Dante Alighieri
translation: Rev. H. F. Cary

THE DIVINE COMEDY - The Vision of Paradise, Purgatory and Hell
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CANTO XXVIII

 Through that celestial forest, whose thick shade
 With lively greenness the new-springing day
 Attemper'd, eager now to roam, and search
 Its limits round, forthwith I left the bank,
 Along the champain leisurely my way
 Pursuing, o'er the ground, that on all sides
 Delicious odour breath'd.  A pleasant air,
 That intermitted never, never veer'd,
 Smote on my temples, gently, as a wind
 Of softest influence: at which the sprays,
 Obedient all, lean'd trembling to that part
 Where first the holy mountain casts his shade,
 Yet were not so disorder'd, but that still
 Upon their top the feather'd quiristers
 Applied their wonted art, and with full joy
 Welcom'd those hours of prime, and warbled shrill
 Amid the leaves, that to their jocund lays
 inept tenor; even as from branch to branch,
 Along the piney forests on the shore
 Of Chiassi, rolls the gath'ring melody,
 When Eolus hath from his cavern loos'd
 The dripping south.  Already had my steps,
 Though slow, so far into that ancient wood
 Transported me, I could not ken the place
 Where I had enter'd, when behold! my path
 Was bounded by a rill, which to the left
 With little rippling waters bent the grass,
 That issued from its brink.  On earth no wave
 How clean soe'er, that would not seem to have
 Some mixture in itself, compar'd with this,
 Transpicuous, clear; yet darkly on it roll'd,
 Darkly beneath perpetual gloom, which ne'er
 Admits or sun or moon light there to shine.
 
 

 

 
 
 My feet advanc'd not; but my wond'ring eyes
 Pass'd onward, o'er the streamlet, to survey
 The tender May-bloom, flush'd through many a hue,
 In prodigal variety: and there,
 As object, rising suddenly to view,
 That from our bosom every thought beside
 With the rare marvel chases, I beheld
 A lady all alone, who, singing, went,
 And culling flower from flower, wherewith her way
 Was all o'er painted.  "Lady beautiful!
 Thou, who (if looks, that use to speak the heart,
 Are worthy of our trust), with love's own beam
 Dost warm thee," thus to her my speech I fram'd:
 "Ah! please thee hither towards the streamlet bend
 Thy steps so near, that I may list thy song.
 Beholding thee and this fair place, methinks,
 I call to mind where wander'd and how look'd
 Proserpine, in that season, when her child
 The mother lost, and she the bloomy spring."
 
 As when a lady, turning in the dance,
 Doth foot it featly, and advances scarce
 One step before the other to the ground;
 Over the yellow and vermilion flowers
 Thus turn'd she at my suit, most maiden-like,
 Valing her sober eyes, and came so near,
 That I distinctly caught the dulcet sound.
 Arriving where the limped waters now
 Lav'd the green sward, her eyes she deign'd to raise,
 That shot such splendour on me, as I ween
 Ne'er glanced from Cytherea's, when her son
 Had sped his keenest weapon to her heart.
 Upon the opposite bank she stood and smil'd
 through (...)
(......)