gloriously adorned through the Holy's might, brightest of groves! Not broken is the wood in aspect: here a holy fragrance rests o'er the pleasant lana. That shall not be changed forever throughout ages, until shall end his wise work of yore be who at first created it. I ENTER, and I see thee in the gloom Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine ! And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine. The congregation of the dead make room For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine; Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of pine, The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb. From the confessionals I hear arise Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, And lamentations from the crypts below. With the pathetic words, “Although your sins With snow-white veil, and garments as of flame, As of the dawn on some dark forest cast, PURGATORIO. CANTO I. To run o'er better waters hoists its sail O holy Muses, since that I am yours, The blow so great, that they despaired of pardon. Sweet colour of the oriental sapphire, That was upgathered in the cloudless aspect Of the pure air, as far as the first circle, Unto mine eyes did recommence delight Soon as I issued forth from the dead air, Which had with sadness filled mine eyes and breast. The beauteous planet, that to love incites, To the right hand I turned, and fixed my mind There where the Wain had disappeared already, I saw beside me an old man alone, Worthy of so much reverence in his look, Did so adorn his countenance with light, Or is there changed in heaven some council new, And with his words, and with his hands and signs, A Lady from Heaven descended, at whose prayers But since it is thy will more be unfolded Of our condition, how it truly is, Mine cannot be that this should be denied thee. To rescue him, and other way was none I've shown him all the people of perdition, And now those spirits I intend to show |