Classic Poem

When the seven stars of Paradise on high,
That ever with unwaning splendour burn,
Where never cloud, save that of sin, doth lie,
The stars which here make each his duty learn,
(As lower constellations guide aright
The sailor who his bark would homeward turn,)
Stay'd in their course, the band in garments white,
Who 'twixt the wingid steed and them pass'd by,
Turn'd to the chariot, as to their delight.
One sang, who seem'd an angel from on high,
" Come, spouse, from Lebanon; " these words did spring
Thrice from his lips, and thrice the rest reply.
As, when the sound of the last trump shall ring,
The blessid, rising from their shadowy bourne,
With voice regain'd shall Hallelujah sing;
Thus, on the car divine did I discern
A hundred forms: and but one voice was found
'Mong those bright messengers of life etern.
The " Benedictus " sang; and all around
They flung sweet flowers upon the blooming lawn,
And " Give rich wealth of lilies " did resound.
Thus have I seen, at hour of dewy dawn,
A rosy flush upon the orient sky,
And o'er the rest serenest azure drawn,
When on the sun's bright face a veil doth lie,
So that upon its soft and temper'd light,
Long ye may gaze with an unwearied eye;
Even thus, within a cloud of blossoms bright,
That, rising from those hands angelic, came,
And fell around the chariot, in my sight,
With snow-white veil and olive diadem,
A Lady I beheld, 'neath mantle green,
Cloth'd in the colour of the living flame.
And then my spirit, which so long had been
Without the trembling thrill her presence bore
Afar into its inmost depths, I ween,
Although mine eyes reveal'd to me no more,
Yet, moved as by some hidden virtue's sway,
Of ancient love felt once again the power.
And now, when on my brow once more there lay
The subtle light which o'er my soul was shed,
Ere yet I had come forth from boyhood's day,
Unto my Comforter I would have sped,
As doth the child unto his mother turn,
When he is grieved, or when he is afraid;
Thus had I spoken: " Every vein doth burn,
With drops which flow not in a measured tide;
The signs of that old passion I discern. "
But Virgil was no longer by my side,
Virgil, my gentlest friend and father dear,
Virgil, to whom I yielded as my guide;
Nor all the joys of Paradise, that here
Were shower'd, erst by our earliest mother lost,
Might yet avail to check the flowing tear.
" Dante, that Virgil from thy side hath past,
Yet weep not; this thou mayst not weep for yet;
Another wound should make thy tears flow fast. "
As admiral, who on the prow is set,
That he, beholding, may give heart to them
Who toil in other ships, even so there met
My glance (as at the sound of my own name,
Which here must of necessity be told,
I turn'd) upon the chariot's outer frame,
The Lady whom at first I did behold
Veil'd by the angelic feast; on me did rest
Her gaze beyond where the fair streamlet roll'd.
Although the veil which bound her forehead, prest
By the dim leaves of Pallas, to mine eye
Caused that her form not yet was manifest,
Thus did she speak, in regal majesty,
As one who holdeth his discourse, I wis,
While yet a sharper word doth hidden lie:
" Look on me well; for I am Beatrice:
How wert thou worthy to attain this mount?
Dost thou not know that here man dwells in bliss? "
Mine eyes sank downwards to the crystal fount;
But, there beholding me, the herbage green
I sought: such heavy shame downweigh'd my front.
Even thus, the mother wears a haughty mien
Unto her child; because of bitter taste
Is aye that virtue high and harsh, I ween.
She ceased; and suddenly the angel-host
Thus sang: " Speravi, Domine, in te; "
And stopp'd, nor beyond " pedes mios " pass'd.
As, on the living rafters which there be
In Apennine, the flakes of frozen snow
Are heap'd by winds from the Slavonian sea;
Then melt, and slowly drop from bough to bough,
(When breath'd on by the land whereon there lies
No shadow,) even as wax in fiery glow:
Thus did I stay, without or tears or sighs,
Until they sang the strain whose notes ye find
In music of the ever-moving skies;
And in the song I heard their courteous mind
Of pity for my woe, as though they said:
" Lady, why unto him art so unkind? "
And then the frost, which on my heart was laid,
Melted in vapour and a briny flood,
And from my lips and from my eyes was shed.
She on the chariot-front yet stedfast stood,
Nor from her rigid purpose turn'd away,
But answer'd thus those souls of gentle mood:
" Ye aye keep watch in the eternal day;
Nor night nor sleep from you doth ever hide
One footstep made by Time upon his way:
Thus in my answer doth more care abide,
To reach the heart of him who there doth mourn,
That guilt and grief may move in measured tide.
Not only gifted by the circling bourne,
That leadeth each upon his destined line,
Even with the light his natal star hath worn;
But, by the fulness of the grace divine,
(A rain that falls from such high clouds, in sooth,
We may not soar to them with mortal eyne),
This man was such, in time of early youth,
That all high thoughts and habitudes of good
In him full well might have shown forth their truth.
But aye so much more savage and more rude
Is land uncultured, or with seeds of ill,
As it the more with vigour is imbued.
Awhile my presence all his heart did fill,
What time I look'd on him with youthful eye,
And in the true path led him with me still.
Soon as I touch'd the threshold which doth lie
Between our first existence and our prime,
He turn'd from me to others: when on high
I rose, a spirit, from the garb of time,
And unto purer, lovelier life I grew,
To him I was less dear. And in the slime
Of sin he walk'd through darksome ways untrue,
And sought the lying images of good,
That render not again the promise due.
Nor did there aught avail with which I would,
By inspiration that in dreams doth lie,
Have call'd him back; so careless was his mood.
And he unto his ruin drew so nigh,
All argument was weak to give him aid,
Saving to show to him the lost for aye.
Thus came I to the portals of the dead;
And to the Shade who here his steps hath brought,
My prayers, with weeping intermingled, sped.
The high decrees of God were brought to nought,
If Lethi might be pass'd, and its sweet rill
Be tasted of, without one bitter thought
Of that repentance which sad tears so well fulfil. "