University of Virginia Library

CANTO I.

In the mid season of this mortal strife,
I found myself within a gloomy grove,
Far wandering from the ways of perfect life:
The place I know not, where I chanc'd to rove;
It was a wood so wild, it wounds me sore
But to remember with what ills I strove:
Such still my dread, that death is little more.
But I will tell the good which there I found.
High things 'twas there my fortune to explore:
Yet how I enter'd on that secret ground
I know not to explain; so much in sleep
My mortal senses at that hour were drown'd.
But when I reach'd the bottom of a steep,
That rose to terminate the dreary vale,
Which made cold terrors thro' my bosom creep,
I look'd on high, where breath'd a purer gale,
And saw the summit glisten with that ray
Which leads the wand'rer safe o'er hill and dale.
This soon began to chase those fears away,
Which held my struggling spirit bound so fast
During that night of darkness and dismay:
And, as th' exausted wretch, by fortune cast
Safe from the stormy deep upon the shore,
Turns to survey the perils he has past,
So turn'd my soul, ere yet its dread was o'er,
Back to contemplate that mysterious strait
Where living mortal never past before.
Arising soon from this repose elate,
Up the rough steep my journey I begin,
My lower foot sustaining all my weight.
Here, while my toilsome way I slowly win,
Behold a nimble Panther springs to sight!
And beauteous spots adorn his motley skin:
He at my presence shew'd no signs of fright,
But rather strove to bar my doubtful way;
I often turn'd, and oft resolv'd on flight.
'Twas now the chearful hour of rising day;
The sun advanc'd in that propitious sign
Which first beheld his radiant beams display
Creation's charms, the work of love divine!
So that I now was rais'd to hope sublime,
By these bright omens of a fate benign,
The beauteous Beast and the sweet hour of prime.
But soon I lost that hope; and shook yet more
To see a Lion in this lonely clime:
With open jaws, athirst for human gore,
He rush'd towards me in his hungry ire;
Air seem'd to tremble at his savage roar.
With him, enflam'd with every fierce desire,
A famish'd She-wolf, like a spectre, came;
Beneath whose gripe shall many a wretch expire.
Such sad oppression seiz'd my sinking frame,
Such horror at these strange tremendous sights,
My hopes to climb the hill no longer aim;
But, as the wretch whom lucre's lust incites,
In the curst hour which scatters all his wealth,
Sinks in deep sorrow, dead to all delights,
So was I robb'd of all my spirit's health,
And to the quarter where the sun grows mute,
Driven by this Beast, who crept on me by stealth.
While I retreated from her dread pursuit,
A manly figure my glad eyes survey'd,
Whose voice was like the whisper of a lute.
Soon as I saw him in this dreary glade,
Take pity on me, to this form I cry'd,
Be thou substantial man, or fleeting shade!—
A man I was (the gracious form reply'd)
And both my parents were of Lombard race;
They in their native Mantua liv'd and dy'd:
I liv'd at Rome, rich in a monarch's grace,
Beneath the good Augustus' letter'd reign,
While fabled Gods were serv'd with worship base.
A Bard I was: the subject of my strain
That just and pious Chief who sail'd from Troy,
Sinking in ashes on the sanguine plain.
But thou, whom these portentous sights annoy,
Why dost thou turn? why not ascend the mount,
Source of all good, and summit of all joy!—
Art thou that Virgil? thou! that copious fount
Of richest eloquence, so clear, so bright?
I answer'd, blushing at his kind account;
O thou! of Poets the pure guide and light!
Now let me profit by that fond esteem
Which kept thy song for ever in my sight!
Thou art my Master! thou my Bard supreme,
From whom alone my fond ambition drew
That purer style which I my glory deem!
O! from this Beast, so hideous to the view,
Save me! O save me! thou much-honour'd Sage!
For growing terrors all my power subdue.—
A different road must lead thee from her rage,
(He said, observant of my starting tears)
And from this wild thy spirit disengage;
For that terrific Beast, which caus'd thy fears,
Worries each wretch that in her road she spies,
Till death at length, his sole relief, appears.
So keen her nature, sleep ne'er seals her eyes;
Her ravenous hunger no repast can sate;
Food only serves to make its fury rise.
She calls from different animals her mate;
And long shall she produce an offspring base,
Then from a mighty victor meet her fate.
