English Edition, translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
| 1 | Now was it the ascent no hindrance brooked, |
| 2 | Because the sun had his meridian circle |
| 3 | To Taurus left, and night to Scorpio; |
| 4 | Wherefore as doth a man who tarries not, |
| 5 | But goes his way, whate er to him appear, |
| 6 | If of necessity the sting transfix him, |
| 7 | In this wise did we enter through the gap, |
| 8 | Taking the stairway, one before the other, |
| 9 | Which by its narrowness divides the climbers. |
| 10 | And as the little stork that lifts its wing |
| 11 | With a desire to fly, and does not venture |
| 12 | To leave the nest, and lets it downward droop, |
| 13 | Even such was I, with the desire of asking |
| 14 | Kindled and quenched, unto the motion coming |
| 15 | He makes who doth address himself to speak. |
| 16 | Not for our pace, though rapid it might be, |
| 17 | My father sweet forbore, but said: Let fly |
| 18 | The bow of speech thou to the barb hast drawn |
| 19 | With confidence I opened then my mouth, |
| 20 | And I began: How can one meagre grow |
| 21 | There where the need of nutriment applies not? |
| 22 | If thou wouldst call to mind how Meleager |
| 23 | Was wasted by the wasting of a brand, |
| 24 | This would not, said he, be to thee so sour; |
| 25 | And wouldst thou think how at each tremulous motion |
| 26 | Trembles within a mirror your own image: |
| 27 | That which seems hard would mellow seem to thee |
| 28 | But that thou mayst content thee in thy wish |
| 29 | Lo Statius here; and him I call and pray |
| 30 | He now will be the healer of thy wounds. |
| 31 | If I unfold to him the eternal vengeance, |
| 32 | Responded Statius, where thou present art, |
| 33 | Be my excuse that I can naught deny thee. |
| 34 | Then he began: Son, if these words of mine |
| 35 | Thy mind doth contemplate and doth receive, |
| 36 | They’ll be thy light unto the How thou sayest. |
| 37 | The perfect blood, which never is drunk up |
| 38 | Into the thirsty veins, and which remaineth |
| 39 | Like food that from the table thou removest, |
| 40 | Takes in the heart for all the human members |
| 41 | Virtue informative, as being that |
| 42 | Which to be changed to them goes through the veins |
| 43 | Again digest, descends it where ’tis better |
| 44 | Silent to be than say; and then drops thence |
| 45 | Upon another’s blood in natural vase. |
| 46 | There one together with the other mingles, |
| 47 | One to be passive meant, the other active |
| 48 | By reason of the perfect place it springs from; |
| 49 | And being conjoined, begins to operate, |
| 50 | Coagulating first, then vivifying |
| 51 | What for its matter it had made consistent. |
| 52 | The active virtue, being made a soul |
| 53 | As of a plant, (in so far different, |
| 54 | This on the way is, that arrived already,) |
| 55 | Then works so much, that now it moves and feels |
| 56 | Like a sea-fungus, and then undertakes |
| 57 | To organize the powers whose seed it is. |
| 58 | Now, Son, dilates and now distends itself |
| 59 | The virtue from the generator’s heart, |
| 60 | Where nature is intent on all the members. |
| 61 | But how from animal it man becomes |
| 62 | Thou dost not see as yet; this is a point |
| 63 | Which made a wiser man than thou once err |
| 64 | So far, that in his doctrine separate |
| 65 | He made the soul from possible intellect, |
| 66 | For he no organ saw by this assumed. |
| 67 | Open thy breast unto the truth that’s coming, |
| 68 | And know that, just as soon as in the foetus |
| 69 | The articulation of the brain is perfect, |
| 70 | The prirmal Motor turns to it well pleased |
| 71 | At so great art of nature, and inspires |
| 72 | A spirit new with virtue all replete, |
| 73 | Which what it finds there active doth attract |
| 74 | Into its substance, and becomes one soul, |
| 75 | Which lives, and feels, and on itself revolves. |
| 76 | And that thou less may wonder at my word, |
| 77 | Behold the sun’s heat, which becometh wine, |
| 78 | Joined to the juice that from the vine distils. |
| 79 | Whenever Lachesis has no more thread, |
| 80 | It separates from the flesh, and virtually |
| 81 | Bears with itself the human and divine; |
| 82 | The other faculties are voiceless all; |
| 83 | The memory, the intelligence, and the will |
| 84 | In action far more vigorous than before. |
| 85 | Without a pause it falleth of itself |
| 86 | In marvellous way on one shore or the other; |
| 87 | ‘There of its roads it first is cognizant. |
| 88 | Soon as the place there circumscribeth it, |
| 89 | The virtue informative rays round about, |
| 90 | As, and as much as, in the living members. |
| 91 | And even as the air, when full of rain, |
| 92 | By alien rays that are therein reflected, |
| 93 | With divers colours shows itself adorned, |
| 94 | So there the neighbouring air doth shape itself |
| 95 | Into that form which doth impress upon it |
| 96 | Virtually the soul that has stood still. |
| 97 | And then in manner of the little flame, |
| 98 | Which followeth the fire where’er it shifts, |
| 99 | After the spirit followeth its new form. |
| 100 | Since afterwards it takes from this its semblance, |
| 101 | It is called shade; and thence it organizes |
| 102 | Thereafter every sense, even to the sight. |
| 103 | Thence is it that we speak, and thence we laugh; |
| 104 | Thence is it that we form the tears and sighs, |
| 105 | That on the mountain thou mayhap hast heard. |
| 106 | According as impress us our desires |
| 107 | And other affections, so the shade is shaped, |
| 108 | And this is cause of what thou wonderest at. |
| 109 | And now unto the last of all the circles |
| 110 | Had we arrived, and to the right hand turned, |
| 111 | And were attentive to another care. |
| 112 | There the embankment shoots forth flames of fire, |
| 113 | And upward doth the cornice breathe a blast |
| 114 | That drives them back, and from itself sequesters. |
| 115 | Hence we must needs go on the open side, |
| 116 | And one by one; and I did fear the fire |
| 117 | On this side, and on that the falling down. |
| 118 | My Leader said: Along this place one ought |
| 119 | To keep upon the eyes a tightened rein, |
| 120 | Seeing that one so easily might err. |
| 121 | Summae Deus clementiae,in the bosom |
| 122 | Of the great burning chanted then I heard, |
| 123 | Which made me no less eager to turn round; |
| 124 | And spirits saw I walking through the flame; |
| 125 | Wherefore I looked, to my own steps and theirs |
| 126 | Apportioning my sight from time to time. |
| 127 | After the close which to that hymn is made, |
| 128 | Aloud they shouted, Virum non cognosco ; |
| 129 | Then recommenced the hymn with voices low. |
| 130 | This also ended, cried they: To the wood |
| 131 | Diana ran, and drove forth Helice |
| 132 | Therefrom, who had of Venus felt the poison. |
| 133 | Then to their song returned they; then the wives |
| 134 | They shouted, and the husbands who were chaste. |
| 135 | As virtue and the marriage vow imposes. |
| 136 | And I believe that them this mode suffices, |
| 137 | For all the time the fire is burning them; |
| 138 | With such care is it needful, and such food, |
| 139 | That the last wound of all should be closed up. |