The Divine Comedy - 20

In infinite excess. In proof whereof,
He first through pride supplanted, who was sum
Of each created being, waited not
For light celestial, and abortive fell.
Whence needs each lesser nature is but scant
Receptacle unto that Good, which knows
No limit, measur’d by itself alone.
Therefore your sight, of th’ omnipresent Mind
A single beam, its origin must own
Surpassing far its utmost potency.
The ken, your world is gifted with, descends
In th’ everlasting Justice as low down,
As eye doth in the sea; which though it mark
The bottom from the shore, in the wide main
Discerns it not; and ne’ertheless it is,
But hidden through its deepness. Light is none,
Save that which cometh from the pure serene
Of ne’er disturbed ether: for the rest,
’Tis darkness all, or shadow of the flesh,
Or else its poison. Here confess reveal’d
That covert, which hath hidden from thy search
The living justice, of the which thou mad’st
Such frequent question; for thou saidst—‘A man
Is born on Indus’ banks, and none is there
Who speaks of Christ, nor who doth read nor write,
And all his inclinations and his acts,
As far as human reason sees, are good,
And he offendeth not in word or deed.
But unbaptiz’d he dies, and void of faith.
Where is the justice that condemns him? where
His blame, if he believeth not?’—What then,
And who art thou, that on the stool wouldst sit
To judge at distance of a thousand miles
With the short-sighted vision of a span?
To him, who subtilizes thus with me,
There would assuredly be room for doubt
Even to wonder, did not the safe word
Of scripture hold supreme authority.
“O animals of clay! O spirits gross I
The primal will, that in itself is good,
Hath from itself, the chief Good, ne’er been mov’d.
Justice consists in consonance with it,
Derivable by no created good,
Whose very cause depends upon its beam.”
As on her nest the stork, that turns about
Unto her young, whom lately she hath fed,
While they with upward eyes do look on her;
So lifted I my gaze; and bending so
The ever-blessed image wav’d its wings,
Lab’ring with such deep counsel. Wheeling round
It warbled, and did say: “As are my notes
To thee, who understand’st them not, such is
Th’ eternal judgment unto mortal ken.”
Then still abiding in that ensign rang’d,
Wherewith the Romans over-awed the world,
Those burning splendours of the Holy Spirit
Took up the strain; and thus it spake again:
“None ever hath ascended to this realm,
Who hath not a believer been in Christ,
Either before or after the blest limbs
Were nail’d upon the wood. But lo! of those
Who call ‘Christ, Christ,’ there shall be many found,
In judgment, further off from him by far,
Than such, to whom his name was never known.
Christians like these the Ethiop shall condemn:
When that the two assemblages shall part;
One rich eternally, the other poor.
“What may the Persians say unto your kings,
When they shall see that volume, in the which
All their dispraise is written, spread to view?
There amidst Albert’s works shall that be read,
Which will give speedy motion to the pen,
When Prague shall mourn her desolated realm.
There shall be read the woe, that he doth work
With his adulterate money on the Seine,
Who by the tusk will perish: there be read
The thirsting pride, that maketh fool alike
The English and Scot, impatient of their bound.
There shall be seen the Spaniard’s luxury,
The delicate living there of the Bohemian,
Who still to worth has been a willing stranger.
The halter of Jerusalem shall see
A unit for his virtue, for his vices
No less a mark than million. He, who guards
The isle of fire by old Anchises honour’d
Shall find his avarice there and cowardice;
And better to denote his littleness,
The writing must be letters maim’d, that speak
Much in a narrow space. All there shall know
His uncle and his brother’s filthy doings,
Who so renown’d a nation and two crowns
Have bastardized. And they, of Portugal
And Norway, there shall be expos’d with him
Of Ratza, who hath counterfeited ill
The coin of Venice. O blest Hungary!
If thou no longer patiently abid’st
Thy ill-entreating! and, O blest Navarre!
If with thy mountainous girdle thou wouldst arm thee
In earnest of that day, e’en now are heard
Wailings and groans in Famagosta’s streets
And Nicosia’s, grudging at their beast,
Who keepeth even footing with the rest.”


CANTO XX

When, disappearing, from our hemisphere,
The world’s enlightener vanishes, and day
On all sides wasteth, suddenly the sky,
Erewhile irradiate only with his beam,
Is yet again unfolded, putting forth
Innumerable lights wherein one shines.
