Thereafter in the M of the fifth word
Remained they so arranged, that JupiterSeemed to be silver there with gold inlaid.
And other lights I saw descend where wasThe summit of the M, and pause there singingThe good, I think, that draws them to itself.
Then, as in striking upon burning logsUpward there fly innumerable sparks,Whence fools are wont to look for auguries,
More than a thousand lights seemed thence to rise,And to ascend, some more, and others less,Even as the Sun that lights them had allotted;
And, each one being quiet in its place,The head and neck beheld I of an eagleDelineated by that inlaid fire.
He who there paints has none to be his guide;But Himself guides; and is from Him rememberedThat virtue which is form unto the nest.
The other beatitude, that contented seemedAt first to bloom a lily on the M,By a slight motion followed out the imprint.
O gentle star! what and how many gemsDid demonstrate to me, that all our justiceEffect is of that heaven which thou ingemmest!
Wherefore I pray the Mind, in which beginThy motion and thy virtue, to regardWhence comes the smoke that vitiates thy rays;
So that a second time it now be wrothWith buying and with selling in the templeWhose walls were built with signs and martyrdoms!
O soldiery of heaven, whom I contemplate,Implore for those who are upon the earthAll gone astray after the bad example!
Once ’twas the custom to make war with swords;But now ’tis made by taking here and thereThe bread the pitying Father shuts from none.
Yet thou, who writest but to cancel, thinkThat Peter and that Paul, who for this vineyardWhich thou art spoiling died, are still alive!
Well canst thou say: “So steadfast my desireIs unto him who willed to live alone,And for a dance was led to martyrdom,
That I know not the Fisherman nor Paul.”
Paradiso: Canto XIX
Appeared before me with its wings outspreadThe beautiful image that in sweet fruitionMade jubilant the interwoven souls;
Appeared a little ruby each, whereinRay of the sun was burning so enkindledThat each into mine eyes refracted it.
And what it now behoves me to retraceNor voice has e’er reported, nor ink written,Nor was by fantasy e’er comprehended;
For speak I saw, and likewise heard, the beak,And utter with its voice both ‘I’ and ‘My,’When in conception it was ‘We’ and ‘Our.’
And it began: “Being just and mercifulAm I exalted here unto that gloryWhich cannot be exceeded by desire;
And upon earth I left my memorySuch, that the evil-minded people thereCommend it, but continue not the story.”
So doth a single heat from many embersMake itself felt, even as from many lovesIssued a single sound from out that image.
Whence I thereafter: “O perpetual flowersOf the eternal joy, that only oneMake me perceive your odours manifold,
Exhaling, break within me the great fastWhich a long season has in hunger held me,Not finding for it any food on earth.
Well do I know, that if in heaven its mirrorJustice Divine another realm doth make,Yours apprehends it not through any veil.
You know how I attentively address meTo listen; and you know what is the doubtThat is in me so very old a fast.”
Even as a falcon, issuing from his hood,Doth move his head, and with his wings applaud him,Showing desire, and making himself fine,
Saw I become that standard, which of laudsWas interwoven of the grace divine,With such songs as he knows who there rejoices.
Then it began: “He who a compass turnedOn the world’s outer verge, and who within itDevised so much occult and manifest,
Could not the impress of his power so makeOn all the universe, as that his WordShould not remain in infinite excess.
And this makes certain that the first proud being,Who was the paragon of every creature,By not awaiting light fell immature.
And hence appears it, that each minor natureIs scant receptacle unto that goodWhich has no end, and by itself is measured.
In consequence our vision, which perforceMust be some ray of that intelligenceWith which all things whatever are replete,
Cannot in its own nature be so potent,That it shall not its origin discernFar beyond that which is apparent to it.