The Divine Comedy - 09

Could ye have seen the whole, no need had been
For Mary to bring forth. Moreover ye
Have seen such men desiring fruitlessly;
To whose desires repose would have been giv’n,
That now but serve them for eternal grief.
I speak of Plato, and the Stagyrite,
And others many more.” And then he bent
Downwards his forehead, and in troubled mood
Broke off his speech. Meanwhile we had arriv’d
Far as the mountain’s foot, and there the rock
Found of so steep ascent, that nimblest steps
To climb it had been vain. The most remote
Most wild untrodden path, in all the tract
’Twixt Lerice and Turbia were to this
A ladder easy’ and open of access.
“Who knows on which hand now the steep declines?”
My master said and paus’d, “so that he may
Ascend, who journeys without aid of wine?”
And while with looks directed to the ground
The meaning of the pathway he explor’d,
And I gaz’d upward round the stony height,
Of spirits, that toward us mov’d their steps,
Yet moving seem’d not, they so slow approach’d.
I thus my guide address’d: “Upraise thine eyes,
Lo that way some, of whom thou may’st obtain
Counsel, if of thyself thou find’st it not!”
Straightway he look’d, and with free speech replied:
“Let us tend thither: they but softly come.
And thou be firm in hope, my son belov’d.”
Now was that people distant far in space
A thousand paces behind ours, as much
As at a throw the nervous arm could fling,
When all drew backward on the messy crags
Of the steep bank, and firmly stood unmov’d
As one who walks in doubt might stand to look.
“O spirits perfect! O already chosen!”
Virgil to them began, “by that blest peace,
Which, as I deem, is for you all prepar’d,
Instruct us where the mountain low declines,
So that attempt to mount it be not vain.
For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves.”
As sheep, that step from forth their fold, by one,
Or pairs, or three at once; meanwhile the rest
Stand fearfully, bending the eye and nose
To ground, and what the foremost does, that do
The others, gath’ring round her, if she stops,
Simple and quiet, nor the cause discern;
So saw I moving to advance the first,
Who of that fortunate crew were at the head,
Of modest mien and graceful in their gait.
When they before me had beheld the light
From my right side fall broken on the ground,
So that the shadow reach’d the cave, they stopp’d
And somewhat back retir’d: the same did all,
Who follow’d, though unweeting of the cause.
“Unask’d of you, yet freely I confess,
This is a human body which ye see.
That the sun’s light is broken on the ground,
Marvel not: but believe, that not without
Virtue deriv’d from Heaven, we to climb
Over this wall aspire.” So them bespake
My master; and that virtuous tribe rejoin’d;
“Turn, and before you there the entrance lies,”
Making a signal to us with bent hands.
Then of them one began. “Whoe’er thou art,
Who journey’st thus this way, thy visage turn,
Think if me elsewhere thou hast ever seen.”
I tow’rds him turn’d, and with fix’d eye beheld.
Comely, and fair, and gentle of aspect,
He seem’d, but on one brow a gash was mark’d.
When humbly I disclaim’d to have beheld
Him ever: “Now behold!” he said, and show’d
High on his breast a wound: then smiling spake.
“I am Manfredi, grandson to the Queen
Costanza: whence I pray thee, when return’d,
To my fair daughter go, the parent glad
Of Aragonia and Sicilia’s pride;
And of the truth inform her, if of me
Aught else be told. When by two mortal blows
My frame was shatter’d, I betook myself
Weeping to him, who of free will forgives.
My sins were horrible; but so wide arms
Hath goodness infinite, that it receives
All who turn to it. Had this text divine
Been of Cosenza’s shepherd better scann’d,
Who then by Clement on my hunt was set,
Yet at the bridge’s head my bones had lain,
Near Benevento, by the heavy mole
Protected; but the rain now drenches them,
And the wind drives, out of the kingdom’s bounds,
Far as the stream of Verde, where, with lights
Extinguish’d, he remov’d them from their bed.
Yet by their curse we are not so destroy’d,
But that the eternal love may turn, while hope
Retains her verdant blossoms. True it is,
That such one as in contumacy dies
Against the holy church, though he repent,
Must wander thirty-fold for all the time
In his presumption past; if such decree
Be not by prayers of good men shorter made
Look therefore if thou canst advance my bliss;
Revealing to my good Costanza, how
Thou hast beheld me, and beside the terms
Laid on me of that interdict; for here
By means of those below much profit comes.”