Of such vicissitude in heaven I thought,
As the great sign, that marshaleth the world
And the world’s leaders, in the blessed beak
Was silent; for that all those living lights,
Waxing in splendour, burst forth into songs,
Such as from memory glide and fall away.
Sweet love! that dost apparel thee in smiles,
How lustrous was thy semblance in those sparkles,
Which merely are from holy thoughts inspir’d!
After the precious and bright beaming stones,
That did ingem the sixth light, ceas’d the chiming
Of their angelic bells; methought I heard
The murmuring of a river, that doth fall
From rock to rock transpicuous, making known
The richness of his spring-head: and as sound
Of cistern, at the fret-board, or of pipe,
Is, at the wind-hole, modulate and tun’d;
Thus up the neck, as it were hollow, rose
That murmuring of the eagle, and forthwith
Voice there assum’d, and thence along the beak
Issued in form of words, such as my heart
Did look for, on whose tables I inscrib’d them.
“The part in me, that sees, and bears the sun,,
In mortal eagles,” it began, “must now
Be noted steadfastly: for of the fires,
That figure me, those, glittering in mine eye,
Are chief of all the greatest. This, that shines
Midmost for pupil, was the same, who sang
The Holy Spirit’s song, and bare about
The ark from town to town; now doth he know
The merit of his soul-impassion’d strains
By their well-fitted guerdon. Of the five,
That make the circle of the vision, he
Who to the beak is nearest, comforted
The widow for her son: now doth he know
How dear he costeth not to follow Christ,
Both from experience of this pleasant life,
And of its opposite. He next, who follows
In the circumference, for the over arch,
By true repenting slack’d the pace of death:
Now knoweth he, that the degrees of heav’n
Alter not, when through pious prayer below
Today’s is made tomorrow’s destiny.
The other following, with the laws and me,
To yield the shepherd room, pass’d o’er to Greece,
From good intent producing evil fruit:
Now knoweth he, how all the ill, deriv’d
From his well doing, doth not helm him aught,
Though it have brought destruction on the world.
That, which thou seest in the under bow,
Was William, whom that land bewails, which weeps
For Charles and Frederick living: now he knows
How well is lov’d in heav’n the righteous king,
Which he betokens by his radiant seeming.
Who in the erring world beneath would deem,
That Trojan Ripheus in this round was set
Fifth of the saintly splendours? now he knows
Enough of that, which the world cannot see,
The grace divine, albeit e’en his sight
Reach not its utmost depth.” Like to the lark,
That warbling in the air expatiates long,
Then, trilling out his last sweet melody,
Drops satiate with the sweetness; such appear’d
That image stampt by the’ everlasting pleasure,
Which fashions like itself all lovely things.
I, though my doubting were as manifest,
As is through glass the hue that mantles it,
In silence waited not: for to my lips
“What things are these?” involuntary rush’d,
And forc’d a passage out: whereat I mark’d
A sudden lightening and new revelry.
The eye was kindled: and the blessed sign
No more to keep me wond’ring and suspense,
Replied: “I see that thou believ’st these things,
Because I tell them, but discern’st not how;
So that thy knowledge waits not on thy faith:
As one who knows the name of thing by rote,
But is a stranger to its properties,
Till other’s tongue reveal them. Fervent love
And lively hope with violence assail
The kingdom of the heavens, and overcome
The will of the Most high; not in such sort
As man prevails o’er man; but conquers it,
Because ’t is willing to be conquer’d, still,
Though conquer’d, by its mercy conquering.
“Those, in the eye who live the first and fifth,
Cause thee to marvel, in that thou behold’st
The region of the angels deck’d with them.
They quitted not their bodies, as thou deem’st,
Gentiles but Christians, in firm rooted faith,
This of the feet in future to be pierc’d,
That of feet nail’d already to the cross.
One from the barrier of the dark abyss,
Where never any with good will returns,
Came back unto his bones. Of lively hope
Such was the meed; of lively hope, that wing’d
The prayers sent up to God for his release,
And put power into them to bend his will.
The glorious Spirit, of whom I speak to thee,
A little while returning to the flesh,
Believ’d in him, who had the means to help,
And, in believing, nourish’d such a flame
Of holy love, that at the second death
He was made sharer in our gamesome mirth.