Nor pomp nor riches shall that victor grace,
But truth, and love, and all excelling worth;
He from his rescu'd land all ill shall chase,
The saviour of the realm that gives him birth,
Of Italy, for whom Camilla fell,
And Turnus, fighting for his native earth,
And Nisus, with the friend he lov'd so well.
The Beast this victor to that den shall drive
Whence Envy let her loose, her native hell!
Now for thy good, well-pleas'd, I will contrive,
That by my aid, while I thy steps controul,
Thou shalt in safety at those realms arrive
Where thou shalt see the tortur'd spirits roll,
And hear each mourn his miserable fate,
Calling for death on his immortal soul.
Then shalt thou visit those, who in a state
Of purifying fire are still content,
And for their promis'd heaven submissive wait:
If to that heaven thy happy course is bent,
A worthier guard will soon my place supply;
A purer spirit, for thy guidance sent!
For that Immortal Power, who rules on high,
Because I ne'er his perfect laws have known,
His sacred presence will to me deny.
There in the realms of light he fix'd his throne;
There o'er the world Almighty Lord he reigns:
O blest the servant whom he deigns to own!—
Poet (I answer'd) by thy living strains,
And by that God, tho' not reveal'd to thee,
That I may 'scape from these, and heavier pains,
Be thou my leader, where thy way is free!
So that my eyes St. Peter's gate may find,
And all the wonders of the deep may see!
He led, and I attentive march'd behind.

CANTO II.

The day was sinking, and the dusky air
On all the animals of earth bestow'd
Rest from their labours. I alone prepare
To meet new toil, both from my dreary road,
And pious wish to paint in worthy phrase
The Unerring Mind, and his divine abode.
O sacred Muses! now my genius raise!
O Memory, who writest what I saw,
From hence shall spring thy ever-during praise!
Kind Poet (I began, with trembling awe)
Mark if my soul be equal to this aim!
Nor into scenes too hard my weakness draw!
Thy Song declares, the Chief of pious fame
Appear'd among the blest, retaining still
His mortal senses and material frame;
Yet, if the great Opposer of all ill
Shew'd grace to him, as knowing what and who
Should from him rise, and mighty things fulfil,
Most worthy he appear'd, in Reason's view,
That Heaven should chuse him as the Roman Sire,
Scource of that empire which so widely grew,
Mark'd in its growth by the angelic choir
To be the seat where Sanctity should rest,
And Peter's heirs yet raise dominion higher.
From his dark journey, in thy Song exprest,
He learn'd mysterious things; from whence arose
Rome's early grandeur and the Papal vest.
To Paul, while living, heaven's high powers disclose
Their secret bliss, that he may thence receive
Strength in that faith from which salvation flows.
But how may I this high exploit atchieve?
I'm not Æneas, nor the holy Paul:
Of this unworthy I myself believe:
If then I follow at thy friendly call,
Midway perchance my trembling soul may sink:
Wise as thou art, thou may'st foresee my fall.
Now as a man who, shudd'ring on the brink
Of some great venture, sudden shifts his mind,
And feels his spirit from the peril shrink;
So, in this scene of doubt and darkness join'd,
Wavering I wasted thought in wild affright,
And the first ardour of my soul resign'd.
If thy faint words I understand aright,
(Reply'd the mighty and magnanimous shade)
Those mists of fear have dimm'd thy mental sight,
Which oft the feat of human sense invade,
And make blind mortals from high deeds recoil,
By Terror's airy phantasies betray'd:
But, that such fears thy soul no more may soil,
I'll tell thee whence I came; at whose request;
When first I pitied thy uncertain toil.
From the suspended host in which I rest,
A lovely Spirit call'd me, fair as light;
Eager I waited on her high behest;
While eyes beyond the solar radiance bright,
And with the sweetness of an angel's tongue,
Thus her soft words my willing aid invite:
O ever gentle shade, from Mantua sprung!
Whose fame unfading on the earth shall last
As long as earth in ambient air is hung;
My friend, whose love all base desire surpast,
In yon drear desart finds his passage barr'd,
And compass'd round with terrors stands aghast;
And much I fear, beset with dangers hard,
He may be lost beyond all friendly reach,
And I from heaven descend too late a guard.
But go! and with thy soft soul-soothing speech,
And all the aid thy wisdom may inspire,
The ways of safety to this wanderer teach!
My name is Beatrice: the heavenly quire
For this I left, tho' ever left with pain;
But love suggested what I now desire.
When I the presence of my lord regain,
On thee my praises with delight shall dwell.