CANTO IV

When by sensations of delight or pain,
That any of our faculties hath seiz’d,
Entire the soul collects herself, it seems
She is intent upon that power alone,
And thus the error is disprov’d which holds
The soul not singly lighted in the breast.
And therefore when as aught is heard or seen,
That firmly keeps the soul toward it turn’d,
Time passes, and a man perceives it not.
For that, whereby he hearken, is one power,
Another that, which the whole spirit hash;
This is as it were bound, while that is free.
This found I true by proof, hearing that spirit
And wond’ring; for full fifty steps aloft
The sun had measur’d unobserv’d of me,
When we arriv’d where all with one accord
The spirits shouted, “Here is what ye ask.”
A larger aperture ofttimes is stopp’d
With forked stake of thorn by villager,
When the ripe grape imbrowns, than was the path,
By which my guide, and I behind him close,
Ascended solitary, when that troop
Departing left us. On Sanleo’s road
Who journeys, or to Noli low descends,
Or mounts Bismantua’s height, must use his feet;
But here a man had need to fly, I mean
With the swift wing and plumes of high desire,
Conducted by his aid, who gave me hope,
And with light furnish’d to direct my way.
We through the broken rock ascended, close
Pent on each side, while underneath the ground
Ask’d help of hands and feet. When we arriv’d
Near on the highest ridge of the steep bank,
Where the plain level open’d I exclaim’d,
“O master! say which way can we proceed?”
He answer’d, “Let no step of thine recede.
Behind me gain the mountain, till to us
Some practis’d guide appear.” That eminence
Was lofty that no eye might reach its point,
And the side proudly rising, more than line
From the mid quadrant to the centre drawn.
I wearied thus began: “Parent belov’d!
Turn, and behold how I remain alone,
If thou stay not.”—“My son!” He straight reply’d,
“Thus far put forth thy strength;” and to a track
Pointed, that, on this side projecting, round
Circles the hill. His words so spurr’d me on,
That I behind him clamb’ring, forc’d myself,
Till my feet press’d the circuit plain beneath.
There both together seated, turn’d we round
To eastward, whence was our ascent: and oft
Many beside have with delight look’d back.
First on the nether shores I turn’d my eyes,
Then rais’d them to the sun, and wond’ring mark’d
That from the left it smote us. Soon perceiv’d
That Poet sage now at the car of light
Amaz’d I stood, where ’twixt us and the north
Its course it enter’d. Whence he thus to me:
“Were Leda’s offspring now in company
Of that broad mirror, that high up and low
Imparts his light beneath, thou might’st behold
The ruddy zodiac nearer to the bears
Wheel, if its ancient course it not forsook.
How that may be if thou would’st think; within
Pond’ring, imagine Sion with this mount
Plac’d on the earth, so that to both be one
Horizon, and two hemispheres apart,
Where lies the path that Phaeton ill knew
To guide his erring chariot: thou wilt see
How of necessity by this on one
He passes, while by that on the’ other side,
If with clear view shine intellect attend.”
“Of truth, kind teacher!” I exclaim’d, “so clear
Aught saw I never, as I now discern
Where seem’d my ken to fail, that the mid orb
Of the supernal motion (which in terms
Of art is called the Equator, and remains
Ever between the sun and winter) for the cause
Thou hast assign’d, from hence toward the north
Departs, when those who in the Hebrew land
Inhabit, see it tow’rds the warmer part.
But if it please thee, I would gladly know,
How far we have to journey: for the hill
Mounts higher, than this sight of mine can mount.”
He thus to me: “Such is this steep ascent,
That it is ever difficult at first,
But, more a man proceeds, less evil grows.
When pleasant it shall seem to thee, so much
That upward going shall be easy to thee.
As in a vessel to go down the tide,
Then of this path thou wilt have reach’d the end.
There hope to rest thee from thy toil. No more
I answer, and thus far for certain know.”
As he his words had spoken, near to us
A voice there sounded: “Yet ye first perchance
May to repose you by constraint be led.”
At sound thereof each turn’d, and on the left
A huge stone we beheld, of which nor I
Nor he before was ware. Thither we drew,
find there were some, who in the shady place
Behind the rock were standing, as a man
Thru’ idleness might stand. Among them one,
Who seem’d to me much wearied, sat him down,
And with his arms did fold his knees about,
Holding his face between them downward bent.