The other, through the riches of that grace,
Which from so deep a fountain doth distil,
As never eye created saw its rising,
Plac’d all his love below on just and right:
Wherefore of grace God op’d in him the eye
To the redemption of mankind to come;
Wherein believing, he endur’d no more
The filth of paganism, and for their ways
Rebuk’d the stubborn nations. The three nymphs,
Whom at the right wheel thou beheldst advancing,
Were sponsors for him more than thousand years
Before baptizing. O how far remov’d,
Predestination! is thy root from such
As see not the First cause entire: and ye,
O mortal men! be wary how ye judge:
For we, who see our Maker, know not yet
The number of the chosen: and esteem
Such scantiness of knowledge our delight:
For all our good is in that primal good
Concentrate, and God’s will and ours are one.”
So, by that form divine, was giv’n to me
Sweet medicine to clear and strengthen sight,
And, as one handling skillfully the harp,
Attendant on some skilful songster’s voice
Bids the chords vibrate, and therein the song
Acquires more pleasure; so, the whilst it spake,
It doth remember me, that I beheld
The pair of blessed luminaries move.
Like the accordant twinkling of two eyes,
Their beamy circlets, dancing to the sounds.


CANTO XXI

Again mine eyes were fix’d on Beatrice,
And with mine eyes my soul, that in her looks
Found all contentment. Yet no smile she wore
And, “Did I smile,” quoth she, “thou wouldst be straight
Like Semele when into ashes turn’d:
For, mounting these eternal palace-stairs,
My beauty, which the loftier it climbs,
As thou hast noted, still doth kindle more,
So shines, that, were no temp’ring interpos’d,
Thy mortal puissance would from its rays
Shrink, as the leaf doth from the thunderbolt.
Into the seventh splendour are we wafted,
That underneath the burning lion’s breast
Beams, in this hour, commingled with his might,
Thy mind be with thine eyes: and in them mirror’d
The shape, which in this mirror shall be shown.”
Whoso can deem, how fondly I had fed
My sight upon her blissful countenance,
May know, when to new thoughts I chang’d, what joy
To do the bidding of my heav’nly guide:
In equal balance poising either weight.
Within the crystal, which records the name,
(As its remoter circle girds the world)
Of that lov’d monarch, in whose happy reign
No ill had power to harm, I saw rear’d up,
In colour like to sun-illumin’d gold.
A ladder, which my ken pursued in vain,
So lofty was the summit; down whose steps
I saw the splendours in such multitude
Descending, ev’ry light in heav’n, methought,
Was shed thence. As the rooks, at dawn of day
Bestirring them to dry their feathers chill,
Some speed their way a-field, and homeward some,
Returning, cross their flight, while some abide
And wheel around their airy lodge; so seem’d
That glitterance, wafted on alternate wing,
As upon certain stair it met, and clash’d
Its shining. And one ling’ring near us, wax’d
So bright, that in my thought: said: “The love,
Which this betokens me, admits no doubt.”
Unwillingly from question I refrain,
To her, by whom my silence and my speech
Are order’d, looking for a sign: whence she,
Who in the sight of Him, that seeth all,
Saw wherefore I was silent, prompted me
T’ indulge the fervent wish; and I began:
“I am not worthy, of my own desert,
That thou shouldst answer me; but for her sake,
Who hath vouchsaf’d my asking, spirit blest!
That in thy joy art shrouded! say the cause,
Which bringeth thee so near: and wherefore, say,
Doth the sweet symphony of Paradise
Keep silence here, pervading with such sounds
Of rapt devotion ev’ry lower sphere?”
“Mortal art thou in hearing as in sight;”
Was the reply: “and what forbade the smile
Of Beatrice interrupts our song.
Only to yield thee gladness of my voice,
And of the light that vests me, I thus far
Descend these hallow’d steps: not that more love
Invites me; for lo! there aloft, as much
Or more of love is witness’d in those flames:
But such my lot by charity assign’d,
That makes us ready servants, as thou seest,
To execute the counsel of the Highest.
“That in this court,” said I, “O sacred lamp!
Love no compulsion needs, but follows free
Th’ eternal Providence, I well discern:
This harder find to deem, why of thy peers
Thou only to this office wert foredoom’d.”
I had not ended, when, like rapid mill,
Upon its centre whirl’d the light; and then
The love, that did inhabit there, replied:
“Splendour eternal, piercing through these folds,
Its virtue to my vision knits, and thus
Supported, lifts me so above myself,
That on the sov’ran essence, which it wells from,
I have the power to gaze: and hence the joy,
Wherewith I sparkle, equaling with my blaze
The keenness of my sight. But not the soul,
That is in heav’n most lustrous, nor the seraph
That hath his eyes most fix’d on God, shall solve
What thou hast ask’d: for in th’ abyss it lies
Of th’ everlasting statute sunk so low,
That no created ken may fathom it.
