Beatrice
When the Seven Stars of the first heaven —
Which neither set nor rise, nor ever know
Any cloud except what sin has veiled,
And which make each one there perceive his duty,
5 Just as the Seven Stars down here direct
The mariner to turn his helm toward port —
Stopped short, the truthful people who at first
Had come between the griffin and its lights
Turned to the chariot as to their peace,
10 And one of them, as though sent down from heaven,
In song cried, "Come, my spouse, from Lebanon,"
Three times, and all the rest sang after him.
Just as the blessed at the last trumpet blast
Will rise up ready, each one from his tomb,
15 Singing with new-donned voices Alleluia,
So, on the heavenly chariot, rose up,
At the voice of such an elder, one hundred
Servants and heralds of eternal life.
They all called out, "Blessed is he who comes!"
20 And, tossing flowers up and all around,
They cried, "Oh, offer lilies with full hands!"
I have seen sometimes at the break of day
The eastern sky rose-tinged, while the rest
Of heaven is adorned with bright clear blue,
25 And the face of the sun rise misted-over
By so soft-tempering a veil of vapors
The eye could keep on staring a long time:
So, in a cloud of flowers which flew up
From the angelic hands and fell again
30 Inside and all around the chariot,
A crown of olive over her white veil,
A woman appeared to me; beneath her green
Mantle she wore a robe of flaming red.
And my soul, which for a long time now
35 Had not felt overcome as when I’d stood
Trembling with trepidation in her presence,
Without apprehending further through my eyes
But by the hidden power she projected,
Felt the tremendous force of the old love.
40 The moment that uplifting power struck
My sight, as it had pierced me through already
Before I’d left my boyhood years behind,
I turned round to the left with the blind trust
Of a small child who races toward his mother
45 When panic hits him or he comes to grief,
To say to Virgil, "There is not a drop
Of blood left in me that is not trembling:
I recognize the signs of the old flame."
But Virgil — he had left us there bereft
50 Of himself — Virgil, sweetest father — Virgil
To whom I gave myself for my salvation!
Not even all our ancient mother lost
Could keep my cheeks, already washed with dew,
From turning dark once more with troubled tears.
55 "Dante, because Virgil leaves you now,
Do not weep yet, do not weep yet, for you
Must weep for yet another pointed sword!"
Like an admiral who goes to stern and prow
To see the crews that serve on other ships
60 And to encourage them to do good work,
So on the left side of the chariot —
When I turned at the utterance of my name
Which I record here through necessity —
I saw the lady who first appeared to me
65 Veiled by the angels’ flower-festival
Fix her eyes straight on me across the stream.
Although the veil that flowed down from her head
Which was encircled by Minerva’s leaves
Did not permit her to be seen distinctly,
70 Still regally unyielding in her look,
She went on like one who speaks and keeps
Back the most heated words until the end:
"Look at me! I am Beatrice, I am!
How ever did you deign to climb the mountain?
75 Did you not know that people here are happy?"
I lowered my eyes to glance at the clear current,
But seeing myself in it I looked back
At the grass, such shame weighed on my brow.
Just as a mother seems stern to her child,
80 So she appeared to me, because the taste
Of caustic pity has a bitter sharpness.
She then kept silent, and the angels sang
Straightway, "In you, O Lord, I place my trust,"
But they did not pass beyond "set my feet."
85 Even as the snow among the quickening rafters
Upon the spine of Italy is frozen,
Blown and packed down by the northeasterly winds,
Then, as it melts off, trickles through itself,
If winds but breathe from lands that have no shade,
90 Much as a candle melts beneath the flame —
So was I senseless without tears or sighs
Before I heard the song of those whose notes
Are ever in tune with the eternal spheres;
But when I sensed how in their sweet harmonies
95 They took my part, almost as if to say,
"Lady, why do you shame him in this way?"
The ice that was packed tight around my heart
Turned into breath and water, and with anguish
Poured from my breast out of my mouth and eyes.
100 She, still standing rooted at the same side
Left of the chariot, then turned her words
To the compassionate angels in this fashion:
"You keep close watch on the unending day
That neither night nor sleep may steal from you
105 One step the world would take along its ways;
"And so my answer is far more concerned
That he who weeps on that side understand me
So that his guilt and grief have equal measure.
"Not only through work of the wheeling spheres
110 Which send each seed straight to its destined end
According to what stars are its companions,
"But through the largess of the heavenly graces
Which shower down on us from clouds so high
That sight of ours can never reach that far —
115 "This man was so potentially endowed
In his new life, that every fine ambition
Would have been wonderfully fulfilled in him.
"But how much more robustly rich the soil,
All the more rank and wild can it become
120 When sown by bad seed and uncultivated.
"I stayed him with my countenance a while;
Showing him my youthful eyes, I led him
Along with me turned in the right direction.
"No sooner had I stepped onto the threshold
125 Of this my second age and changed my life,
But this man left me and sought after others.
"When I leaped up from flesh and into spirit,
And beauty and good favor grew in me,
To him I was less precious and less pleasing,
130 "And he turned his footsteps to untrue ways,
Pursuing false impressions of the good,
Which never pay back promises in full.
"Nor did it help me to win inspirations,
By dreams and other means, to call him back,
135 So small was the attention that he gave them!
"He plummeted so low that all the measures
For his salvation by now fell far short
Except to show him the people who are lost.
"For this I faced the gateway of the dead
140 To visit him who guided this man up here
And tearfully to offer him my prayers.
"The laws on high of God would have been broken
If Lethe should be passed and such a potion
Tasted without there being paid some jot
145 "Of penitence by pouring out fresh tears."
