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 XXVIII

• Keen now to look within and round about
• the wood divine, whose foliage dense and green
• was tempering for mine eyes the new day’s light,
• waiting no longer there, I left the edge,
• and entered very slowly on the plain,
• across a soil which everywhere breathed fragrance.

• A pleasant breeze, unvaried in itself,
• smote me upon the forehead with a stroke
• no greater than a gently blowing wind;
• whereby the branches trembling readily
• were all of them in that direction swaying,
• where first the holy Mount its shadow casts;
• yet ne’er deflecting from their upright state
• so much, that on their tops the little birds
• should give up practicing their every art;
• but singing with full gladness, they received
• the earliest breezes ’mong the leaves, which sang
• in undertone a burden to their songs,
• like that which gathers strength from bough to bough,
• throughout the grove of pines on Chiassi’s shore,
• when Aeolus has set Scirocco free.

• My slow steps now had carried me so far
• inside the ancient wood, that I no longer
• could see whence I had entered it; then, lo,
• a stream deprived me of advancing further,
• which with its little waves was toward the left
• bending the grass which sprang upon its bank.

• All waters which are purest here on earth
• would seem to have within themselves some mixture,
• if they should be compared to that one there,
• which hideth naught, though very darkly flowing
• ’neath the perpetual shade, which ne’er allows
• the rays of sun or moon to shine on it.

• I checked my feet, and with mine eyes passed on
• beyond the little stream, to gaze upon
• the great variety of flowering trees;
• and there, as when aught suddenly appears
• that turns through wonder every thought aside,
• a Lady all alone appeared to me,
• who singing went her way, and picking flowers,
• wherewith her path on every side was painted.

• “Prithee, fair Lady, thou that in love’s beams
• art warming thee, if outward looks I trust,
• which use to be a witness to the heart,
• let it thy pleasure be” said I to her,
• “to draw thee forward toward this stream so far,
• that I may understand what thou art singing.
•         

• Thou makest me recall both where and what
• Prosèrpina was at the time, when her
• her mother lost, and she the flowers of spring.”

• As turns around a lady who, while dancing,
• her feet together keeps and on the ground,
• and hardly sets one foot before the other;
• so on the little red and yellow flowers
• turned she toward me, no otherwise than would
• a virgin lowering her modest eyes;
• and satisfied my prayers, for near to me
• she drew in such a way, that her sweet tones
• reached me with all of their significance.

• As soon as she was where the grass is bathed
• by that fair river’s wavelets, she conferred
• on me the gift of raising up her eyes.
• Nor do I think so bright a light shone forth
• from under Venus’ eyelids, when transfixed,
• wholly against his custom, by her son.
• As smiling on the other bank she stood,
• her hands kept picking other bright-hued flowers,
• which without seed the highland there brings forth.

• The river kept us still three steps apart;
• but ev’n the Hellespont, where Xerxes crossed it,
• a bridle still to every human pride,
• endured no greater hatred from Leander,
• because it surged ’tween Sestos and Abydos,
• than this from me because it then oped not.

• “New-comers are ye,” she began, “and hence
• because I smile in this place, which was chosen
• for human nature as its nest, some doubt,
• perhaps, still keeps you wondering here; and yet
• the psalm called ‘Delectasti’ gives you light,
• which from your minds can drive away your mist.
• And thou that art in front and didst entreat me,
• say whether thou wouldst hear aught else; for I
• came ready for thine every question’s need.”

• “The water and the music of the wood”
• said I, “impugn in me a recent faith
• in what I heard, which contradicted this.”

• Whence she: “I ’ll tell thee how from its own cause
• proceedeth that which makes thee wonder now,
• and clear the mist obstructing thee. The Good
• Supreme, which only by Itself is pleased,
• made man both good and apt to good, and gave him
• this place as earnest of eternal peace.
• Through his own fault he but a little while
• stayed here; through his own fault, for tears and toil
• exchanged he honest laughter and sweet play.
• In order that the trouble which, below,
• the earth’s and water’s exhalations cause
• by their own trend, which is to follow heat
• as best they may, should wage no war on man,
• this Mountain rose up toward the sky thus far;
• and free from them it is from where it ’s locked.

• And now, since all the atmosphere revolves
• and circles with the sphere of primal motion,
• unless its whirling round be somewhere broken,
• such motion strikes against this eminence,
• which in the living air is wholly free,
• and makes the forest, which is dense, resound;
• and so much power hath the stricken plant,
• that with its virtue it imbues the air,
• which by revolving scatters it about;
• the other land, as able of itself,
• or through its climate, next conceives and bears
• the divers qualities of divers trees.
• If this were heard, it would not seem to be
• a wonder yonder, when a plant takes root,
• without there being evidence of seed.
• And thou must know that all this holy plain
• where thou art now, is full of every seed,
• and fraught with fruit which yonder is not picked.
• The water thou beholdest wells not up
• from fountains fed by mists condensed by cold,
• as doth a stream which gains and loses breath;
• but issues from a sure and constant fount,
• which by the will of God regains as much
• as, open on both sides, it poureth forth.
• On this side with a virtue it descends,
• which takes from men all memory of sin;
• on the other it restoreth that of all

• good deeds. On this side it is Lethe called,
• on the other Eunoë, and worketh not,
• till tasted both on this side and on that.
• This greater is than are all other savors;
• and though thy thirst might be completely sated,
• should I reveal no more to thee, I ’ll give thee
• a corollary as a further grace;
• nor do I think my words will be less dear
• to thee, should they extend beyond my promise.

• Those who in ancient times sang of the Age
• of Gold, and of its happy state, perchance
• dreamed on Parnassus of this very place.
• Here was the root of mankind innocent;
• spring’s flowers and every fruit are always here;
• the nectar this, whereof all poets speak.”

• Thereat I turned around and, having faced
• my Poets, I perceived that they had heard
• this last interpretation with a smile;
• then toward the Lady beautiful I turned my face.