And, to the mortal world when thou return’st,
Be this reported; that none henceforth dare
Direct his footsteps to so dread a bourn.
The mind, that here is radiant, on the earth
Is wrapt in mist. Look then if she may do,
Below, what passeth her ability,
When she is ta’en to heav’n.” By words like these
Admonish’d, I the question urg’d no more;
And of the spirit humbly sued alone
T’ instruct me of its state. “’Twixt either shore
Of Italy, nor distant from thy land,
A stony ridge ariseth, in such sort,
The thunder doth not lift his voice so high,
They call it Catria: at whose foot a cell
Is sacred to the lonely Eremite,
For worship set apart and holy rites.”
A third time thus it spake; then added: “There
So firmly to God’s service I adher’d,
That with no costlier viands than the juice
Of olives, easily I pass’d the heats
Of summer and the winter frosts, content
In heav’n-ward musings. Rich were the returns
And fertile, which that cloister once was us’d
To render to these heavens: now ’t is fall’n
Into a waste so empty, that ere long
Detection must lay bare its vanity
Pietro Damiano there was I yclept:
Pietro the sinner, when before I dwelt
Beside the Adriatic, in the house
Of our blest Lady. Near upon my close
Of mortal life, through much importuning
I was constrain’d to wear the hat that still
From bad to worse it shifted.—Cephas came;
He came, who was the Holy Spirit’s vessel,
Barefoot and lean, eating their bread, as chanc’d,
At the first table. Modern Shepherd’s need
Those who on either hand may prop and lead them,
So burly are they grown: and from behind
Others to hoist them. Down the palfrey’s sides
Spread their broad mantles, so as both the beasts
Are cover’d with one skin. O patience! thou
That lookst on this and doth endure so long.”
I at those accents saw the splendours down
From step to step alight, and wheel, and wax,
Each circuiting, more beautiful. Round this
They came, and stay’d them; uttered them a shout
So loud, it hath no likeness here: nor I
Wist what it spake, so deaf’ning was the thunder.”


CANTO XXII

Astounded, to the guardian of my steps
I turn’d me, like the chill, who always runs
Thither for succour, where he trusteth most,
And she was like the mother, who her son
Beholding pale and breathless, with her voice
Soothes him, and he is cheer’d; for thus she spake,
Soothing me: “Know’st not thou, thou art in heav’n?
And know’st not thou, whatever is in heav’n,
Is holy, and that nothing there is done
But is done zealously and well? Deem now,
What change in thee the song, and what my smile
had wrought, since thus the shout had pow’r to move thee.
In which couldst thou have understood their prayers,
The vengeance were already known to thee,
Which thou must witness ere thy mortal hour,
The sword of heav’n is not in haste to smite,
Nor yet doth linger, save unto his seeming,
Who in desire or fear doth look for it.
But elsewhere now l bid thee turn thy view;
So shalt thou many a famous spirit behold.”
Mine eyes directing, as she will’d, I saw
A hundred little spheres, that fairer grew
By interchange of splendour. I remain’d,
As one, who fearful of o’er-much presuming,
Abates in him the keenness of desire,
Nor dares to question, when amid those pearls,
One largest and most lustrous onward drew,
That it might yield contentment to my wish;
And from within it these the sounds I heard.
“If thou, like me, beheldst the charity
That burns amongst us, what thy mind conceives,
Were utter’d. But that, ere the lofty bound
Thou reach, expectance may not weary thee,
I will make answer even to the thought,
Which thou hast such respect of. In old days,
That mountain, at whose side Cassino rests,
Was on its height frequented by a race
Deceived and ill dispos’d: and I it was,
Who thither carried first the name of Him,
Who brought the soul-subliming truth to man.
And such a speeding grace shone over me,
That from their impious worship I reclaim’d
The dwellers round about, who with the world
Were in delusion lost. These other flames,
The spirits of men contemplative, were all
Enliven’d by that warmth, whose kindly force
Gives birth to flowers and fruits of holiness.
Here is Macarius; Romoaldo here:
And here my brethren, who their steps refrain’d
Within the cloisters, and held firm their heart.”
