Divine Comedy, Longfellow's Translation, Complete · Dante Alighieri
PURGATORIO
And with a tranquil aspect, “Come more quickly,” To me she said, “that, if I speak with thee, To listen to me thou mayst be well placed.” As soon as I was with her as I should be, She said to me: “Why, brother, dost thou not Venture to question now, in coming with me?” As unto those who are too reverential, Speaking in presence of superiors, Who drag no living utterance to their teeth, It me befell, that without perfect sound Began I: “My necessity, Madonna, You know, and that which thereunto is good.” And she to me: “Of fear and bashfulness Henceforward I will have thee strip thyself, So that thou speak no more as one who dreams. Know that the vessel which the serpent broke Was, and is not; but let him who is guilty Think that God’s vengeance does not fear a sop. Without an heir shall not for ever be The Eagle that left his plumes upon the car, Whence it became a monster, then a prey; For verily I see, and hence narrate it, The stars already near to bring the time, From every hindrance safe, and every bar, Within which a Five-hundred, Ten, and Five, One sent from God, shall slay the thievish woman And that same giant who is sinning with her.
When halted (as he cometh to a halt, Who goes before a squadron as its escort, If something new he find upon his way) The ladies seven at a dark shadow’s edge, Such as, beneath green leaves and branches black, The Alp upon its frigid border wears. In front of them the Tigris and Euphrates Methought I saw forth issue from one fountain, And slowly part, like friends, from one another. “O light, O glory of the human race! What stream is this which here unfolds itself From out one source, and from itself withdraws?” For such a prayer, ’twas said unto me, “Pray Matilda that she tell thee;” and here answered, As one does who doth free himself from blame, The beautiful lady: “This and other things Were told to him by me; and sure I am The water of Lethe has not hid them from him.” And Beatrice: “Perhaps a greater care, Which oftentimes our memory takes away, Has made the vision of his mind obscure. But Eunoe behold, that yonder rises; Lead him to it, and, as thou art accustomed, Revive again the half-dead virtue in him.” Like gentle soul, that maketh no excuse, But makes its own will of another’s will As soon as by a sign it is disclosed, Even so, when she had taken hold of me, The beautiful lady moved, and unto Statius Said, in her womanly manner, “Come with him.” If, Reader, I possessed a longer space For writing it, I yet would sing in part Of the sweet draught that ne’er would satiate me; But inasmuch as full are all the leaves Made ready for this second canticle, The curb of art no farther lets me go. From the most holy water I returned Regenerate, in the manner of new trees That are renewed with a new foliage, Pure and disposed to mount unto the stars.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.