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

With equal pace as oxen in the yoke,     I with that laden spirit journey'd on     Long as the mild instructor suffer'd me;     But when he bade me quit him, and proceed     (For "here," said he, "behooves with sail and oars     Each man, as best he may, push on his bark"),     Upright, as one dispos'd for speed, I rais'd     My body, still in thought submissive bow'd.     I now my leader's track not loth pursued;     And each had shown how light we far'd along     When thus he warn'd me: "Bend thine eyesight down:     For thou to ease the way shall find it good     To ruminate the bed beneath thy feet."     As in memorial of the buried, drawn     Upon earth-level tombs, the sculptur'd form     Of what was once, appears (at sight whereof     Tears often stream forth by remembrance wak'd,     Whose sacred stings the piteous only feel),     So saw I there, but with more curious skill     Of portraiture o'erwrought, whate'er of space     From forth the mountain stretches. On one part     Him I beheld, above all creatures erst     Created noblest, light'ning fall from heaven:     On th' other side with bolt celestial pierc'd     Briareus: cumb'ring earth he lay through dint     Of mortal ice-stroke. The Thymbraean god     With Mars, I saw, and Pallas, round their sire,     Arm'd still, and gazing on the giant's limbs     Strewn o'er th' ethereal field. Nimrod I saw:     At foot of the stupendous work he stood,     As if bewilder'd, looking on the crowd     Leagued in his proud attempt on Sennaar's plain.     O Niobe! in what a trance of woe     Thee I beheld, upon that highway drawn,     Sev'n sons on either side thee slain! Saul!     How ghastly didst thou look! on thine own sword     Expiring in Gilboa, from that hour     Ne'er visited with rain from heav'n or dew!     O fond Arachne! thee I also saw     Half spider now in anguish crawling up     Th' unfinish'd web thou weaved'st to thy bane!     O Rehoboam! here thy shape doth seem     Louring no more defiance! but fear-smote     With none to chase him in his chariot whirl'd.     Was shown beside upon the solid floor     How dear Alcmaeon forc'd his mother rate     That ornament in evil hour receiv'd:     How in the temple on Sennacherib fell     His sons, and how a corpse they left him there.     Was shown the scath and cruel mangling made     By Tomyris on Cyrus, when she cried:     "Blood thou didst thirst for, take thy fill of blood!"     Was shown how routed in the battle fled     Th' Assyrians, Holofernes slain, and e'en     The relics of the carnage. Troy I mark'd     In ashes and in caverns. Oh! how fall'n,     How abject, Ilion, was thy semblance there!     What master of the pencil or the style     Had trac'd the shades and lines, that might have made     The subtlest workman wonder? Dead the dead,     The living seem'd alive; with clearer view     His eye beheld not who beheld the truth,     Than mine what I did tread on, while I went     Low bending. Now swell out; and with stiff necks     Pass on, ye sons of Eve! veil not your looks,     Lest they descry the evil of your path!     I noted not (so busied was my thought)     How much we now had circled of the mount,     And of his course yet more the sun had spent,     When he, who with still wakeful caution went,     Admonish'd: "Raise thou up thy head: for know     Time is not now for slow suspense. Behold     That way an angel hasting towards us! Lo!     Where duly the sixth handmaid doth return     From service on the day. Wear thou in look     And gesture seemly grace of reverent awe,     That gladly he may forward us aloft.     Consider that this day ne'er dawns again."     Time's loss he had so often warn'd me 'gainst,     I could not miss the scope at which he aim'd.     The goodly shape approach'd us, snowy white     In vesture, and with visage casting streams     Of tremulous lustre like the matin star.     His arms he open'd, then his wings; and spake:     "Onward: the steps, behold! are near; and now     Th' ascent is without difficulty gain'd."     A scanty few are they, who when they hear     Such tidings, hasten. O ye race of men     Though born to soar, why suffer ye a wind     So slight to baffle ye? He led us on     Where the rock parted; here against my front     Did beat his wings, then promis'd I should fare     In safety on my way. As to ascend     That steep, upon whose brow the chapel stands     (O'er Rubaconte, looking lordly down     On the well-guided city,) up the right     Th' impetuous rise is broken by the steps     Carv'd in that old and simple age, when still     The registry and label rested safe;     Thus is th' acclivity reliev'd, which here     Precipitous from the other circuit falls:     But on each hand the tall cliff presses close.     As ent'ring there we turn'd, voices, in strain     Ineffable, sang: "Blessed are the poor     In spirit." Ah how far unlike to these     The straits of hell; here songs to usher us,     There shrieks of woe! We climb the holy stairs:     And lighter to myself by far I seem'd     Than on the plain before, whence thus I spake:     "Say, master, of what heavy thing have I     Been lighten'd, that scarce aught the sense of toil     Affects me journeying?" He in few replied:     "When sin's broad characters, that yet remain     Upon thy temples, though well nigh effac'd,     Shall be, as one is, all clean razed out,     Then shall thy feet by heartiness of will     Be so o'ercome, they not alone shall feel     No sense of labour, but delight much more     Shall wait them urg'd along their upward way."     Then like to one, upon whose head is plac'd     Somewhat he deems not of but from the becks     Of others as they pass him by; his hand     Lends therefore help to' assure him, searches, finds,     And well performs such office as the eye     Wants power to execute: so stretching forth     The fingers of my right hand, did I find     Six only of the letters, which his sword     Who bare the keys had trac'd upon my brow.     The leader, as he mark'd mine action, smil'd.