I answ’ring, thus; “Thy gentle words and kind,
And this the cheerful semblance, I behold
Not unobservant, beaming in ye all,
Have rais’d assurance in me, wakening it
Full-blossom’d in my bosom, as a rose
Before the sun, when the consummate flower
Has spread to utmost amplitude. Of thee
Therefore entreat I, father! to declare
If I may gain such favour, as to gaze
Upon thine image, by no covering veil’d.”
“Brother!” he thus rejoin’d, “in the last sphere
Expect completion of thy lofty aim,
For there on each desire completion waits,
And there on mine: where every aim is found
Perfect, entire, and for fulfillment ripe.
There all things are as they have ever been:
For space is none to bound, nor pole divides,
Our ladder reaches even to that clime,
And so at giddy distance mocks thy view.
Thither the Patriarch Jacob saw it stretch
Its topmost round, when it appear’d to him
With angels laden. But to mount it now
None lifts his foot from earth: and hence my rule
Is left a profitless stain upon the leaves;
The walls, for abbey rear’d, turned into dens,
The cowls to sacks choak’d up with musty meal.
Foul usury doth not more lift itself
Against God’s pleasure, than that fruit which makes
The hearts of monks so wanton: for whate’er
Is in the church’s keeping, all pertains.
To such, as sue for heav’n’s sweet sake, and not
To those who in respect of kindred claim,
Or on more vile allowance. Mortal flesh
Is grown so dainty, good beginnings last not
From the oak’s birth, unto the acorn’s setting.
His convent Peter founded without gold
Or silver; I with pray’rs and fasting mine;
And Francis his in meek humility.
And if thou note the point, whence each proceeds,
Then look what it hath err’d to, thou shalt find
The white grown murky. Jordan was turn’d back;
And a less wonder, then the refluent sea,
May at God’s pleasure work amendment here.”
So saying, to his assembly back he drew:
And they together cluster’d into one,
Then all roll’d upward like an eddying wind.
The sweet dame beckon’d me to follow them:
And, by that influence only, so prevail’d
Over my nature, that no natural motion,
Ascending or descending here below,
Had, as I mounted, with my pennon vied.
So, reader, as my hope is to return
Unto the holy triumph, for the which
I ofttimes wail my sins, and smite my breast,
Thou hadst been longer drawing out and thrusting
Thy finger in the fire, than I was, ere
The sign, that followeth Taurus, I beheld,
And enter’d its precinct. O glorious stars!
O light impregnate with exceeding virtue!
To whom whate’er of genius lifteth me
Above the vulgar, grateful I refer;
With ye the parent of all mortal life
Arose and set, when I did first inhale
The Tuscan air; and afterward, when grace
Vouchsaf’d me entrance to the lofty wheel
That in its orb impels ye, fate decreed
My passage at your clime. To you my soul
Devoutly sighs, for virtue even now
To meet the hard emprize that draws me on.
“Thou art so near the sum of blessedness,”
Said Beatrice, “that behooves thy ken
Be vigilant and clear. And, to this end,
Or even thou advance thee further, hence
Look downward, and contemplate, what a world
Already stretched under our feet there lies:
So as thy heart may, in its blithest mood,
Present itself to the triumphal throng,
Which through the’ etherial concave comes rejoicing.”
I straight obey’d; and with mine eye return’d
Through all the seven spheres, and saw this globe
So pitiful of semblance, that perforce
It moved my smiles: and him in truth I hold
For wisest, who esteems it least: whose thoughts
Elsewhere are fix’d, him worthiest call and best.
I saw the daughter of Latona shine
Without the shadow, whereof late I deem’d
That dense and rare were cause. Here I sustain’d
The visage, Hyperion! of thy sun;
And mark’d, how near him with their circle, round
Move Maia and Dione; here discern’d
Jove’s tempering ’twixt his sire and son; and hence
Their changes and their various aspects
Distinctly scann’d. Nor might I not descry
Of all the seven, how bulky each, how swift;
Nor of their several distances not learn.
This petty area (o’er the which we stride
So fiercely), as along the eternal twins
I wound my way, appear’d before me all,
Forth from the havens stretch’d unto the hills.
Then to the beauteous eyes mine eyes return’d.


