Paradise Canto 33
Canto Xxxiii
Argument
St. Bernard supplicates the Virgin Mary that Dante may have grace given him to contemplate the brightness of the Divine Majesty, which is accordingly granted; and Dante then himself prays to God for ability to show forth some part of the celestial glory in his writings. Lastly, he is admitted to a glimpse of the great mystery; the Trinity, and the Union of Man with God.
"O Virgin Mother, daughter of thy Son!
Created beings all in lowliness Surpassing, as in height above them all;
Term by the eternal counsel pre - ordain'd;
Ennobler of thy nature, so advanced In thee, that its great Maker did not scorn, To make Himself his own creation;
For in thy womb rekindling shone the love Reveal'd, whose genial influence makes now This flower to germin in eternal peace: Here thou to us, of charity and love, Art, as the noon - day torch; and art, beneath, To mortal men, of hope a living spring.
So mighty art thou, Lady, and so great, That he, who grace desireth, and comes not To thee for aidance, fain would have desire Fly without wings. Not only him, who asks, Thy bounty succours; but doth freely oft Forerun the asking. Whatsoe'er may be Of excellence in creature, pity mild, Relenting mercy, large munificence, Are all combined in thee. Here kneeleth one, Who of all spirits hath review'd the state, From the world's lowest gap unto this height.
Suppliant to thee he kneels, imploring grace For virtue yet more high, to lift his ken Toward the bliss supreme. And I, who ne'er Coveted sight, more fondly, for myself, Than now for him, my prayers to thee prefer, (And pray they be not scant), that thou wouldst Each cloud of his mortality away, [drive Through thine own prayers, that on the sovran joy Unveil'd he gaze. This yet, I pray thee, Queen, Who canst do what thou wilt; that in him thou Wouldst, after all he hath beheld, preserve Affection sound, and human passions quell.
Lo! where, with Beatrice, many a saint Stretch their clasp'd hands, in furtherance of my suit."
The eyes, that Heaven with love and awe regards, Fix'd on the suitor, witness'd, how benign She looks on pious prayers: then fasten'd they On the everlasting light, wherein no eye Of creature, as may well be thought, so far Can travel inward. I, meanwhile, who drew Near to the limit, where all wishes end, The ardour of my wish (for so behoved)
Ended within me. Beckoning smiled the sage, That I should look aloft: but, ere he bade, Already of myself aloft I look'd;
For visual strength, refining more and more, Bare me into the ray authentical Of sovran light. Thenceforward, what I saw, Was not for words to speak, nor memory's self To stand against such outrage on her skill.
As one, who from a dream awaken'd, straight, All he hath seen forgets; yet still retains Impression of the feeling in his dream;
E'en such am I: for all the vision dies, As 'twere, away; and yet the sense of sweet, That sprang from it, still trickles in my heart.
Thus in the sun - thaw is the snow unseal'd;
Thus in the winds on flitting leaves was lost The Sibyl's sentence. O eternal beam! [soar?]
(Whose height what reach of mortal thought may Yield me again some little particle Of what Thou then appearedst; give my tongue Power, but to leave one sparkle of Thy glory, Unto the race to come, that shall not lose Thy triumph wholly, if Thou waken aught Of memory in me, and endure to hear The record sound in this unequal strain.
Such keenness from the living ray I met, That, if mine eyes had turn'd away, methinks, I had been lost; but, so embolden'd, on I pass'd, as I remember, till my view Hover'd the brink of dread infinitude.
O grace, unenvying of Thy boon! that gavest Boldness to fix so earnestly my ken On the everlasting splendour, that I look'd, While sight was unconsumed, and, in that depth, Saw in one volume clasp'd of love, whate'er The universe unfolds; all properties Of substance and of accident, beheld, Compounded, yet one individual light The whole. And of such bond methinks I saw The universal form; for that whene'er I do but speak of it, my soul dilates Beyond her proper self; and, till I speak, One moment seems a longer lethargy, Than five - and - twenty ages had appear'd To that emprize, that first made Neptune wonder At Argo's shadow darkening on his flood.
With fixed heed, suspense and motionless, Wondering I gazed; and admiration still Was kindled as I gazed. It may not be, That one, who looks upon that light, can turn To other object, willingly, his view.
For all the good, that will may covet, there Is summ'd; and all, elsewhere defective found, Complete. My tongue shall utter now, no more E'en what remembrance keeps, than could the babe's That yet is moisten'd at his mother's breast.
Not that the semblance of the living light Was changed, (that ever as at first remain'd),
But that my vision quickening, in that sole Appearance, still new miracles descried, And toil'd me with the change. In that abyss Of radiance, clear and lofty, seem'd, methought, Three orbs of triple hue, clipt in one bound: And, from another, one reflected seem'd,
[1: "Three orbs of triple hue, clipt in one bound." The Trinity. This passage may be compared to what Plato, in his second Epistle, enigmatically says of a first, second, and third, and of the impossibility that the human soul should attain to what it desires to know of them, by means of anything akin to itself.]
As rainbow is from rainbow: and the third Seem'd fire, breathed equally from both. O speech!
How feeble and how faint art thou, to give Conception birth. Yet this to what I saw Is less than little. O eternal Light!
Sole in Thyself that dwell'st; and of Thyself Sole understood, past, present, or to come;
Thou smiledst, on that circling, which in Thee Seem'd as reflected splendour, while I mused;
For I therein, methought, in its own hue Beheld our image painted: steadfastly I therefore pored upon the view. As one, Who versed in geometric lore, would fain Measure the circle; and, though pondering long And deeply, that beginning, which he needs, Finds not: e'en such was I, intent to scan The novel wonder, and trace out the form, How to the circle fitted, and therein How placed: but the flight was not for my wing;
Had not a flash darted athwart my mind, And, in the spleen, unfolded what it sought.