So spake this angel, in her heavenly strain.
Bright Fair, (I cry'd) who didst on earth excel
All that e'er shone beneath the lunar sphere,
And every mind to virtuous love impel!
Had I e'en now perform'd the task I hear,
That swift performance I should think too slow:
Nor needs there more; your gracious will is clear:
Yet how you venture, I would gladly know,
From those pure realms, to which again you fly,
So near the center of eternal woe.
What you require (she said, in kind reply)
I briefly will explain: how thus I dare,
Unconscious of alarm, these depths to try.
From these things only springs our fearful care,
By which our hapless friends may suffer ill;
But not from other; for no fear is there.
Such am I form'd, by Heaven's most gracious will,
That torture cannot touch my purer frame,
E'en where fierce fires his flaming region fill.
A gentle spirit (Lucia is her name)
In heaven laments the hardships of my friend,
For whom I ask your aid: to me she came,
And kindly bade me to his woes attend:
Behold (she said) thy servant in distress!
And I his safety to thy care commend.
Lucia, the friend of all whom ills oppress,
Me, where I sate with pensive Rachel, sought,
In heavenly contemplation's deep recess:
In mercy's name (she cry'd) thus lost in thought,
Seest thou not him who held thy charms so dear,
Whom Love to rise above the vulgar taught?
And dost thou not his lamentation hear,
Nor see the horror, which his strength impairs,
On yon wide torrent, with no haven near?
Never was mind, intent on worldly cares,
So eager wealth to gain, or loss to shun,
As, when acquainted with these deadly snares,
I flew from the blest confines of the sun,
Trusting that eloquence, which to thy name
And to thy followers such praise has won.
She having thus explain'd her gracious aim,
Turn'd her bright eyes, which tears of pity fill:
And hence more swift to thy relief I came;
And, pleas'd to execute her heavenly will,
I sav'd thee from the fury of that Beast,
Which barr'd thy journey up the brighter hill.
Why then, O why has all thy ardour ceas'd?
And whence this faintness in thy feeble mind?
Why has its noble energy decreas'd,
When these pure Spirits, for thy good combin'd,
Watch o'er thy safety in their heavenly seat,
And I reveal the favour thou shalt find?—
As tender flowers, reviv'd by solar heat,
That thro' the chilling night have sunk deprest,
Rise and unfold, the welcome ray to meet;
So rose my spirit, of new life possest;
And, my warm heart on high atchievements bent,
I thus my animating guide addrest:
Gracious that Spirit who thy succour sent!
And friendly thou, who freely hast display'd
Thy zeal to execute her kind intent!
Thy soothing words have to my soul convey'd
Such keen desire to those bright realms to soar,
I scorn the terror that my step delay'd.
Now lead!—thy pleasure I dispute no more.
My lord, my master thou! and thou my guard!—
I ended here; and, while he march'd before,
The gloomy road I enter'd, deep and hard.

CANTO III.

“Thro' me you pass to Mourning's dark domain;
Thro' me, to scenes where Grief must ever pine;
Thro' me, to Misery's devoted train.
Justice and power in my Great Founder join,
And love and wisdom all his fabrics rear;
Wisdom above controul, and love divine!
Before me, Nature saw no works appear.
Save works eternal: such was I ordain'd.
Quit every hope, all ye who enter here!”—
These characters, where misty darkness reign'd,
High o'er a lofty gate I saw engrav'd.
Ah Sire! (said I) hard things are here contain'd.
He, sapient Guide! my farther question sav'd,
With spirit answering, “Here all doubt resign,
All weak distrust, and every thought deprav'd;
At length we've reach'd that gloomy drear confine,
Where, as I said, thou'lt see the mournful race
For ever robb'd of Reason's light benign.”
Then, stretching forth his hand with gentle grace,
From whence new comfort thro' my bosom flows,
He led me in to that mysterious place.
There sighs, and wailings, and severest woes,
Deeply resounded through the starless air;
And as I first advanc'd, my fears arose.
Each different cry, the murmuring notes of care,
Accents of misery, and words of ire,
With all the sounds of discord and despair,
To form such tumult in this scene conspire,
As flies for ever round the gloomy waste,
Like sand when quicken'd by the whirlwind's fire.
I then (my mind with error still disgrac'd)
Exclaim'd—O Sire! what may this trouble mean?
