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

We reach'd the summit of the scale, and stood     Upon the second buttress of that mount     Which healeth him who climbs. A cornice there,     Like to the former, girdles round the hill;     Save that its arch with sweep less ample bends.     Shadow nor image there is seen; all smooth     The rampart and the path, reflecting nought     But the rock's sullen hue. "If here we wait     For some to question," said the bard, "I fear     Our choice may haply meet too long delay."     Then fixedly upon the sun his eyes     He fastn'd, made his right the central point     From whence to move, and turn'd the left aside.     "O pleasant light, my confidence and hope,     Conduct us thou," he cried, "on this new way,     Where now I venture, leading to the bourn     We seek. The universal world to thee     Owes warmth and lustre. If no other cause     Forbid, thy beams should ever be our guide."     Far, as is measur'd for a mile on earth,     In brief space had we journey'd; such prompt will     Impell'd; and towards us flying, now were heard     Spirits invisible, who courteously     Unto love's table bade the welcome guest.     The voice, that firstlew by, call'd forth aloud,     "They have no wine;" so on behind us past,     Those sounds reiterating, nor yet lost     In the faint distance, when another came     Crying, "I am Orestes," and alike     Wing'd its fleet way. "Oh father!" I exclaim'd,     "What tongues are these?" and as I question'd, lo!     A third exclaiming, "Love ye those have wrong'd you."     "This circuit," said my teacher, "knots the scourge     For envy, and the cords are therefore drawn     By charity's correcting hand. The curb     Is of a harsher sound, as thou shalt hear     (If I deem rightly), ere thou reach the pass,     Where pardon sets them free. But fix thine eyes     Intently through the air, and thou shalt see     A multitude before thee seated, each     Along the shelving grot." Then more than erst     I op'd my eyes, before me view'd, and saw     Shadows with garments dark as was the rock;     And when we pass'd a little forth, I heard     A crying, "Blessed Mary! pray for us,     Michael and Peter! all ye saintly host!"     I do not think there walks on earth this day     Man so remorseless, that he hath not yearn'd     With pity at the sight that next I saw.     Mine eyes a load of sorrow teemed, when now     I stood so near them, that their semblances     Came clearly to my view. Of sackcloth vile     Their cov'ring seem'd; and on his shoulder one     Did stay another, leaning, and all lean'd     Against the cliff. E'en thus the blind and poor,     Near the confessionals, to crave an alms,     Stand, each his head upon his fellow's sunk,     So most to stir compassion, not by sound     Of words alone, but that, which moves not less,     The sight of mis'ry. And as never beam     Of noonday visiteth the eyeless man,     E'en so was heav'n a niggard unto these     Of his fair light; for, through the orbs of all,     A thread of wire, impiercing, knits them up,     As for the taming of a haggard hawk.     It were a wrong, methought, to pass and look     On others, yet myself the while unseen.     To my sage counsel therefore did I turn.     He knew the meaning of the mute appeal,     Nor waited for my questioning, but said:     "Speak; and be brief, be subtle in thy words."     On that part of the cornice, whence no rim     Engarlands its steep fall, did Virgil come;     On the' other side me were the spirits, their cheeks     Bathing devout with penitential tears,     That through the dread impalement forc'd a way.     I turn'd me to them, and "O shades!" said I,     "Assur'd that to your eyes unveil'd shall shine     The lofty light, sole object of your wish,     So may heaven's grace clear whatsoe'er of foam     Floats turbid on the conscience, that thenceforth     The stream of mind roll limpid from its source,     As ye declare (for so shall ye impart     A boon I dearly prize) if any soul     Of Latium dwell among ye; and perchance     That soul may profit, if I learn so much."     "My brother, we are each one citizens     Of one true city. Any thou wouldst say,     Who lived a stranger in Italia's land."     So heard I answering, as appeal'd, a voice     That onward came some space from whence I stood.     A spirit I noted, in whose look was mark'd     Expectance. Ask ye how? The chin was rais'd     As in one reft of sight. "Spirit," said I,     "Who for thy rise are tutoring (if thou be     That which didst answer to me,) or by place     Or name, disclose thyself, that I may know thee."     "I was," it answer'd, "of Sienna: here     I cleanse away with these the evil life,     Soliciting with tears that He, who is,     Vouchsafe him to us. Though Sapia nam'd     In sapience I excell'd not, gladder far     Of others' hurt, than of the good befell me.     That thou mayst own I now deceive thee not,     Hear, if my folly were not as I speak it.     When now my years slop'd waning down the arch,     It so bechanc'd, my fellow citizens     Near Colle met their enemies in the field,     And I pray'd God to grant what He had will'd.     There were they vanquish'd, and betook themselves     Unto the bitter passages of flight.     I mark'd the hunt, and waxing out of bounds     In gladness, lifted up my shameless brow,     And like the merlin cheated by a gleam,     Cried, "It is over. Heav'n! fear thee not."     Upon my verge of life I wish'd for peace     With God; nor repentance had supplied     What I did lack of duty, were it not     The hermit Piero, touch'd with charity,     In his devout orisons thought on me.     "But who art thou that question'st of our state,     Who go'st to my belief, with lids unclos'd,     And breathest in thy talk?"--"Mine eyes," said I,     "May yet be here ta'en from me; but not long;     For they have not offended grievously     With envious glances. But the woe beneath     Urges my soul with more exceeding dread.     That nether load already weighs me down."     She thus: "Who then amongst us here aloft     Hath brought thee, if thou weenest to return?"     "He," answer'd I, "who standeth mute beside me.     I live: of me ask therefore, chosen spirit,     If thou desire I yonder yet should move     For thee my mortal feet."--"Oh!" she replied,     "This is so strange a thing, it is great sign     That God doth love thee. Therefore with thy prayer     Sometime assist me: and by that I crave,     Which most thou covetest, that if thy feet     E'er tread on Tuscan soil, thou save my fame     Amongst my kindred. Them shalt thou behold     With that vain multitude, who set their hope     On Telamone's haven, there to fail     Confounded, more shall when the fancied stream     They sought of Dian call'd: but they who lead     Their navies, more than ruin'd hopes shall mourn."