The Battle of Darkness and Light . Джон Мильтон

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СКАЧАТЬ And weary all, upon that foremost cornice,

       Purging away the smoke-stains of the world.

      If there good words are always said for us,

       What may not here be said and done for them,

       By those who have a good root to their will?

      Well may we help them wash away the marks

       That hence they carried, so that clean and light

       They may ascend unto the starry wheels!

      "Ah! so may pity and justice you disburden

       Soon, that ye may have power to move the wing,

       That shall uplift you after your desire,

      Show us on which hand tow'rd the stairs the way

       Is shortest, and if more than one the passes,

       Point us out that which least abruptly falls;

      For he who cometh with me, through the burden

       Of Adam's flesh wherewith he is invested,

       Against his will is chary of his climbing."

      The words of theirs which they returned to those

       That he whom I was following had spoken,

       It was not manifest from whom they came,

      But it was said: "To the right hand come with us

       Along the bank, and ye shall find a pass

       Possible for living person to ascend.

      And were I not impeded by the stone,

       Which this proud neck of mine doth subjugate,

       Whence I am forced to hold my visage down,

      Him, who still lives and does not name himself,

       Would I regard, to see if I may know him

       And make him piteous unto this burden.

      A Latian was I, and born of a great Tuscan;

       Guglielmo Aldobrandeschi was my father;

       I know not if his name were ever with you.

      The ancient blood and deeds of gallantry

       Of my progenitors so arrogant made me

       That, thinking not upon the common mother,

      All men I held in scorn to such extent

       I died therefor, as know the Sienese,

       And every child in Campagnatico.

      I am Omberto; and not to me alone

       Has pride done harm, but all my kith and kin

       Has with it dragged into adversity.

      And here must I this burden bear for it

       Till God be satisfied, since I did not

       Among the living, here among the dead."

      Listening I downward bent my countenance;

       And one of them, not this one who was speaking,

       Twisted himself beneath the weight that cramps him,

      And looked at me, and knew me, and called out,

       Keeping his eyes laboriously fixed

       On me, who all bowed down was going with them.

      "O," asked I him, "art thou not Oderisi,

       Agobbio's honour, and honour of that art

       Which is in Paris called illuminating?"

      "Brother," said he, "more laughing are the leaves

       Touched by the brush of Franco Bolognese;

       All his the honour now, and mine in part.

      In sooth I had not been so courteous

       While I was living, for the great desire

       Of excellence, on which my heart was bent.

      Here of such pride is paid the forfeiture;

       And yet I should not be here, were it not

       That, having power to sin, I turned to God.

      O thou vain glory of the human powers,

       How little green upon thy summit lingers,

       If't be not followed by an age of grossness!

      In painting Cimabue thought that he

       Should hold the field, now Giotto has the cry,

       So that the other's fame is growing dim.

      So has one Guido from the other taken

       The glory of our tongue, and he perchance

       Is born, who from the nest shall chase them both.

      Naught is this mundane rumour but a breath

       Of wind, that comes now this way and now that,

       And changes name, because it changes side.

      What fame shalt thou have more, if old peel off

       From thee thy flesh, than if thou hadst been dead

       Before thou left the 'pappo' and the 'dindi,'

      Ere pass a thousand years? which is a shorter

       Space to the eterne, than twinkling of an eye

       Unto the circle that in heaven wheels slowest.

      With him, who takes so little of the road

       In front of me, all Tuscany resounded;

       And now he scarce is lisped of in Siena,

      Where he was lord, what time was overthrown

       The Florentine delirium, that superb

       Was at that day as now 'tis prostitute.

      Your reputation is the colour of grass

       Which comes and goes, and that discolours it

       By which it issues green from out the earth."

      And I: "Thy true speech fills my heart with good

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