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

Ill strives the will, 'gainst will more wise that strives     His pleasure therefore to mine own preferr'd,     I drew the sponge yet thirsty from the wave.     Onward I mov'd: he also onward mov'd,     Who led me, coasting still, wherever place     Along the rock was vacant, as a man     Walks near the battlements on narrow wall.     For those on th' other part, who drop by drop     Wring out their all-infecting malady,     Too closely press the verge. Accurst be thou!     Inveterate wolf! whose gorge ingluts more prey,     Than every beast beside, yet is not fill'd!     So bottomless thy maw!--Ye spheres of heaven!     To whom there are, as seems, who attribute     All change in mortal state, when is the day     Of his appearing, for whom fate reserves     To chase her hence?--With wary steps and slow     We pass'd; and I attentive to the shades,     Whom piteously I heard lament and wail;     And, 'midst the wailing, one before us heard     Cry out "O blessed Virgin!" as a dame     In the sharp pangs of childbed; and "How poor     Thou wast," it added, "witness that low roof     Where thou didst lay thy sacred burden down.     O good Fabricius! thou didst virtue choose     With poverty, before great wealth with vice."     The words so pleas'd me, that desire to know     The spirit, from whose lip they seem'd to come,     Did draw me onward. Yet it spake the gift     Of Nicholas, which on the maidens he     Bounteous bestow'd, to save their youthful prime     Unblemish'd. "Spirit! who dost speak of deeds     So worthy, tell me who thou was," I said,     "And why thou dost with single voice renew     Memorial of such praise. That boon vouchsaf'd     Haply shall meet reward; if I return     To finish the Short pilgrimage of life,     Still speeding to its close on restless wing."     "I," answer'd he, "will tell thee, not for hell,     Which thence I look for; but that in thyself     Grace so exceeding shines, before thy time     Of mortal dissolution. I was root     Of that ill plant, whose shade such poison sheds     O'er all the Christian land, that seldom thence     Good fruit is gather'd. Vengeance soon should come,     Had Ghent and Douay, Lille and Bruges power;     And vengeance I of heav'n's great Judge implore.     Hugh Capet was I high: from me descend     The Philips and the Louis, of whom France     Newly is govern'd; born of one, who ply'd     The slaughterer's trade at Paris. When the race     Of ancient kings had vanish'd (all save one     Wrapt up in sable weeds) within my gripe     I found the reins of empire, and such powers     Of new acquirement, with full store of friends,     That soon the widow'd circlet of the crown     Was girt upon the temples of my son,     He, from whose bones th' anointed race begins.     Till the great dower of Provence had remov'd     The stains, that yet obscur'd our lowly blood,     Its sway indeed was narrow, but howe'er     It wrought no evil: there, with force and lies,     Began its rapine; after, for amends,     Poitou it seiz'd, Navarre and Gascony.     To Italy came Charles, and for amends     Young Conradine an innocent victim slew,     And sent th' angelic teacher back to heav'n,     Still for amends. I see the time at hand,     That forth from France invites another Charles     To make himself and kindred better known.     Unarm'd he issues, saving with that lance,     Which the arch-traitor tilted with; and that     He carries with so home a thrust, as rives     The bowels of poor Florence. No increase     Of territory hence, but sin and shame     Shall be his guerdon, and so much the more     As he more lightly deems of such foul wrong.     I see the other, who a prisoner late     Had steps on shore, exposing to the mart     His daughter, whom he bargains for, as do     The Corsairs for their slaves. O avarice!     What canst thou more, who hast subdued our blood     So wholly to thyself, they feel no care     Of their own flesh? To hide with direr guilt     Past ill and future, lo! the flower-de-luce     Enters Alagna! in his Vicar Christ     Himself a captive, and his mockery     Acted again! Lo! to his holy lip     The vinegar and gall once more applied!     And he 'twixt living robbers doom'd to bleed!     Lo! the new Pilate, of whose cruelty     Such violence cannot fill the measure up,     With no degree to sanction, pushes on     Into the temple his yet eager sails!     "O sovran Master! when shall I rejoice     To see the vengeance, which thy wrath well-pleas'd     In secret silence broods?--While daylight lasts,     So long what thou didst hear of her, sole spouse     Of the Great Spirit, and on which thou turn'dst     To me for comment, is the general theme     Of all our prayers: but when it darkens, then     A different strain we utter, then record     Pygmalion, whom his gluttonous thirst of gold     Made traitor, robber, parricide: the woes     Of Midas, which his greedy wish ensued,     Mark'd for derision to all future times:     And the fond Achan, how he stole the prey,     That yet he seems by Joshua's ire pursued.     Sapphira with her husband next, we blame;     And praise the forefeet, that with furious ramp     Spurn'd Heliodorus. All the mountain round     Rings with the infamy of Thracia's king,     Who slew his Phrygian charge: and last a shout     Ascends: "Declare, O Crassus! for thou know'st,     The flavour of thy gold." The voice of each     Now high now low, as each his impulse prompts,     Is led through many a pitch, acute or grave.     Therefore, not singly, I erewhile rehears'd     That blessedness we tell of in the day:     But near me none beside his accent rais'd."     From him we now had parted, and essay'd     With utmost efforts to surmount the way,     When I did feel, as nodding to its fall,     The mountain tremble; whence an icy chill     Seiz'd on me, as on one to death convey'd.     So shook not Delos, when Latona there     Couch'd to bring forth the twin-born eyes of heaven.     Forthwith from every side a shout arose     So vehement, that suddenly my guide     Drew near, and cried: "Doubt not, while I conduct thee."     "Glory!" all shouted (such the sounds mine ear     Gather'd from those, who near me swell'd the sounds)     "Glory in the highest be to God." We stood     Immovably suspended, like to those,     The shepherds, who first heard in Bethlehem's field     That song: till ceas'd the trembling, and the song     Was ended: then our hallow'd path resum'd,     Eying the prostrate shadows, who renew'd     Their custom'd mourning. Never in my breast     Did ignorance so struggle with desire     Of knowledge, if my memory do not err,     As in that moment; nor through haste dar'd I     To question, nor myself could aught discern,     So on I far'd in thoughtfulness and dread.