Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri — Read

Soon as its final word the blessed flame Had rais'd for utterance, straight the holy mill Began to wheel, nor yet had once revolv'd, Or ere another, circling, compass'd it, Motion to motion, song to song, conjoining, Song, that as much our muses doth excel, Our Sirens with their tuneful pipes, as ray Of primal splendour doth its faint reflex.

As when, if Juno bid her handmaid forth, Two arches parallel, and trick'd alike, Span the thin cloud, the outer taking birth From that within (in manner of that voice Whom love did melt away, as sun the mist), And they who gaze, presageful call to mind The compact, made with Noah, of the world No more to be o'erflow'd; about us thus Of sempiternal roses, bending, wreath'd Those garlands twain, and to the innermost E'en thus th' external answered. When the footing, And other great festivity, of song, And radiance, light with light accordant, each Jocund and blythe, had at their pleasure still'd (E'en as the eyes by quick volition mov'd, Are shut and rais'd together), from the heart Of one amongst the new lights mov'd a voice, That made me seem like needle to the star, In turning to its whereabout, and thus Began: "The love, that makes me beautiful, Prompts me to tell of th' other guide, for whom Such good of mine is spoken. Where one is, The other worthily should also be; That as their warfare was alike, alike Should be their glory. Slow, and full of doubt, And with thin ranks, after its banner mov'd The army of Christ (which it so clearly cost To reappoint), when its imperial Head, Who reigneth ever, for the drooping host Did make provision, thorough grace alone, And not through its deserving. As thou heard'st, Two champions to the succour of his spouse He sent, who by their deeds and words might join Again his scatter'd people. In that clime, Where springs the pleasant west-wind to unfold The fresh leaves, with which Europe sees herself New-garmented; nor from those billows far, Beyond whose chiding, after weary course, The sun doth sometimes hide him, safe abides The happy Callaroga, under guard Of the great shield, wherein the lion lies Subjected and supreme. And there was born The loving million of the Christian faith, The hollow'd wrestler, gentle to his own, And to his enemies terrible. So replete His soul with lively virtue, that when first Created, even in the mother's womb, It prophesied. When, at the sacred font, The spousals were complete 'twixt faith and him, Where pledge of mutual safety was exchang'd, The dame, who was his surety, in her sleep Beheld the wondrous fruit, that was from him And from his heirs to issue. And that such He might be construed, as indeed he was, She was inspir'd to name him of his owner, Whose he was wholly, and so call'd him Dominic. And I speak of him, as the labourer, Whom Christ in his own garden chose to be His help-mate. Messenger he seem'd, and friend Fast-knit to Christ; and the first love he show'd, Was after the first counsel that Christ gave. Many a time his nurse, at entering found That he had ris'n in silence, and was prostrate, As who should say, "My errand was for this." O happy father! Felix rightly nam'd! O favour'd mother! rightly nam'd Joanna!