What forms are these by sorrow so debas'd?—
He soon reply'd—Behold, these bounds between,
All who without or infamy or fame
Clos'd the blank business of their mortal scene!
They join those angels, of ignoble name,
Who not rebell'd, yet were not faithful found;
Without attachment! self alone their aim!
Heaven shuts them out from its unsullied bound:
And Hell refuses to admit this train,
Leste'en the damn'd o'er these their triumphs sound.
O Sire! (said I) whence then this grievous pain,
That on our ears their lamentations grate?—
This (he reply'd, I will in brief explain:
These have no hope that death may mend their fate;
And their blind days form so confus'd a mass,
They pine with envy of each other's state:
From earth their name has perish'd like the grass:
E'en Mercy views them with a scornful eye.
We'll speak of them no more: Behold! and pass!—
I look'd, and saw a banner rais'd on high,
That whirl'd, unconscious of a moment's stand,
With rapid circles in the troubled sky:
Behind it, driven by Fate's supreme command,
Came such a host! I ne'er could have believ'd
Death had collected so complete a band.
When now I had the forms of all perceiv'd,
I saw the shade of that ignoble priest,
Of sovereign power by indolence bereav'd.
Instant I knew, from every doubt releas'd,
These were the base, the miscreated crew
To whom the hate of God had never ceas'd.
Vile forms! ne'er honor'd with existence true!
Naked they march'd, and sorely were they stung
By wasps and hornets, that around them flew;
These the black blood from their gall'd faces wrung;
Blood mixt with tears, that, trickling to their feet,
Fed the fastidious worms which round them clung.
When now I farther pierc'd the dark retreat,
Numbers I saw beside a mighty stream:
Sudden I cry'd—Now, Sire, let me entreat
To know what forms in distant prospect seem
To pass so swiftly o'er a flood so wide,
As I discern by this imperfect gleam?—
That shalt thou know (return'd my gracious Guide)
When the near respite from our toil we reach,
On sullen Acheron's infernal tide.—
With downcast eyes, that pardon now beseech,
And hoping silence may that pardon win,
E'en to the river I abstain'd from speech.
And lo! towards us, with a shrivell'd skin,
A hoary boatman steers his crazy bark,
Exclaiming, “Woe to all ye sons of sin!
Hope not for heaven, nor light's celestial spark!
I come to waft you to a different lot;
To Torture's realm, with endless horror dark:
And thou, who living view'st this sacred spot,
Haste to depart from these, for these are dead!”
But when he saw that I departed not,
In wrath he cry'd, “Thro' other passes led,
Not here, shalt thou attempt the farther shore;
But in a bark to bear thy firmer tread.”—
O Charon, said my Guide, thy strife give o'er;
For thus 'tis will'd in that superior scene
Where will is power. Seek thou to know no more!—
Now grew the bearded visage more serene
Of the stern boatman on the livid lake,
Whose eyes so lately glar'd with anger keen:
But all the naked shades began to quake;
Their shuddering figures grew more pale than earth,
Soon as they heard the cruel words he spake:
God they blasphem'd, their parents' injur'd worth,
And all mankind; the place, the hour, that saw
Their first formation, and their future birth.
Then were they driven, by Fate's resistless law,
Weeping, to that sad scene prepar'd for all
Who fear not God with pure devotion's awe.
Charon, with eyes of fire and words of gall,
Collects his crew, and high his oar he wields,
To strike the tardy wretch who slights his call.
As leaves in autumn thro' the woody fields
Fly in succession, when each trembling tree
Its ling'ring honors to the whirlwind yields;
So this bad race, condemn'd by Heaven's decree,
Successive hasten from that river's side:
As birds, which at a call to bondage flee,
So are they wafted o'er the gloomy tide;
And ere from thence their journey is begun,
A second crew awaits their hoary guide.—
My gracious Master kindly said—My son!
All those who in the wrath of God expire,
From every clime haste hither, one by one;
Nor would their terrors from this stream retire,
Since heavenly justice so impels their mind,
That fear is quicken'd into keen desire.
Here may no spirit pass, to good inclin'd;
And hence, if Charon seem'd to thwart thy will,
Hence wilt thou deem his purpose not unkind.—
He paus'd; and horrors of approaching ill
Now made the mournful troop so stand aghast,
Their fears yet strike me with a deadly chill!
The groaning earth sent forth a hollow blast,
And flash'd a fiery glare of gloomy red!
The horrid scene my fainting power surpast:
I fell, and, as in sleep, my senses fled.