Classic Poem

When from a game of dice away they turn,
He who hath been the loser stays behind,
Repeats the throws, and sorrowful doth learn:
And with the winner all the crowd ye find;
Some after, some before, they strive, that he
Their suit would still be pleased to bear in mind.
He does not stay to hear what each may be;
But gives and listens as he goes along:
And he who hath received then leaves him free.
Even so was I, in this tumultuous throng;
Turning to them, now here, now there, my face,
And promising to aid them with my song.
There, came the Aretino with swift pace,
Even he who was by Ghin di Tacco slain;
And he who drown'd in running from the chase:
And there, entreated me with humble mien
The younger Frederick; and the Pisan knight
Who show'd the good Marzucco strong in pain.
I saw Count Orso; there, too, met my sight
The soul who from its body was driven forth
(And for no crime) by malice and despite.
Of Peter de la Brosse I speak: on earth,
'Twere well the Lady of Brabant provide,
Lest she be in a flock of lesser worth.
And now, as I was free on every side
From all those shades, who begg'd, with earnest cry,
For prayers of those on earth, to give them aid,
I thus began: “It seems thou dost deny,
O my Enlightener, somewhere in thy lay,
That prayers can bend the counsel of the sky;
And yet for this alone those people pray.
Then tell me, shall their hope be all in vain?
Or know I not aright what thou wouldst say?”
And he to me; “What I have writ is plain;
And these are led by no fallacious hope;
If well thou lookest with thy reason sane.
Justice descends not from its mountain top;
For in one moment love fulfilleth all
That stays the pilgrims from their journey's scope.
And where I spake the words thou dost recal,
The prayer was answer'd not by heavenly ruth;
Because disjoin'd from God its words did fall.
But still too lofty are those thoughts in sooth
For thee, until a teacher shall descend,
To be thy light 'twixt intellect and truth.
It well may be thou dost not comprehend:
I speak of Beatrice, whom thou at last
Shalt see all radiant on this mountain stand.”
And I: “Good Master, come with greater haste;
For now in truth I wish not for repose:
See how the shadow lengthens from the west.”
“We shall go onward, while the daylight glows,
Far as we may,” he answerëd; “but yet
The fact is other than thou dost suppose.
He who behind yon mountain-peak doth set
Shall turn again, ere we the summit gain;
Now by thy form no more his rays are let.
But there, behold a spirit who doth strain
His eyes toward us; he will tell us how
Most quickly we the summit may attain.”
We came to him: Oh! what a lofty brow,
Thou Lombard soul, did thy great mind disclose,
And in thy gaze what grandeur grave and slow!
And with no word did he his lips unclose;
But only look'd at us with steadfast eye,
Even as a lion couching in repose.
Yet Virgil still drew near to him, to try,
If he might lead us by an easier way:
To his demand the Shade made no reply;
But of our life, and where our country lay
He question'd us. And thus my guide began:
“Mantua”—the spirit, ere he more could say,
Sprang toward him from his place, “O Mantuan,
I am Sordello of thy land;” and now,
As brothers, each unto the other clung.
Alas! poor Italy, the home of woe,
Ship without pilot in an ocean wild,
No gentle lady, but a harlot thou!
So eager was that courteous spirit mild,
Only for the sweet sound of his own land,
To welcome joyfully his country's child:
And now in thee, not without warfare stand
Those who are yet alive; and each gnaws each,
Of those whom but one wall and ditch defend.
Seek, wretched one, around thy circling beach:
Then turn thine eyes; within thy bosom gaze;
And see if anywhere sweet peace doth reach.
What boots it that on thee Justinian lays
The bridle, if the saddle be not fill'd?
Else were there less of shame and sad amaze.
Ah! ye whose mad dissensions should be still'd
In loyal obedience unto Cæsar's throne,
If thou wouldst understand what God hath will'd,
See how this beast is fierce and savage grown,
Because she is not govern'd by the spur,
And ye would rule her with the bit alone.
O German Albert, who forsakest her
Who all untamed and lawless has become,
While thou to ride this steed thy limbs shouldst stir,
On thee and on thy race may righteous doom
Fall from on high, made clearly manifest,
That he may fear who cometh in thy room.
Thou and thy father were in such hot haste
For distant conquest, that ye now permit
The garden of the empire to be waste.
Come look on Montague and Capulet,
Monaldi, Filippeschi, heartless power!
And some do groan, some only fear as yet.
Come, cruel, come, and thou shalt see how sore
The pains and sorrows by thy vassals borne;
And look how safe it is in Santafior!
Come and behold thy Rome, who now doth mourn,
Lonely and widow'd; day and night she cries,
“My Cæsar, wherefore leav'st thou me forlorn?”
Come see what love among thy people lies;
And if nought else can thee to pity move,
At the dishonour of thy name arise!
And (be it said with reverence) God of love,
Who upon earth for us was crucified,
Dost fix thine eyes but on the realms above?
Or does there in thy counsels' depths abide
Some purpose for our good, by us unknown,
And lying from our vision all too wide?
For the whole land of Italy doth groan
Beneath the sway of tyrants; peasants swell
With pride, as though Marcellus were each one.
Rejoice, my Florence! those who in thee dwell,
To them do none of my reproaches reach;
Thanks to thy people, who provide so well!
Many are just of heart, but slow of speech,
Because they would take counsel of their thought;
Justice with thee springs from the tongue of each.
Many refuse the cares of state; unsought
Thy people eagerly reply and say:
“Behold, to me be all the burden brought.”
Let them be glad, in sooth, for well they may;
For thou art rich, and wise, nor art afraid
Of any danger: is't not so, I pray?
Athens and Lacedæmon, they who made
The ancient laws, and were so deeply wise,
Have now their glories thrown into the shade
By thee who dost so subtilly advise,
That half November passes ere is done
That which thou in October didst devise;
How often in the time which late hath run,
Thy laws, thy dignities, thy coinage, thou
Hast changed, and eke thy citizens, each one!
Remember this; and then bethink thee how
Thou dost resemble one in grievous pain,
Who on her couch no rest or ease may know;
Therefore to seek relief in change of place is fain.