“Sweet Sir!” I cry’d, “behold that man, who shows
Himself more idle, than if laziness
Were sister to him.” Straight he turn’d to us,
And, o’er the thigh lifting his face, observ’d,
Then in these accents spake: “Up then, proceed
Thou valiant one.” Straight who it was I knew;
Nor could the pain I felt (for want of breath
Still somewhat urg’d me) hinder my approach.
And when I came to him, he scarce his head
Uplifted, saying “Well hast thou discern’d,
How from the left the sun his chariot leads.”
His lazy acts and broken words my lips
To laughter somewhat mov’d; when I began:
“Belacqua, now for thee I grieve no more.
But tell, why thou art seated upright there?
Waitest thou escort to conduct thee hence?
Or blame I only shine accustom’d ways?”
Then he: “My brother, of what use to mount,
When to my suffering would not let me pass
The bird of God, who at the portal sits?
Behooves so long that heav’n first bear me round
Without its limits, as in life it bore,
Because I to the end repentant Sighs
Delay’d, if prayer do not aid me first,
That riseth up from heart which lives in grace.
What other kind avails, not heard in heaven?”
Before me now the Poet up the mount
Ascending, cried: “Haste thee, for see the sun
Has touch’d the point meridian, and the night
Now covers with her foot Marocco’s shore.”


CANTO V

Now had I left those spirits, and pursued
The steps of my Conductor, when beheld
Pointing the finger at me one exclaim’d:
“See how it seems as if the light not shone
From the left hand of him beneath, and he,
As living, seems to be led on.” Mine eyes
I at that sound reverting, saw them gaze
Through wonder first at me, and then at me
And the light broken underneath, by turns.
“Why are thy thoughts thus riveted?” my guide
Exclaim’d, “that thou hast slack’d thy pace? or how
Imports it thee, what thing is whisper’d here?
Come after me, and to their babblings leave
The crowd. Be as a tower, that, firmly set,
Shakes not its top for any blast that blows!
He, in whose bosom thought on thought shoots out,
Still of his aim is wide, in that the one
Sicklies and wastes to nought the other’s strength.”
What other could I answer save “I come?”
I said it, somewhat with that colour ting’d
Which ofttimes pardon meriteth for man.
Meanwhile traverse along the hill there came,
A little way before us, some who sang
The “Miserere” in responsive Strains.
When they perceiv’d that through my body I
Gave way not for the rays to pass, their song
Straight to a long and hoarse exclaim they chang’d;
And two of them, in guise of messengers,
Ran on to meet us, and inquiring ask’d:
“Of your condition we would gladly learn.”
To them my guide. “Ye may return, and bear
Tidings to them who sent you, that his frame
Is real flesh. If, as I deem, to view
His shade they paus’d, enough is answer’d them.
Him let them honour, they may prize him well.”
Ne’er saw I fiery vapours with such speed
Cut through the serene air at fall of night,
Nor August’s clouds athwart the setting sun,
That upward these did not in shorter space
Return; and, there arriving, with the rest
Wheel back on us, as with loose rein a troop.
“Many,” exclaim’d the bard, “are these, who throng
Around us: to petition thee they come.
Go therefore on, and listen as thou go’st.”
“O spirit! who go’st on to blessedness
With the same limbs, that clad thee at thy birth.”
Shouting they came, “a little rest thy step.
Look if thou any one amongst our tribe
Hast e’er beheld, that tidings of him there
Thou mayst report. Ah, wherefore go’st thou on?
Ah wherefore tarriest thou not? We all
By violence died, and to our latest hour
Were sinners, but then warn’d by light from heav’n,
So that, repenting and forgiving, we
Did issue out of life at peace with God,
Who with desire to see him fills our heart.”
Then I: “The visages of all I scan
Yet none of ye remember. But if aught,
That I can do, may please you, gentle spirits!
Speak; and I will perform it, by that peace,
Which on the steps of guide so excellent
Following from world to world intent I seek.”
In answer he began: “None here distrusts
Thy kindness, though not promis’d with an oath;
So as the will fail not for want of power.
Whence I, who sole before the others speak,
Entreat thee, if thou ever see that land,
Which lies between Romagna and the realm
Of Charles, that of thy courtesy thou pray
Those who inhabit Fano, that for me
Their adorations duly be put up,
By which I may purge off my grievous sins.
From thence I came. But the deep passages,
Whence issued out the blood wherein I dwelt,
Upon my bosom in Antenor’s land
Were made, where to be more secure I thought.
