Innocence Once Lost - Religious Classics Collection. Джон Мильтон

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СКАЧАТЬ O light of mine, expressly in some text,

       That orison can bend decree of Heaven;

      And ne'ertheless these people pray for this.

       Might then their expectation bootless be?

       Or is to me thy saying not quite clear?"

      And he to me: "My writing is explicit,

       And not fallacious is the hope of these,

       If with sane intellect 'tis well regarded;

      For top of judgment doth not vail itself,

       Because the fire of love fulfils at once

       What he must satisfy who here installs him.

      And there, where I affirmed that proposition,

       Defect was not amended by a prayer,

       Because the prayer from God was separate.

      Verily, in so deep a questioning

       Do not decide, unless she tell it thee,

       Who light 'twixt truth and intellect shall be.

      I know not if thou understand; I speak

       Of Beatrice; her shalt thou see above,

       Smiling and happy, on this mountain's top."

      And I: "Good Leader, let us make more haste,

       For I no longer tire me as before;

       And see, e'en now the hill a shadow casts."

      "We will go forward with this day" he answered,

       "As far as now is possible for us;

       But otherwise the fact is than thou thinkest.

      Ere thou art up there, thou shalt see return

       Him, who now hides himself behind the hill,

       So that thou dost not interrupt his rays.

      But yonder there behold! a soul that stationed

       All, all alone is looking hitherward;

       It will point out to us the quickest way."

      We came up unto it; O Lombard soul,

       How lofty and disdainful thou didst bear thee,

       And grand and slow in moving of thine eyes!

      Nothing whatever did it say to us,

       But let us go our way, eying us only

       After the manner of a couchant lion;

      Still near to it Virgilius drew, entreating

       That it would point us out the best ascent;

       And it replied not unto his demand,

      But of our native land and of our life

       It questioned us; and the sweet Guide began:

       "Mantua,"—and the shade, all in itself recluse,

      Rose tow'rds him from the place where first it was,

       Saying: "O Mantuan, I am Sordello

       Of thine own land!" and one embraced the other.

      Ah! servile Italy, grief's hostelry!

       A ship without a pilot in great tempest!

       No Lady thou of Provinces, but brothel!

      That noble soul was so impatient, only

       At the sweet sound of his own native land,

       To make its citizen glad welcome there;

      And now within thee are not without war

       Thy living ones, and one doth gnaw the other

       Of those whom one wall and one fosse shut in!

      Search, wretched one, all round about the shores

       Thy seaboard, and then look within thy bosom,

       If any part of thee enjoyeth peace!

      What boots it, that for thee Justinian

       The bridle mend, if empty be the saddle?

       Withouten this the shame would be the less.

      Ah! people, thou that oughtest to be devout,

       And to let Caesar sit upon the saddle,

       If well thou hearest what God teacheth thee,

      Behold how fell this wild beast has become,

       Being no longer by the spur corrected,

       Since thou hast laid thy hand upon the bridle.

      O German Albert! who abandonest

       Her that has grown recalcitrant and savage,

       And oughtest to bestride her saddle-bow,

      May a just judgment from the stars down fall

       Upon thy blood, and be it new and open,

       That thy successor may have fear thereof;

      Because thy father and thyself have suffered,

       By greed of those transalpine lands distrained,

       The garden of the empire to be waste.

      Come and behold Montecchi and Cappelletti,

       Monaldi and Fillippeschi, careless man!

       Those sad already, and these doubt-depressed!

      Come, cruel one! come and behold the oppression

       Of thy nobility, and cure their wounds,

       And thou shalt see how safe is Santafiore!

      Come and behold thy Rome, that is lamenting,

       Widowed, alone, and day and night exclaims,

       "My Caesar, why hast thou forsaken me?"

      Come and behold how loving are the people;

       And if for us no pity moveth thee,

       Come and be made ashamed of thy renown!

      And if it lawful be, O Jove Supreme!

       Who upon earth for us wast crucified,

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