The Divine Comedy by Dante: The Vision Of Purgatory: Canto XI

"O thou Almighty Father, who dost make     The heavens thy dwelling, not in bounds confin'd,     But that with love intenser there thou view'st     Thy primal effluence, hallow'd be thy name:     Join each created being to extol     Thy might, for worthy humblest thanks and praise     Is thy blest Spirit. May thy kingdom's peace     Come unto us; for we, unless it come,     With all our striving thither tend in vain.     As of their will the angels unto thee     Tender meet sacrifice, circling thy throne     With loud hosannas, so of theirs be done     By saintly men on earth. Grant us this day     Our daily manna, without which he roams     Through this rough desert retrograde, who most     Toils to advance his steps. As we to each     Pardon the evil done us, pardon thou     Benign, and of our merit take no count.     'Gainst the old adversary prove thou not     Our virtue easily subdu'd; but free     From his incitements and defeat his wiles.     This last petition, dearest Lord! is made     Not for ourselves, since that were needless now,     But for their sakes who after us remain."     Thus for themselves and us good speed imploring,     Those spirits went beneath a weight like that     We sometimes feel in dreams, all, sore beset,     But with unequal anguish, wearied all,     Round the first circuit, purging as they go,     The world's gross darkness off: In our behalf     If there vows still be offer'd, what can here     For them be vow'd and done by such, whose wills     Have root of goodness in them? Well beseems     That we should help them wash away the stains     They carried hence, that so made pure and light,     They may spring upward to the starry spheres.     "Ah! so may mercy-temper'd justice rid     Your burdens speedily, that ye have power     To stretch your wing, which e'en to your desire     Shall lift you, as ye show us on which hand     Toward the ladder leads the shortest way.     And if there be more passages than one,     Instruct us of that easiest to ascend;     For this man who comes with me, and bears yet     The charge of fleshly raiment Adam left him,     Despite his better will but slowly mounts."     From whom the answer came unto these words,     Which my guide spake, appear'd not; but 'twas said:     "Along the bank to rightward come with us,     And ye shall find a pass that mocks not toil     Of living man to climb: and were it not     That I am hinder'd by the rock, wherewith     This arrogant neck is tam'd, whence needs I stoop     My visage to the ground, him, who yet lives,     Whose name thou speak'st not him I fain would view.     To mark if e'er I knew himnd to crave     His pity for the fardel that I bear.     I was of Latiun, of a Tuscan horn     A mighty one: Aldobranlesco's name     My sire's, I know not if ye e'er have heard.     My old blood and forefathers' gallant deeds     Made me so haughty, that I clean forgot     The common mother, and to such excess,     Wax'd in my scorn of all men, that I fell,     Fell therefore; by what fate Sienna's sons,     Each child in Campagnatico, can tell.     I am Omberto; not me only pride     Hath injur'd, but my kindred all involv'd     In mischief with her. Here my lot ordains     Under this weight to groan, till I appease     God's angry justice, since I did it not     Amongst the living, here amongst the dead."     List'ning I bent my visage down: and one     (Not he who spake) twisted beneath the weight     That urg'd him, saw me, knew me straight, and call'd,     Holding his eyes With difficulty fix'd     Intent upon me, stooping as I went     Companion of their way. "O!" I exclaim'd,     "Art thou not Oderigi, art not thou     Agobbio's glory, glory of that art     Which they of Paris call the limmer's skill?"     "Brother!" said he, "with tints that gayer smile,     Bolognian Franco's pencil lines the leaves.     His all the honour now; mine borrow'd light.     In truth I had not been thus courteous to him,     The whilst I liv'd, through eagerness of zeal     For that pre-eminence my heart was bent on.     Here of such pride the forfeiture is paid.     Nor were I even here; if, able still     To sin, I had not turn'd me unto God.     O powers of man! how vain your glory, nipp'd     E'en in its height of verdure, if an age     Less bright succeed not! imbue thought     To lord it over painting's field; and now     The cry is Giotto's, and his name eclips'd.     Thus hath one Guido from the other snatch'd     The letter'd prize: and he perhaps is born,     Who shall drive either from their nest. The noise     Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind,     That blows from divers points, and shifts its name     Shifting the point it blows from. Shalt thou more     Live in the mouths of mankind, if thy flesh     Part shrivel'd from thee, than if thou hadst died,     Before the coral and the pap were left,     Or ere some thousand years have passed? and that     Is, to eternity compar'd, a space,     Briefer than is the twinkling of an eye     To the heaven's slowest orb. He there who treads     So leisurely before me, far and wide     Through Tuscany resounded once; and now     Is in Sienna scarce with whispers nam'd:     There was he sov'reign, when destruction caught     The madd'ning rage of Florence, in that day     Proud as she now is loathsome. Your renown     Is as the herb, whose hue doth come and go,     And his might withers it, by whom it sprang     Crude from the lap of earth." I thus to him:     "True are thy sayings: to my heart they breathe     The kindly spirit of meekness, and allay     What tumours rankle there. But who is he     Of whom thou spak'st but now?"--"This," he replied,     "Is Provenzano. He is here, because     He reach'd, with grasp presumptuous, at the sway     Of all Sienna. Thus he still hath gone,     Thus goeth never-resting, since he died.     Such is th' acquittance render'd back of him,     Who, beyond measure, dar'd on earth." I then:     "If soul that to the verge of life delays     Repentance, linger in that lower space,     Nor hither mount, unless good prayers befriend,     How chanc'd admittance was vouchsaf'd to him?"     "When at his glory's topmost height," said he,     "Respect of dignity all cast aside,     Freely He fix'd him on Sienna's plain,     A suitor to redeem his suff'ring friend,     Who languish'd in the prison-house of Charles,     Nor for his sake refus'd through every vein     To tremble. More I will not say; and dark,     I know, my words are, but thy neighbours soon     Shall help thee to a comment on the text.     This is the work, that from these limits freed him."