The author of the deed was Este’s prince,
Who, more than right could warrant, with his wrath
Pursued me. Had I towards Mira fled,
When overta’en at Oriaco, still
Might I have breath’d. But to the marsh I sped,
And in the mire and rushes tangled there
Fell, and beheld my life-blood float the plain.”
Then said another: “Ah! so may the wish,
That takes thee o’er the mountain, be fulfill’d,
As thou shalt graciously give aid to mine.
Of Montefeltro I; Buonconte I:
Giovanna nor none else have care for me,
Sorrowing with these I therefore go.” I thus:
“From Campaldino’s field what force or chance
Drew thee, that ne’er thy sepulture was known?”
“Oh!” answer’d he, “at Casentino’s foot
A stream there courseth, nam’d Archiano, sprung
In Apennine above the Hermit’s seat.
E’en where its name is cancel’d, there came I,
Pierc’d in the heart, fleeing away on foot,
And bloodying the plain. Here sight and speech
Fail’d me, and finishing with Mary’s name
I fell, and tenantless my flesh remain’d.
I will report the truth; which thou again
Tell to the living. Me God’s angel took,
Whilst he of hell exclaim’d: “O thou from heav’n!
Say wherefore hast thou robb’d me? Thou of him
Th’ eternal portion bear’st with thee away
For one poor tear that he deprives me of.
But of the other, other rule I make.”
“Thou knowest how in the atmosphere collects
That vapour dank, returning into water,
Soon as it mounts where cold condenses it.
That evil will, which in his intellect
Still follows evil, came, and rais’d the wind
And smoky mist, by virtue of the power
Given by his nature. Thence the valley, soon
As day was spent, he cover’d o’er with cloud
From Pratomagno to the mountain range,
And stretch’d the sky above, so that the air
Impregnate chang’d to water. Fell the rain,
And to the fosses came all that the land
Contain’d not; and, as mightiest streams are wont,
To the great river with such headlong sweep
Rush’d, that nought stay’d its course. My stiffen’d frame
Laid at his mouth the fell Archiano found,
And dash’d it into Arno, from my breast
Loos’ning the cross, that of myself I made
When overcome with pain. He hurl’d me on,
Along the banks and bottom of his course;
Then in his muddy spoils encircling wrapt.”
“Ah! when thou to the world shalt be return’d,
And rested after thy long road,” so spake
Next the third spirit; “then remember me.
I once was Pia. Sienna gave me life,
Maremma took it from me. That he knows,
Who me with jewell’d ring had first espous’d.”


CANTO VI

When from their game of dice men separate,
He, who hath lost, remains in sadness fix’d,
Revolving in his mind, what luckless throws
He cast: but meanwhile all the company
Go with the other; one before him runs,
And one behind his mantle twitches, one
Fast by his side bids him remember him.
He stops not; and each one, to whom his hand
Is stretch’d, well knows he bids him stand aside;
And thus he from the press defends himself.
E’en such was I in that close-crowding throng;
And turning so my face around to all,
And promising, I ’scap’d from it with pains.
Here of Arezzo him I saw, who fell
By Ghino’s cruel arm; and him beside,
Who in his chase was swallow’d by the stream.
Here Frederic Novello, with his hand
Stretch’d forth, entreated; and of Pisa he,
Who put the good Marzuco to such proof
Of constancy. Count Orso I beheld;
And from its frame a soul dismiss’d for spite
And envy, as it said, but for no crime:
I speak of Peter de la Brosse; and here,
While she yet lives, that Lady of Brabant
Let her beware; lest for so false a deed
She herd with worse than these. When I was freed
From all those spirits, who pray’d for others’ prayers
To hasten on their state of blessedness;
Straight I began: “O thou, my luminary!
It seems expressly in thy text denied,
That heaven’s supreme decree can never bend
To supplication; yet with this design
Do these entreat. Can then their hope be vain,
Or is thy saying not to me reveal’d?”
He thus to me: “Both what I write is plain,
And these deceiv’d not in their hope, if well
Thy mind consider, that the sacred height
Of judgment doth not stoop, because love’s flame
In a short moment all fulfils, which he
Who sojourns here, in right should satisfy.
Besides, when I this point concluded thus,
By praying no defect could be supplied;
Because the pray’r had none access to God.
Yet in this deep suspicion rest thou not
Contented unless she assure thee so,
Who betwixt truth and mind infuses light.
I know not if thou take me right; I mean
Beatrice. Her thou shalt behold above,
Upon this mountain’s crown, fair seat of joy.”
