The Online Library of Liberty

A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.

• The Peace of God
• Preface
• Purgatorio I
• Purgatorio Ii
• Purgatorio Iii
• Purgatorio Iv
• Purgatorio V
• Purgatorio Vi
• Purgatorio Vii
• Purgatorio Viii
• Purgatorio Ix
• Purgatorio X
• Purgatorio Xi
• Purgatorio Xii
• Purgatorio Xiii
• Purgatorio Xiv
• Purgatorio Xv
• Purgatorio Xvi
• Purgatorio Xvii
• Purgatorio Xviii
• Purgatorio Xix
• Purgatorio Xx
• Purgatorio Xxi
• Purgatorio Xxii
• Purgatorio Xxiii
• Purgatorio Xxiv
• Purgatorio Xxv
• Purgatorio Xxvi
• Purgatorio Xxvii
• Purgatorio Xxviii
• Purgatory Xxix
• Purgatorio Xxx
• Purgatorio Xxxi
• Purgatorio Xxxii
• Purgatorio Xxxiii

PURGATORIO XXVII

• As when he sends his earliest quivering beams
• where his Creator shed his blood, while Ebro
• ’neath lofty Libra falls, and Ganges’ waves
• are being scalded by the heat of noon,
• so stood the sun; daylight was, hence, departing,
• when God’s glad Messenger appeared to us.

• Outside the flames upon the bank he stood,
• and, in a voice far clearer than is ours
• was singing: “Blessèd are the pure in heart!”

• “No further may ye go, ye holy souls,
• until the fire have burned you; enter it,
• and be not deaf unto the song beyond!”
• he told us next, when we were near to him;
• hence I, on hearing him, became like one
• who in the grave is laid. Clasping my hands
• together, over them I bowed, and watched
• the fire, while vivid images I formed
• of human bodies I had once seen burned.

• Toward me my kindly Escorts turned around;
• and Virgil said to me: “There may, my son,
• be pain here, but not death. Recall to mind,

• recall to mind! . . . if even on Geryon’s back
• I safely led thee, what shall I do now,
• that nearer God I am? Assuredly believe
• that, if within the center of this flame
• thou shouldst for ev’n a thousand years remain,
• it could not make thee lose a single hair;
• and if, perchance, thou think that I deceive thee,
• draw near to it, and make thyself believe
• with thine own hands upon thy garment’s hem.
• Lay now aside, lay now aside all fear!
• Turn round toward me, and come ahead, assured!”
• And yet, though ’gainst my conscience, I moved not.

• On seeing me still motionless and firm,
• somewhat disturbed, he said: “Now see, my son;
• this wall remains ’tween Beatrice and thee.”

• As Pyramus, when dying, at the name
• of Thisbe, oped his eyes, and looked at her,
• what time the mulberry became vermilion;
• ev’n so, my stubbornness becoming weak,
• I turned to my wiser Leader, when I heard
• the name that ever wells up in my heart.

• Thereat he shook his head, and said: “What ’s this?
• Do we on this side wish to stay?” then smiled,
• as one does at a child an apple wins.
• Then, entering the fire in front of me,
• Statius he begged to come behind, who erst
• had over a long road divided us.

• When once inside, I would have thrown myself,
• that I might cool me, into boiling glass,
• so without measure was the burning there.
• My tender Father, to encourage me,
• talked, as we moved, of Beatrice alone,
• and said: “I seem to see her eyes already.”

• A voice that sang upon the further side,
• was guiding us; and we, on it alone
• intent, came forth to where the ascent began.

• “Ye blessèd of my Father, come!” was said
• within a light there, such that I thereby
• was overcome, and could not look at it.
• “The sun is setting, and the evening comes;”
• it added, “tarry not, but hasten on,
• while yet the western sky has not grown dark.”

• Straight upward went the pathway through the rock
• in such direction, that in front of me
• I cut the low sun’s rays; not many stairs
• had we yet tried, when I and my wise Leaders
• were, by my shadow’s vanishing, aware
• that back of us the sun had gone to rest.

• And ere in all of its unmeasured range
• the horizon had assumed one single tone,
• and night had everywhere diffused itself,
• each of a step had made himself a bed;
• because the nature of the Mount deprived us
• rather of power to climb than of desire.

• Like goats which, swift of foot and wanton once
• when on the mountain heights, ere being fed,
• grow tamely quiet when they ruminate,
• all silent in the shade, while yet the sun
• is hot, and guarded by a herd who leans
• upon his staff, and serves them as he leans;
• and like the shepherd in the open living,
• who calmly spends the night beside his flock,
• and keepeth watch lest some wild animal
• should scatter it; ev’n such all three of us
• were then, I like a goat, and they like shepherds,
• by the high rock hemmed in on either side.

• But little of the outer world could there
• be seen; but through that little I perceived
• the stars more bright and larger than their wont.

• While I was ruminating thus, and thus
• was gazing at them, sleep o’ertook me; sleep,
• which oft receiveth news of future things
• before they are. At that same hour, methinks,
• when Cytherèa, who, it seems, e’er burns
• with fires of love, beamed first upon the Mount
• from out the East, dreaming I seemed to see
• a Lady, young and fair, who, gathering flowers,
• was walking through a field, and as she sang,
• said: “Know, who asks my name, that I am Leah,
• and that I move my lovely hands about
• to make myself a wreath. To please myself

• when at my mirror, I adorn me here;
• but never doth my sister Rachel leave
• her looking-glass, but sits there all day long.
• Her pleasure is to see her lovely eyes,
• as mine is to adorn me with my hands;
• seeing contenteth her, and doing, me.”

• And now, before the splendid beams of dawn,
• which rise with greater thanks from travelers,
• as, coming home, they lodge less far away,
• the shades of night were fleeing everywhere,
• and with them sleep; hence I arose and saw
• that my great Teachers had already risen.

• “That pleasant fruit, which on so many boughs
• the care of men is ever looking for,
• shall give thine every hunger peace today.”

• These were the very words which Virgil used,
• when turned toward me; and never were there gifts,
• which in their sweetness could have equaled these.
• Such longing upon longing overcame me
• to be above, that at each step thereafter,
• I felt my pinions growing for the flight.

• When all the stairway had beneath us passed,
• and we were standing on its topmost step,
• on me then Virgil fixed his eyes, and said:
• “The temporal and the eternal fire, my son,
• thou now hast seen, and to a place art come,
• where I can, of myself, no further see.

• I ’ve brought thee here by genius and by art;
• henceforth as leader thine own pleasure take;
• forth art thou from both steep and narrow paths.
• Behold the sun there shining on thy brow;
• behold the tender grass, the flowers and shrubs,
• which here the soil yields of itself alone.
• Until in happiness those lovely eyes
• appear, which, weeping, made me come to thee,
• thou mayst be seated, or among them walk.
• From me expect no further word or sign.
• Free, right and sound is thine own will, and wrong
• were not to act according to its hest;
• hence o’er thyself I crown and mitre thee.”