The Inferno of Dante, Canto II

The day was sinking, and the dusky air On all the animals of earth bestow'd Rest from their labours. I alone prepare To meet new toil, both from my dreary road, And pious wish to paint in worthy phrase The Unerring Mind, and his divine abode. O sacred Muses! now my genius raise! O Memory, who writest what I saw, From hence shall spring thy ever-during praise! Kind Poet (I began, with trembling awe) Mark if my soul be equal to this aim! Nor into scenes too hard my weakness draw! Thy Song declares, the Chief of pious fame Appear'd among the blest, retaining still His mortal senses and material frame; Yet, if the great Opposer of all ill Shew'd grace to him, as knowing what and who Should from him rise, and mighty things fulfil, Most worthy he appear'd, in Reason's view, That Heaven should chuse him as the Roman Sire, Source of that empire which so widely grew, Mark'd in its growth by the angelic choir To be the seat where Sanctity should rest, And Peter's heirs yet raise dominion higher. From his dark journey, in thy Song exprest, He learn'd mysterious things; from whence arose Rome's early grandeur and the Papal vest. To Paul, while living, heaven's high powers disclose Their secret bliss, that he may thence receive strength in that faith from which salvation flows. But how may I this high exploit atchieve? I'm not Aeneas, nor the holy Paul: Of this unworthy I myself believe: If then I follow at thy friendly call, Midway perchance my trembling soul may sink: Wise as thou art, thou may'st foresee my fall. Now as a man who, shudd'ring on the brink Of some great venture, sudden shifts his mind, And feels his spirit from the peril shrink; So, in this scene of doubt and darkness join'd, Wavering I wasted thought in wild affright, And the first ardour of my soul resign'd. If thy faint words I understand aright, (Reply'd the mighty and magnanimous shade) Those mists of fear have dimm'd thy mental sight, Which oft the seat of human sense invade, And make blind mortals from high deeds recoil, By Terror's airy phantasies betray'd: But, that such fears thy soul no more may soil, I'll tell thee whence I came; at whose request; When first I pitied thy uncertain toil. From the suspended host in which I rest, A lovely Spirit call'd me, fair as light; Eager I waited on her high behest; While eyes beyond the solar radiance bright, And with the sweetness of an angel's tongue, Thus her soft words my willing aid invite: O ever gentle shade, from Mantua sprung! Whose fame unfading on the earth shall last As long as earth in ambient air is hung; My friend, whose love all base desire surpast, In yon drear desart finds his passage barr'd, And compass'd round with terrors stands aghast; And much I fear, beset with dangers hard, He may be lost beyond all friendly reach, And I from heaven descend too late a guard. But go! and with thy soft soul-soothing speech, And all the aid thy wisdom may inspire, The ways of safety to this wanderer teach! My name is Beatrice: the heavenly quire For this I left, tho' ever left with pain; But love suggested what I now desire, When I the presence of my lord regain, On thee my praises with delight shall dwell. So spake this angel, in her heavenly strain. Bright Fair, (I cry'd) who didst on earth excel All that e'er shone beneath the lunar sphere, And every mind to virtuous love impel! Had I e'en now perform'd the task I hear, That swift performance I should think too slow: Nor needs there more; your gracious will is clear: Yet how you venture, I would gladly know, From those pure realms, to which again you fly, So near the center of eternal woe. What you require (she said, in kind reply) I briefly will explain: how thus I dare, Unconscious of alarm, these depths to try. From these things only springs our fearful care, By which our hapless friends may suffer ill; But not from other; for no fear is there. Such am I form'd, by Heaven's most gracious will, That torture cannot touch my purer frame, E'en where fierce fires his flaming region fill. A gentle spirit (Lucia is her name) In heaven laments the hardships of my friend, For whom I ask your aid: to me she came, And kindly bade me to his woes attend: Behold (she said) thy servant in distress! And I his safety to thy care commend. Lucia, the friend of all whom ills oppress, Me, where I sate with pensive Rachel, sought, In heavenly contemplation's deep recess: In mercy's name (she cry'd) thus lost in thought, Seest thou not him who held thy charms so dear, Whom Love to rise above the vulgar taught? And dost thou not his lamentation hear, Nor see the horror, which his strength impairs, On yon wide torrent, with no haven near? Never was mind, intent on worldly cares, So eager wealth to gain, or loss to shun, As, when acquainted with these deadly snares, I flew from the blest confines of the sun, Trusting that eloquence, which to thy name And to thy followers such praise has won. She having thus explain'd her gracious aim, Turn'd her bright eyes, which tears of pity fill: And hence more swift to thy relief I came; And, pleas'd to execute her heavenly will, I sav'd thee from the fury of that Beast, Which barr'd thy journey up the brighter hill. Why then, O why has all thy ardour ceas'd? And whence this faintness in thy feeble mind? Why has its noble energy decreas'd, When these pure Spirits, for thy good combin'd, Watch o'er thy safety in their heavenly seat, And I reveal the favour thou shalt find?— As tender flowers, reviv'd by solar heat, That thro' the chilling night have sunk deprest, Rise and unfold, the welcome ray to meet; So rose my spirit, of new life possest; And, my warm heart on high atchievements bent, I thus my animating guide addrest: Gracious that Spirit who thy succour sent! And friendly thou, who freely hast display'd Thy zeal to execute her kind intent! Thy soothing words have to my soul convey'd Such keen desire to those bright realms to soar, I scorn the terror that my step delay'd. Now lead!—thy pleasure I dispute no more. My lord, my master thou! and thou my guard!— I ended here; and, while he march'd before, The gloomy road I enter'd, deep and hard.