Then I: “Sir! let us mend our speed; for now
I tire not as before; and lo! the hill
Stretches its shadow far.” He answer’d thus:
“Our progress with this day shall be as much
As we may now dispatch; but otherwise
Than thou supposest is the truth. For there
Thou canst not be, ere thou once more behold
Him back returning, who behind the steep
Is now so hidden, that as erst his beam
Thou dost not break. But lo! a spirit there
Stands solitary, and toward us looks:
It will instruct us in the speediest way.”
We soon approach’d it. O thou Lombard spirit!
How didst thou stand, in high abstracted mood,
Scarce moving with slow dignity thine eyes!
It spoke not aught, but let us onward pass,
Eyeing us as a lion on his watch.
But Virgil with entreaty mild advanc’d,
Requesting it to show the best ascent.
It answer to his question none return’d,
But of our country and our kind of life
Demanded. When my courteous guide began,
“Mantua,” the solitary shadow quick
Rose towards us from the place in which it stood,
And cry’d, “Mantuan! I am thy countryman
Sordello.” Each the other then embrac’d.
Ah slavish Italy! thou inn of grief,
Vessel without a pilot in loud storm,
Lady no longer of fair provinces,
But brothel-house impure! this gentle spirit,
Ev’n from the Pleasant sound of his dear land
Was prompt to greet a fellow citizen
With such glad cheer; while now thy living ones
In thee abide not without war; and one
Malicious gnaws another, ay of those
Whom the same wall and the same moat contains,
Seek, wretched one! around thy sea-coasts wide;
Then homeward to thy bosom turn, and mark
If any part of the sweet peace enjoy.
What boots it, that thy reins Justinian’s hand
Befitted, if thy saddle be unpress’d?
Nought doth he now but aggravate thy shame.
Ah people! thou obedient still shouldst live,
And in the saddle let thy Caesar sit,
If well thou marked’st that which God commands.
Look how that beast to felness hath relaps’d
From having lost correction of the spur,
Since to the bridle thou hast set thine hand,
O German Albert! who abandon’st her,
That is grown savage and unmanageable,
When thou should’st clasp her flanks with forked heels.
Just judgment from the stars fall on thy blood!
And be it strange and manifest to all!
Such as may strike thy successor with dread!
For that thy sire and thou have suffer’d thus,
Through greediness of yonder realms detain’d,
The garden of the empire to run waste.
Come see the Capulets and Montagues,
The Philippeschi and Monaldi! man
Who car’st for nought! those sunk in grief, and these
With dire suspicion rack’d. Come, cruel one!
Come and behold the’ oppression of the nobles,
And mark their injuries: and thou mayst see.
What safety Santafiore can supply.
Come and behold thy Rome, who calls on thee,
Desolate widow! day and night with moans:
“My Caesar, why dost thou desert my side?”
Come and behold what love among thy people:
And if no pity touches thee for us,
Come and blush for thine own report. For me,
If it be lawful, O Almighty Power,
Who wast in earth for our sakes crucified!
Are thy just eyes turn’d elsewhere? or is this
A preparation in the wond’rous depth
Of thy sage counsel made, for some good end,
Entirely from our reach of thought cut off?
So are the’ Italian cities all o’erthrong’d
With tyrants, and a great Marcellus made
Of every petty factious villager.
My Florence! thou mayst well remain unmov’d
At this digression, which affects not thee:
Thanks to thy people, who so wisely speed.
Many have justice in their heart, that long
Waiteth for counsel to direct the bow,
Or ere it dart unto its aim: but shine
Have it on their lip’s edge. Many refuse
To bear the common burdens: readier thine
Answer uneall’d, and cry, “Behold I stoop!”
Make thyself glad, for thou hast reason now,
Thou wealthy! thou at peace! thou wisdom-fraught!
Facts best witness if I speak the truth.
Athens and Lacedaemon, who of old
Enacted laws, for civil arts renown’d,
Made little progress in improving life
Tow’rds thee, who usest such nice subtlety,
That to the middle of November scarce
Reaches the thread thou in October weav’st.
How many times, within thy memory,
Customs, and laws, and coins, and offices
Have been by thee renew’d, and people chang’d!
If thou remember’st well and can’st see clear,
Thou wilt perceive thyself like a sick wretch,
Who finds no rest upon her down, but oft
Shifting her side, short respite seeks from pain.


