Already had the sun the horizon reached Whose circle of meridian covers o’er ⁠Jerusalem with its most lofty point, And night that opposite to him revolves ⁠Was issuing forth from Ganges with the Scales ⁠That fall from out her hand when she exceedeth; So that the white and the vermilion cheeks ⁠Of beautiful Aurora, where I was, ⁠By too great age were changing into orange. We still were on the border of the sea, ⁠Like people who are thinking of their road, ⁠Who go in heart, and with the body stay; And lo! as when, upon the approach of morning, ⁠Through the gross vapors Mars grows fiery red ⁠Down in the West upon the ocean floor, Appeared to me—may I again behold it!— ⁠A light along the sea so swiftly coming, ⁠Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled; From which when I a little had withdrawn ⁠Mine eyes, that I might question my Conductor, ⁠Again I saw it brighter grown and larger. Then on each side of it appeared to me ⁠I knew not what of white, and underneath it ⁠Little by little there came forth another. My master yet had uttered not a word ⁠While the first whiteness into wings unfolded; ⁠But when he clearly recognized the pilot, He cried: “Make haste, make haste to bow the knee! ⁠Behold the Angel of God! fold thou thy hands! ⁠Henceforward shalt thou see such officers! See how he scorneth human arguments, ⁠So that nor oar he wants, nor other sail ⁠Than his own wings, between so distant shores. See how he holds them pointed up to heaven, ⁠Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, ⁠That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!” Then as still nearer and more near us came ⁠The Bird Divine, more radiant he appeared, ⁠So that near by the eye could not endure him, But down I cast it; and he came to shore ⁠With a small vessel, very swift and light, ⁠So that the water swallowed naught thereof. Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot; ⁠Beatitude seemed written in his face, ⁠And more than a hundred spirits sat within. “In exitu Israel de Ægypto!” ⁠They chanted all together in one voice, ⁠With whatso in that psalm is after written. Then made he sign of holy rood upon them, ⁠Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore, ⁠And he departed swiftly as he came. The throng which still remained there unfamiliar ⁠Seemed with the place, all round about them gazing, ⁠As one who in new matters makes essay. On every side was darting forth the day ⁠The sun, who had with his resplendent shafts ⁠From the mid-heaven chased forth the Capricorn, When the new people lifted up their faces ⁠Towards us, saying to us: “If ye know, ⁠Show us the way to go unto the mountain.” And answer made Virgilius: “Ye believe ⁠Perchance that we have knowledge of this place, ⁠But we are strangers even as yourselves. Just now we came, a little while before you, ⁠Another way, which was so rough and steep, ⁠That mounting will henceforth seem sport to us.” The souls who had, from seeing me draw breath, ⁠Become aware that I was still alive, ⁠Pallid in their astonishment became; And as to messenger who bears the olive ⁠The people throng to listen to the news, ⁠And no one shows himself afraid of crowding, So at the sight of me stood motionless ⁠Those fortunate spirits, all of them, as if ⁠Oblivious to go and make them fair. One from among them saw I coming forward, ⁠As to embrace me, with such great affection, ⁠That it incited me to do the like. O empty shadows, save in aspect only! ⁠Three times behind it did I clasp my hands, ⁠As oft returned with them to my own breast! I think with wonder I depicted me; ⁠Whereat the shadow smiled and backward drew; ⁠And I, pursuing it, pressed farther forward. Gently it said that I should stay my steps; ⁠Then knew I who it was, and I entreated ⁠That it would stop awhile to speak with me. It made reply to me: “Even as I loved thee ⁠In mortal body, so I love thee free; ⁠Therefore I stop; but wherefore goest thou?” “My own Casella! to return once more ⁠There where I am, I make this journey,” said I; ⁠”But how from thee has so much time been taken?” And he to me: “No outrage has been done me, ⁠If he who takes both when and whom he pleases ⁠Has many times denied to me this passage, For of a righteous will his own is made. ⁠He, sooth to say, for three months past has taken ⁠Whoever wished to enter with all peace; Whence I, who now had turned unto that shore ⁠Where salt the waters of the Tiber grow, ⁠Benignantly by him have been received. Unto that outlet now his wing is pointed, ⁠Because for evermore assemble there ⁠Those who tow’rds Acheron do not descend.” And I: “If some new law take not from thee ⁠Memory or practice of the song of love, ⁠Which used to quiet in me all my longings, Thee may it please to comfort therewithal ⁠Somewhat this soul of mine, that with its body ⁠Hitherward coming is so much distressed.” “Love, that within my mind discourses with me,” ⁠Forthwith began he so melodiously, ⁠The melody within me still is sounding. My master, and myself, and all that people ⁠Which with him were, appeared as satisfied ⁠As if naught else might touch the mind of any. We all of us were moveless and attentive ⁠Unto his notes; and lo! the grave old man, ⁠Exclaiming: “What is this, ye laggard spirits? What negligence, what standing still is this? ⁠Run to the mountain to strip off the slough, ⁠That lets not God be manifest to you.” Even as when, collecting grain or tares, ⁠The doves, together at their pasture met, ⁠Quiet, nor showing their accustomed pride, If aught appear of which they are afraid, ⁠Upon a sudden leave their food alone, ⁠Because they are assailed by greater care; So that fresh company did I behold ⁠The song relinquish, and go tow’rds the hill, ⁠As one who goes, and knows not whitherward; Nor was our own departure less in haste.