THE DIVINE COMEDY: Inferno, Purgatorio & Paradiso (3 Classic Translations in One Edition). Dante Alighieri
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Название: THE DIVINE COMEDY: Inferno, Purgatorio & Paradiso (3 Classic Translations in One Edition)

Автор: Dante Alighieri

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

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isbn: 9788027233335

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СКАЧАТЬ Or with more ardour than behooves, or less.

       Pursue the good, the thing created then

       Works 'gainst its Maker. Hence thou must infer

       That love is germin of each virtue in ye,

       And of each act no less, that merits pain.

       Now since it may not be, but love intend

       The welfare mainly of the thing it loves,

       All from self-hatred are secure; and since

       No being can be thought t' exist apart

       And independent of the first, a bar

       Of equal force restrains from hating that.

       "Grant the distinction just; and it remains

       The' evil must be another's, which is lov'd.

       Three ways such love is gender'd in your clay.

       There is who hopes (his neighbour's worth deprest,)

       Preeminence himself, and coverts hence

       For his own greatness that another fall.

       There is who so much fears the loss of power,

       Fame, favour, glory (should his fellow mount

       Above him), and so sickens at the thought,

       He loves their opposite: and there is he,

       Whom wrong or insult seems to gall and shame

       That he doth thirst for vengeance, and such needs

       Must doat on other's evil. Here beneath

       This threefold love is mourn'd. Of th' other sort

       Be now instructed, that which follows good

       But with disorder'd and irregular course.

       "All indistinctly apprehend a bliss

       On which the soul may rest, the hearts of all

       Yearn after it, and to that wished bourn

       All therefore strive to tend. If ye behold

       Or seek it with a love remiss and lax,

       This cornice after just repenting lays

       Its penal torment on ye. Other good

       There is, where man finds not his happiness:

       It is not true fruition, not that blest

       Essence, of every good the branch and root.

       The love too lavishly bestow'd on this,

       Along three circles over us, is mourn'd.

       Account of that division tripartite

       Expect not, fitter for thine own research."

       The teacher ended, and his high discourse

       Concluding, earnest in my looks inquir'd

       If I appear'd content; and I, whom still

       Unsated thirst to hear him urg'd, was mute,

       Mute outwardly, yet inwardly I said:

       "Perchance my too much questioning offends."

       But he, true father, mark'd the secret wish

       By diffidence restrain'd, and speaking, gave

       Me boldness thus to speak: "Master, my Sight

       Gathers so lively virtue from thy beams,

       That all, thy words convey, distinct is seen.

       Wherefore I pray thee, father, whom this heart

       Holds dearest! thou wouldst deign by proof t' unfold

       That love, from which as from their source thou bring'st

       All good deeds and their opposite." He then:

       "To what I now disclose be thy clear ken

       Directed, and thou plainly shalt behold

       How much those blind have err'd, who make themselves

       The guides of men. The soul, created apt

       To love, moves versatile which way soe'er

       Aught pleasing prompts her, soon as she is wak'd

       By pleasure into act. Of substance true

       Your apprehension forms its counterfeit,

       And in you the ideal shape presenting

       Attracts the soul's regard. If she, thus drawn,

       incline toward it, love is that inclining,

       And a new nature knit by pleasure in ye.

       Then as the fire points up, and mounting seeks

       His birth-place and his lasting seat, e'en thus

       Enters the captive soul into desire,

       Which is a spiritual motion, that ne'er rests

       Before enjoyment of the thing it loves.

       Enough to show thee, how the truth from those

       Is hidden, who aver all love a thing

       Praise-worthy in itself: although perhaps

       Its substance seem still good. Yet if the wax

       Be good, it follows not th' impression must."

       "What love is," I return'd, "thy words, O guide!

       And my own docile mind, reveal. Yet thence

       New doubts have sprung. For from without if love

       Be offer'd to us, and the spirit knows

       No other footing, tend she right or wrong,

       Is no desert of hers." He answering thus:

       "What reason here discovers I have power

       To show thee: that which lies beyond, expect

       From Beatrice, faith not reason's task.

       Spirit, substantial form, with matter join'd

       Not in confusion mix'd, hath in itself

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