Classic Poem

" O thou who art beyond the sacred stream; "
(And now towards me the sharp point she bent
Of that discourse whose edge so keen did seem,
And thus she spoke, with voice unhesitant,)
" Say, if this thing be true; for, when accused,
Herewith thine own confession must be blent. "
But all too sorely was my mind confused:
I would have answer'd; but the accents died,
Because my voice to form the sound refused.
She paused; then said: " What thoughts in thee abide?
Answer; for all thy heart's sad memory
Not yet is wash'd away in Lethi's tide. "
Fear and confusion mingled caused that I
Shaped with my lips a " Yes , " whose silent speech
More plain to sight than hearing made reply.
Even as a bow, that ye too tightly stretch,
Until it shatters, and, with weaken'd power,
The arrow doth the distant target reach;
So, 'neath the heavy burden that I bore,
I broke forth in a flood of tears and sighs,
And all my words were lost in sadness sore.
Whence she to me: " What turn'd away thine eyes
From love of the true good, wherein I fain
Had led thee where thou couldst no higher rise?
What gulf impassable, or what strong chain
Didst find, of power to hinder thus thy feet,
That of the onward path thy hope should wane?
And what allurement, or what promise sweet,
Upon the brow of others didst descry,
That thou to follow them shouldst be so fleet? "
And then I drew a long and bitter sigh,
So sad, in sooth, my voice had well nigh fail'd,
And scarce my lips might utter the reply.
Weeping I said: " The things of earth prevail'd,
Deluding me with joys wherein doth dwell
No truth, whene'er from me thy face was veil'd. "
" If thou hadst hidden what thou now dost tell, "
She said, " yet still were manifest no less
Thy guilt; there is a Judge who knows it well.
But when with thine own mouth thou dost confess
Thine every sinful deed and grievous wrong,
Backwards the wheel against the blade doth press.
Yet, that a deeper sorrow may belong
Unto thine errors, and thy virtue be
Henceforth against the Syren-voice more strong,
Lay down the cause of tears, and list to me;
And thou shalt hear how in far different guise
Thou shouldst have walk'd when I was hid from thee.
For never Art or Nature to thine eyes
Show'd aught so lovely as the form, wherein
I dwelt, and which in dust and ashes lies.
If of the highest gladness thou hast been
Deprived by Death, what thing of mortal birth
Should then have had the power thy heart to win.
When thou hadst felt how fleeting is the worth
Of things of time, thou shouldst have striven to rise,
And follow me, no longer of the earth;
Nor turn away thy pinion from the skies,
And wait more wounds, or from a maiden's love,
Or other trifle that so quickly dies.
The fledgeling twice or thrice deceit may prove;
But all in vain the fowler's art is spent
Against the bird that with strong wings doth move. "
As children stand, when chid, with eyelids bent
To earth, and, silent and ashamed, receive
Reproof for that whereof they do repent,
Thus was I now. She said: " If thou dost grieve
So sore for what thou hearest, raise thou now
Thy beard, and what thou seest more woe shall leave. "
With less resistance is the oak laid low,
Uprooted by the storms from our own land,
Or those which from Iarbas' kingdom blow,
Than I obey'd, unwilling, her command;
For, in her speech when beard my face she hight,
The venom'd sting I well might understand.
And when I upwards look'd, there met my sight,
As first they had appear'd, those creatures pure,
Who stay'd them from their shower of blossoms bright,
And then my eyes, although not yet secure,
Saw Beatrice on that strange from, wherein
Two natures in one person aye endure.
Though veilid, and beyond the margin green,
Yet did she now her ancient self excel,
As, then, all other loveliness, I ween.
Thus the sharp thorn of penitence so well
Pierced to my heart, that in each earthly thing
Which most I loved, most bitterness did dwell;
And in my thought it touch'd so deep a spring
Of sorrow, that I fell, as one half dead:
She knows the rest, who did my sadness bring.
When life once more around my heart was shed,
The Lady I at first beheld alone,
Near me I saw, and " Hold by me, " she said.
Into the flowing stream she me had drawn,
And bearing me along with her, pass'd o'er
The waves, as light as shuttle swiftly thrown.
When I was nigh unto the blessid shore,
" Asperges me , " so sweetly to mine ear
Came, that my memory writes it now no more.
Then she her arms toward me stretch'd, and here
Plunged me beneath the waves, till o'er my head
The waters flow'd in current swift and clear.
Thence I, all bathed and purified was led
Unto the dance of the four maidens bright,
Who, with extended arms, to meet me sped.
" Here, we are nymphs; in heaven, four stars of light:
Ere Beatrice went down to earth, were we
Ordain'd to serve as handmaids in her sight.
We to her eyes will lead thee; but the three,
Whom yonder thou beholdest, will give aid,
That in their depths of splendour thou mayst see. "
Thus they began their song; and then they led
My steps unto the wingid steed: and there,
Turn'd unto us, was Beatrice. They said:
" To look upon her now thou needst not spare;
Thee have we placed before those emeralds bright,
Whence Love his arrows did, of old, prepare. "
A thousand longings, of more burning might
Than flames of glowing fire, now drew mine eyes
Unto her eyes, whose soft and shining light
Upon her steed was fix'd. As sunlight lies
In a clear mirror, so there met my gaze
That creature's doubly strange diversities.
Reader, thou well mayst think what deep amaze
Fill'd all my mind, when thus the thing I saw,
Unchanged itself, yet changed within the rays
Reflecting it. In gladness and in awe,
My spirit tasted of the heavenly stream,
Which sating, to fresh thirst doth surely draw.
And then those three, who in their acts did seem
As of the highest hierarchy of Heaven,
Advanced, in measure to the angel hymn.
They sang: " Now turn thee, Beatrice, and even
Thy holy gaze on this thy servant place;
For he, to see thee, through sore toil hath striven.
Of grace, we pray thee, show to us such grace,
Thy brow unveiling, that he may discern
The more than former beauty of thy face. "
O splendour of the living light etern,
Who that hath paled his cheek beneath the shade
Of high Parnassus, or from its full urn
Hath deeply quaff'd, yet would not be afraid,
Striving to render what thou didst appear,
When, o'er thy cheek, in harmony there play'd
The sunbeams, as, reveal'd, thou stoodst in daylight clear?