To run o’er better waters hoists its sail The little vessel of my genius now, ⁠That leaves behind itself a sea so cruel; And of that second kingdom will I sing ⁠Wherein the human spirit doth purge itself, ⁠And to ascend to heaven becometh worthy. But let dead Poesy here rise again, ⁠O holy Muses, since that I am yours, ⁠And here Calliope somewhat ascend, My song accompanying with that sound, ⁠Of which the miserable magpies felt ⁠The blow so great, that they despaired of pardon. Sweet color of the oriental sapphire, ⁠That was upgathered in the cloudless aspect ⁠Of the pure air, as far as the first circle, Unto mine eyes did recommence delight ⁠Soon as I issued forth from the dead air, ⁠Which had with sadness filled mine eyes and breast. The beauteous planet, that to love incites. ⁠Was making all the orient to laugh, ⁠Veiling the Fishes that were in her escort. To the right hand I turned, and fixed my mind ⁠Upon the other pole, and saw four stars ⁠Ne’er seen before save by the primal people. Rejoicing in their flamelets seemed the heaven. ⁠O thou septentrional and widowed site, ⁠Because thou art deprived of seeing these! When from regarding them I had withdrawn, ⁠Turning a little to the other pole, ⁠There where the Wain had disappeared already, I saw beside me an old man alone, ⁠Worthy of so much reverence in his look, ⁠That more owes not to father any son. A long beard and with white hair intermingled ⁠He wore, in semblance like unto the tresses, ⁠Of which a double list fell on his breast. The rays of the four consecrated stars ⁠Did so adorn his countenance with light, ⁠That him I saw as were the sun before him. “Who are you? ye who, counter the blind river, ⁠Have fled away from the eternal prison?” ⁠Moving those venerable plumes, he said: “Who guided you? or who has been your lamp ⁠In issuing forth out of the night profound, ⁠That ever black makes the infernal valley? The laws of the abyss, are they thus broken? ⁠Or is there changed in heaven some counsel new, ⁠That being damned ye come unto my crags?” Then did my Leader lay his grasp upon me, ⁠And with his words, and with his hands and signs, ⁠Reverent he made in me my knees and brow; Then answered him: “I came not of myself; ⁠A Lady from Heaven descended, at whose prayers ⁠I aided this one with my company. But since it is thy will more be unfolded ⁠Of our condition, how it truly is, ⁠Mine cannot be that this should be denied thee. This one has never his last evening seen, ⁠But by his folly was so near to it ⁠That very little time was there to turn. As I have said, I unto him was sent ⁠To rescue him, and other way was none ⁠Than this to which I have myself betaken. I’ve shown him all the people of perdition, ⁠And now those spirits I intend to show ⁠Who purge themselves beneath thy guardianship. How I have brought him would be long to tell thee. ⁠Virtue descendeth from on high that aids me ⁠To lead him to behold thee and to hear thee. Now may it please thee to vouchsafe his coming; ⁠He seeketh Liberty, which is so dear, ⁠As knoweth he who life for her refuses. Thou know’st it; since, for her, to thee not bitter ⁠Was death in Utica, where thou didst leave ⁠The vesture, that will shine so, the great day. By us the eternal edicts are not broken; ⁠Since this one lives, and Minos binds not me; ⁠But of that circle I, where are the chaste Eyes of thy Marcia, who in looks still prays thee, ⁠O holy breast, to hold her as thine own; ⁠For her love, then, incline thyself to us. Permit us through thy sevenfold realm to go; ⁠I will take back this grace from thee to her, ⁠If to be mentioned there below thou deignest.” “Marcia so pleasing was unto mine eyes ⁠While I was on the other side,” then said he, ⁠”That every grace she wished of me I granted; Now that she dwells beyond the evil river, ⁠She can no longer move me, by that law ⁠Which, when I issued forth from there, was made But if a Lady of Heaven do move and rule thee, ⁠As thou dost say, no flattery is needful; ⁠Let it suffice thee that for her thou ask me. Go, then, and see thou gird this one about ⁠With a smooth rush, and that thou wash his face, ⁠So that thou cleanse away all stain therefrom, For ‘t were not fitting that the eye o’ercast ⁠By any mist should go before the first ⁠Angel, who is of those of Paradise. This little island round about its base ⁠Below there, yonder, where the billow beats it, ⁠Doth rushes bear upon its washy ooze; No other plant that putteth forth the leaf, ⁠Or that doth indurate, can there have life, ⁠Because it yieldeth not unto the shocks. Thereafter be not this way your return; ⁠The sun, which now is rising, will direct you ⁠To take the mount by easier ascent.” With this he vanished; and I raised me up ⁠Without a word, and wholly drew myself ⁠Unto my Guide, and turned mine eyes to him. And he began: “Son, follow thou my steps; ⁠Let us turn back, for on this side declines ⁠The plain unto its lower boundaries.” The dawn was vanquishing the matin hour ⁠Which fled before it, so that from afar ⁠I recognized the trembling of the sea. Along the solitary plain we went ⁠As one who unto the lost road returns, ⁠And till he finds it seems to go in vain. As soon as we were come to where the dew ⁠Fights with the sun, and, being in a part ⁠Where shadow falls, little evaporates, Both of his hands upon the grass outspread ⁠In gentle manner did my Master place; ⁠Whence I, who of his action was aware, Extended unto him my tearful cheeks; ⁠There did he make in me uncovered wholly ⁠That hue which Hell had covered up in me. Then came we down upon the desert shore ⁠Which never yet saw navigate its waters ⁠Any that afterward had known return. There he begirt me as the other pleased; ⁠O marvellous! for even as he culled ⁠The humble plant, such it sprang up again Suddenly there where he uprooted it.