CANTO XXIII

E’en as the bird, who midst the leafy bower
Has, in her nest, sat darkling through the night,
With her sweet brood, impatient to descry
Their wished looks, and to bring home their food,
In the fond quest unconscious of her toil:
She, of the time prevenient, on the spray,
That overhangs their couch, with wakeful gaze
Expects the sun; nor ever, till the dawn,
Removeth from the east her eager ken;
So stood the dame erect, and bent her glance
Wistfully on that region, where the sun
Abateth most his speed; that, seeing her
Suspense and wand’ring, I became as one,
In whom desire is waken’d, and the hope
Of somewhat new to come fills with delight.
Short space ensued; I was not held, I say,
Long in expectance, when I saw the heav’n
Wax more and more resplendent; and, “Behold,”
Cried Beatrice, “the triumphal hosts
Of Christ, and all the harvest reap’d at length
Of thy ascending up these spheres.” Meseem’d,
That, while she spake her image all did burn,
And in her eyes such fullness was of joy,
And I am fain to pass unconstrued by.
As in the calm full moon, when Trivia smiles,
In peerless beauty, ’mid th’ eternal nympus,
That paint through all its gulfs the blue profound
In bright pre-eminence so saw I there,
O’er million lamps a sun, from whom all drew
Their radiance as from ours the starry train:
And through the living light so lustrous glow’d
The substance, that my ken endur’d it not.
O Beatrice! sweet and precious guide!
Who cheer’d me with her comfortable words!
“Against the virtue, that o’erpow’reth thee,
Avails not to resist. Here is the might,
And here the wisdom, which did open lay
The path, that had been yearned for so long,
Betwixt the heav’n and earth.” Like to the fire,
That, in a cloud imprison’d doth break out
Expansive, so that from its womb enlarg’d,
It falleth against nature to the ground;
Thus in that heav’nly banqueting my soul
Outgrew herself; and, in the transport lost.
Holds now remembrance none of what she was.
“Ope thou thine eyes, and mark me: thou hast seen
Things, that empower thee to sustain my smile.”
I was as one, when a forgotten dream
Doth come across him, and he strives in vain
To shape it in his fantasy again,
Whenas that gracious boon was proffer’d me,
Which never may be cancel’d from the book,
Wherein the past is written. Now were all
Those tongues to sound, that have on sweetest milk
Of Polyhymnia and her sisters fed
And fatten’d, not with all their help to boot,
Unto the thousandth parcel of the truth,
My song might shadow forth that saintly smile,
flow merely in her saintly looks it wrought.
And with such figuring of Paradise
The sacred strain must leap, like one, that meets
A sudden interruption to his road.
But he, who thinks how ponderous the theme,
And that ’t is lain upon a mortal shoulder,
May pardon, if it tremble with the burden.
The track, our ventrous keel must furrow, brooks
No unribb’d pinnace, no self-sparing pilot.
“Why doth my face,” said Beatrice, “thus
Enamour thee, as that thou dost not turn
Unto the beautiful garden, blossoming
Beneath the rays of Christ? Here is the rose,
Wherein the word divine was made incarnate;
And here the lilies, by whose odour known
The way of life was follow’d.” Prompt I heard
Her bidding, and encounter once again
The strife of aching vision. As erewhile,
Through glance of sunlight, stream’d through broken cloud,
Mine eyes a flower-besprinkled mead have seen,
Though veil’d themselves in shade; so saw I there
Legions of splendours, on whom burning rays
Shed lightnings from above, yet saw I not
The fountain whence they flow’d. O gracious virtue!
Thou, whose broad stamp is on them, higher up
Thou didst exalt thy glory to give room
To my o’erlabour’d sight: when at the name
Of that fair flower, whom duly I invoke
Both morn and eve, my soul, with all her might
Collected, on the goodliest ardour fix’d.
And, as the bright dimensions of the star
In heav’n excelling, as once here on earth
Were, in my eyeballs lively portray’d,
Lo! from within the sky a cresset fell,
Circling in fashion of a diadem,
And girt the star, and hov’ring round it wheel’d.
Whatever melody sounds sweetest here,
And draws the spirit most unto itself,
Might seem a rent cloud when it grates the thunder,
Compar’d unto the sounding of that lyre,
Wherewith the goodliest sapphire, that inlays
The floor of heav’n, was crown’d. “Angelic Love,
I am, who thus with hov’ring flight enwheel
The lofty rapture from that womb inspir’d,
Where our desire did dwell: and round thee so,
Lady of Heav’n! will hover; long as thou
Thy Son shalt follow, and diviner joy
Shall from thy presence gild the highest sphere.”