
Sang Mary's name, in strains whose sound was one.
The mantle which its regal splendour lays
On all created realms, and burneth more
With living heat when nearest to the ways
Of God and to his breath, extended o'er
Our heads so far that yet my straining eyes
Might not attain to reach its inmost shore;
And therefore had my glance no power to rise,
And follow the most fair and crownid flame,
Who in her Son's own track still ever flies.
Now, as a child with out-stretch'd arms doth claim
Its mother's love, when it hath suck'd its fill;
For as the heart, the action is the same:
Thus the white-glistening fires, with eager will,
Stretch'd upwards, so that here I saw the might
Of lofty love which unto Mary still
They bore. And there they tarried in my sight
" Regina Caeli " singing, in a strain
So sweet, that aye doth linger its delight.
What store hath in those wealthy coffers lain,
Erst wont to sow on earth, in days of old,
A plenteous measure of the richest grain!
Here do they live, and here the treasure hold,
Which, weeping sore, in exile they have won,
In Babylon, where erst they left their gold.
Here triumpheth, beneath the Holy Son
Of God and Mary, with the Saints on high,
Whose deeds in old and latter times were done,
He in whose hand the keys of all these glories lie.