CANTO VII

After their courteous greetings joyfully
Sev’n times exchang’d, Sordello backward drew
Exclaiming, “Who are ye?” “Before this mount
By spirits worthy of ascent to God
Was sought, my bones had by Octavius’ care
Been buried. I am Virgil, for no sin
Depriv’d of heav’n, except for lack of faith.”
So answer’d him in few my gentle guide.
As one, who aught before him suddenly
Beholding, whence his wonder riseth, cries
“It is yet is not,” wav’ring in belief;
Such he appear’d; then downward bent his eyes,
And drawing near with reverential step,
Caught him, where of mean estate might clasp
His lord. “Glory of Latium!” he exclaim’d,
“In whom our tongue its utmost power display’d!
Boast of my honor’d birth-place! what desert
Of mine, what favour rather undeserv’d,
Shows thee to me? If I to hear that voice
Am worthy, say if from below thou com’st
And from what cloister’s pale?”—“Through every orb
Of that sad region,” he reply’d, “thus far
Am I arriv’d, by heav’nly influence led
And with such aid I come. There is a place
There underneath, not made by torments sad,
But by dun shades alone; where mourning’s voice
Sounds not of anguish sharp, but breathes in sighs.”
There I with little innocents abide,
Who by death’s fangs were bitten, ere exempt
From human taint. There I with those abide,
Who the three holy virtues put not on,
But understood the rest, and without blame
Follow’d them all. But if thou know’st and canst,
Direct us, how we soonest may arrive,
Where Purgatory its true beginning takes.”
He answer’d thus: “We have no certain place
Assign’d us: upwards I may go or round,
Far as I can, I join thee for thy guide.
But thou beholdest now how day declines:
And upwards to proceed by night, our power
Excels: therefore it may be well to choose
A place of pleasant sojourn. To the right
Some spirits sit apart retir’d. If thou
Consentest, I to these will lead thy steps:
And thou wilt know them, not without delight.”
“How chances this?” was answer’d; “who so wish’d
To ascend by night, would he be thence debarr’d
By other, or through his own weakness fail?”
The good Sordello then, along the ground
Trailing his finger, spoke: “Only this line
Thou shalt not overpass, soon as the sun
Hath disappear’d; not that aught else impedes
Thy going upwards, save the shades of night.
These with the wont of power perplex the will.
With them thou haply mightst return beneath,
Or to and fro around the mountain’s side
Wander, while day is in the horizon shut.”
My master straight, as wond’ring at his speech,
Exclaim’d: “Then lead us quickly, where thou sayst,
That, while we stay, we may enjoy delight.”
A little space we were remov’d from thence,
When I perceiv’d the mountain hollow’d out.
Ev’n as large valleys hollow’d out on earth,
“That way,” the’ escorting spirit cried, “we go,
Where in a bosom the high bank recedes:
And thou await renewal of the day.”
Betwixt the steep and plain a crooked path
Led us traverse into the ridge’s side,
Where more than half the sloping edge expires.
Refulgent gold, and silver thrice refin’d,
And scarlet grain and ceruse, Indian wood
Of lucid dye serene, fresh emeralds
But newly broken, by the herbs and flowers
Plac’d in that fair recess, in color all
Had been surpass’d, as great surpasses less.
Nor nature only there lavish’d her hues,
But of the sweetness of a thousand smells
A rare and undistinguish’d fragrance made.
“Salve Regina,” on the grass and flowers
Here chanting I beheld those spirits sit
Who not beyond the valley could be seen.
“Before the west’ring sun sink to his bed,”
Began the Mantuan, who our steps had turn’d,
“’Mid those desires not that I lead ye on.
For from this eminence ye shall discern
Better the acts and visages of all,
Than in the nether vale among them mix’d.
He, who sits high above the rest, and seems
To have neglected that he should have done,
And to the others’ song moves not his lip,
The Emperor Rodolph call, who might have heal’d
The wounds whereof fair Italy hath died,
So that by others she revives but slowly,
He, who with kindly visage comforts him,
Sway’d in that country, where the water springs,
That Moldaw’s river to the Elbe, and Elbe
Rolls to the ocean: Ottocar his name:
Who in his swaddling clothes was of more worth
Than Winceslaus his son, a bearded man,
Pamper’d with rank luxuriousness and ease.
And that one with the nose depress, who close
In counsel seems with him of gentle look,
Flying expir’d, with’ring the lily’s flower.
Look there how he doth knock against his breast!
The other ye behold, who for his cheek
Makes of one hand a couch, with frequent sighs.