Harvard Classics Volume 20. Golden Deer Classics

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СКАЧАТЬ ocean, fearing his tumultuous tide

      That drives toward them; or the Paduans theirs

      Along the Brenta, to defend their towns

      And castles, ere the genial warmth be felt

      On Chiarentana’s^[102] top; such were the mounds,

      So framed, though not in height or bulk to these

      Made equal, by the master, whosoe’er

      He was, that raised them here. We from the wood

      Were now so far removed, that turning round

      I might not have discern’d it, when we met

      A troop of spirits, who came beside the pier.

      They each one eyed us, as at eventide

      One eyes another under a new moon;

      And toward us sharpen’d their sight, as keen

      As an old tailor at his needle’s eye.

      Thus narrowly explored by all the tribe,

      I was agnized of one, who by the skirt

      Caught me, and cried, “What wonder have we here?”

      And I, when he to me outstretch’d his arm,

      Intently fix’d my ken on his parch’d looks,

      That, although smirch’d with fire, they hinder’d not

      But I remember’d him; and toward his face

      My hand inclining, answer’d: “Ser Brunetto!^[103]

      And are ye here?” He thus to me: “My son!

      Oh let it not displease thee, if Brunetto

      Latini but a little space with thee

      Turn back, and leave his fellows to proceed.”

      I thus to him replied: “Much as I can,

      I thereto pray thee; and if thou be willing

      That I here seat me with thee, I consent;

      His leave, with whom I journey, first obtain’d.”

      “O son!” said he, “whoever of this throng

      One instant stops, lies then a hundred years,

      No fan to ventilate him, when the fire

      Smitest sorest. Pass thou therefore on. I close

      Will at thy garments walk, and then rejoin

      My troop, who go mourning their endless doom.”

      I dared not from the path descend to tread

      On equal ground with him, but held my head

      Bent down, as one who walks in reverent guise.

      “What chance or destiny,” thus he began,

      “Ere the last day, conducts thee here below?

      And who is this that shows to thee the way?”

      “There up aloft,” I answer’d, “in the life

      Serene, I wander’d in a valley lost,

      Before mine age had to its fullness reach’d.

      But yester-morn I left it: then once more

      Into that vale returning, him I met;

      And by this path homeward he leads me back.”

      “If thou,” he answer’d, “follow but thy star,

      Thou canst not miss at last a glorious haven;

      Unless in fairer days my judgment err’d.

      And if my fate so early had not chanced,

      Seeing the heavens thus bounteous to thee, I

      Had gladly given thee comfort in thy work.

      But that ungrateful and malignant race,

      Who in old times came down from Fesole,

      Ay and still smack of their rough mountain flint,

      Will for thy good deeds show thee enmity.

      Nor wonder; for amongst ill-savor’d crabs

      It suits not the sweet fig-tree lay her fruit.

      Old fame reports them in the world for blind,

      Covetous, envious, proud. Look to it well:

      Take heed thou cleanse thee of their ways. For thee,

      Thy fortune hath such honor in reserve,

      That thou by either party shalt be craved

      With hunger keen: but be the fresh herb far

      From the goat’s tooth. The herd of Fesole

      May of themselves make litter, not touch the plant,

      If any such yet spring on their rank bed,

      In which the holy seed revives, transmitted

      From those true Romans, who still there remain’d,

      When it was made the nest of so much ill.”

      “Were all my wish fulfill’d,” I straight replied,

      “Thou from the confines of man’s nature yet

      Hadst not been driven forth; for in my mind

      Is fix’d, and now strikes full upon my heart,

      The dear, benign, paternal image, such

      As thine was, when so lately thou didst teach me

      The way for man to win eternity:

      And how I prized the lesson, it behoves,

      That, long as life endures, my tongue should speak.

      What of my fate thou tell’st, that write I down;

      And, with another text^[104] to comment on,

      For her I keep it, the celestial dame,

      Who СКАЧАТЬ