DANTE’S PURGATORIO.

CANTO NINTH.

Forth from the arms of her beloved now, Whitening the orient steep, the concubine

Of old Tithonus came, her lucent brow Adorned with gems whose figure formed the sign

Of that cold animal whose tail with dread Strikes trembling nations; and the night, where we

Now were, had made of her ascending tread Two of her paces and was making three,

With wings through weariness less fully spread, When I, in whom the weakness was alive

Of Adam’s nature, sank in slumber’s power Where sat already on the grass all five.

Near to the dawning and about the hour When first the little swallow wakes her lays

(Haply remembering her old woes afresh), And when our mind, relieved of thinking, strays

More of a pilgrim from its cage of flesh Till to its vision ‘tis almost divine,

Dreaming, I seemed to see in heaven suspended An eagle that with golden plumes did shine

And with spread wings as he to swoop intended: And in that place it seemed to be, methought,

Where Ganymede, abandoning his own, Was up to heaven’s high consistory caught.

Then I considered; haply here alone His wont to strike is, and he scorns elsewhere

To bear up what he snatches in his feet; Methought he next wheeled somewhat in the air,

Then struck like lightning, terrible and fleet, And rapt me up to the empyrean: there

We burned together in so fierce a heat, And such of that imagined fire the smart,

My dream perforce was by the scorching broke. Not otherwise Achilles with a start

Rolled his amazed eyes round him, newly woke, And knowing nothing where he was, when flying

His mother bore him, slumbering on her breast, From Chiron to the isle of Scyros hieing,

Whence the Greeks, after, forced him with the rest, Than I too started! so that all repose

Fled from my features; deadly pale and chill I grew, like one whom fear hath well-nigh froze.

Sole stood my Comforter beside me still; My face was towards the sea-shore turned; the sun

Was risen already more than two hours high. “Fear not,” my Lord said, “we have well begun:

Shrink not! but every way enlarge thy strength; Thou hast arrived at Purgatory! See

Yon cliff that circles it; behold at length The entrance, parted where it seems to be.”

In the white light that comes before the morn While slumbering in thee lay thy soul, there came

Over the flowers this valley that adorn A woman, saying, “Lucia is my name:

This man here sleeping let me take in care; So shall I speed him forward on his way.”

Sordello, with his gentle comrades there, Remained: she took thee and, at dawn of day,

Up hither sped, and I behind her straight. Here she reposed thee; first with her fair eyes

Showing the aperture of yonder gate, Then vanished and thy sleep in even wise.

As a man, doubting, comforteth his fear At truth’s discovery, confident once more,

So did I change; and seeing me appear Without inquietude, my Guide up o’er

The cliff moved on, I following in his rear.

Reader, thou well observ’st to what a height I lift my matter, therefore wonder not

If with more art I strengthen what I write. We still approached and now had reached the spot

Where that which first had seemed to me a rent, Like to a fissure in a wall, my view

Made out a gate, and leading to it went Three steps, and each was of a different hue;

A guardian sat there keeping the ascent. As yet he spake not, and as more and more

Mine eyes I opened, on the topmost stair I saw him sitting, and the look he wore

Was of such brightness that I could not bear. The rays were so reflected from his face

By a drawn sword that glistened in his hand That oft I turned to look in empty space:

Then he began: “Speak ye from where ye stand! What seek ye here? who leads you to this place?

Take heed lest climbing upward from the strand You come to harm!” My Master answered thus:

“A heavenly lady, of such things aware, Spake in these words not long ago to us:

‘Go ye up yonder, for the gate is there.’ And may she speed you on your way to good!”

Rejoined that gracious guard. “Up to our flight Advance you then!” We therefore came and stood

At the first stair, which was of marble white, So clear and burnished, that therein I could

Behold myself, how I appear to sight. The second was a rough stone, burnt and black

Beyond the darkest purple; through its length And crosswise it was traversed by a crack.

The third whose mass is rested on their strength Appeared to me of porphyry, flaming red,

Or like blood spouting from a vein; thereon God’s Angel kept with planted feet his tread

Sitting upon the threshold’s gleaming stone, Which seemed to me of adamant. My Guide

Led me with my good will up that ascent, Saying, “Beg humbly that the bolt may slide!”

And at those hallowed feet devout I bent. “In mercy open to me!” I implored,

But first I smote me thrice upon my breast. He on my forehead with his pointed sword

Traced P. seven times, then spake me this behest: “Wash thou these wounds when thou hast past the door.”

Ashes or dry heaps dug from gravelly earth Were of one color with the robe he wore,

From under which two keys he next drew forth. One was of gold, one silver; first he plied

The white, then used the yellow on the gate, In such sort as my spirit satisfied;

Then said: “To none is passable the strait When either of these keys be vainly tried,

And in the wards without response it grate. One is more precious, one more asketh wise

Counsel and intellect the lock to free, Because ‘tis this which error’s knot unties.

From Peter’s hand I hold them. He on me Enjoined this rule, that I should rather err

In opening unto penitents, than be Slow to unbind, if at my feet they were.”

Then of that pass he pushed the sacred gate, Saying—“Go in; but be ye warned, before

You enter! who looks back returneth straight.” And when the hinge-bolts of the holy door,

Which are of strong and sounding metal, rolled Round in their sockets, the Tarpeian rock,

When robbed of good Metellus and its gold, Rung not so loud nor yielded such a shock.

At the first thunder, as the portal swung I looked about, and as I stood intent

Heard Te Deum laudamus! clearly sung, And the gate’s music with the song was blent.

The same impression what I heard gave me As on the listener’s hearing is begot

When men with organs join their voice, and we Now hear the words, and now we hear them not.