[2: "That circling." The second of the circles, "Light of Light," in which he dimly beheld the mystery of the Incarnation.]
Here vigour fail'd the towering fantasy: But yet the will roll'd onward, like a wheel In even motion, by the Love impell'd, That moves the sun in Heaven and all the stars.
Argument
St. Bernard supplicates the Virgin Mary that Dante may have grace given him to contemplate the brightness of the Divine Majesty, which is accordingly granted; and Dante then himself prays to God for ability to show forth some part of the celestial glory in his writings. Lastly, he is admitted to a glimpse of the great mystery; the Trinity, and the Union of Man with God.
"O Virgin Mother, daughter of thy Son!
Created beings all in lowliness Surpassing, as in height above them all;
Term by the eternal counsel pre - ordain'd;
Ennobler of thy nature, so advanced In thee, that its great Maker did not scorn, To make Himself his own creation;
For in thy womb rekindling shone the love Reveal'd, whose genial influence makes now This flower to germin in eternal peace: Here thou to us, of charity and love, Art, as the noon - day torch; and art, beneath, To mortal men, of hope a living spring.
So mighty art thou, Lady, and so great, That he, who grace desireth, and comes not To thee for aidance, fain would have desire Fly without wings. Not only him, who asks, Thy bounty succours; but doth freely oft Forerun the asking. Whatsoe'er may be Of excellence in creature, pity mild, Relenting mercy, large munificence, Are all combined in thee. Here kneeleth one, Who of all spirits hath review'd the state, From the world's lowest gap unto this height.
Suppliant to thee he kneels, imploring grace For virtue yet more high, to lift his ken Toward the bliss supreme. And I, who ne'er Coveted sight, more fondly, for myself, Than now for him, my prayers to thee prefer, (And pray they be not scant), that thou wouldst Each cloud of his mortality away, [drive Through thine own prayers, that on the sovran joy Unveil'd he gaze. This yet, I pray thee, Queen, Who canst do what thou wilt; that in him thou Wouldst, after all he hath beheld, preserve Affection sound, and human passions quell.
Lo! where, with Beatrice, many a saint Stretch their clasp'd hands, in furtherance of my suit."
The eyes, that Heaven with love and awe regards, Fix'd on the suitor, witness'd, how benign She looks on pious prayers: then fasten'd they On the everlasting light, wherein no eye Of creature, as may well be thought, so far Can travel inward. I, meanwhile, who drew Near to the limit, where all wishes end, The ardour of my wish (for so behoved)
Ended within me. Beckoning smiled the sage, That I should look aloft: but, ere he bade, Already of myself aloft I look'd;
For visual strength, refining more and more, Bare me into the ray authentical Of sovran light. Thenceforward, what I saw, Was not for words to speak, nor memory's self To stand against such outrage on her skill.
As one, who from a dream awaken'd, straight, All he hath seen forgets; yet still retains Impression of the feeling in his dream;
E'en such am I: for all the vision dies, As 'twere, away; and yet the sense of sweet, That sprang from it, still trickles in my heart.
Thus in the sun - thaw is the snow unseal'd;
Thus in the winds on flitting leaves was lost The Sibyl's sentence. O eternal beam! [soar?]
(Whose height what reach of mortal thought may Yield me again some little particle Of what Thou then appearedst; give my tongue Power, but to leave one sparkle of Thy glory, Unto the race to come, that shall not lose Thy triumph wholly, if Thou waken aught Of memory in me, and endure to hear The record sound in this unequal strain.
Such keenness from the living ray I met, That, if mine eyes had turn'd away, methinks, I had been lost; but, so embolden'd, on I pass'd, as I remember, till my view Hover'd the brink of dread infinitude.
O grace, unenvying of Thy boon! that gavest Boldness to fix so earnestly my ken On the everlasting splendour, that I look'd, While sight was unconsumed, and, in that depth, Saw in one volume clasp'd of love, whate'er The universe unfolds; all properties Of substance and of accident, beheld, Compounded, yet one individual light The whole. And of such bond methinks I saw The universal form; for that whene'er I do but speak of it, my soul dilates Beyond her proper self; and, till I speak, One moment seems a longer lethargy, Than five - and - twenty ages had appear'd To that emprize, that first made Neptune wonder At Argo's shadow darkening on his flood.
With fixed heed, suspense and motionless, Wondering I gazed; and admiration still Was kindled as I gazed. It may not be, That one, who looks upon that light, can turn To other object, willingly, his view.
For all the good, that will may covet, there Is summ'd; and all, elsewhere defective found, Complete. My tongue shall utter now, no more E'en what remembrance keeps, than could the babe's That yet is moisten'd at his mother's breast.
Not that the semblance of the living light Was changed, (that ever as at first remain'd),
But that my vision quickening, in that sole Appearance, still new miracles descried, And toil'd me with the change. In that abyss Of radiance, clear and lofty, seem'd, methought, Three orbs of triple hue, clipt in one bound: And, from another, one reflected seem'd,
[1: "Three orbs of triple hue, clipt in one bound." The Trinity. This passage may be compared to what Plato, in his second Epistle, enigmatically says of a first, second, and third, and of the impossibility that the human soul should attain to what it desires to know of them, by means of anything akin to itself.]
As rainbow is from rainbow: and the third Seem'd fire, breathed equally from both. O speech!
How feeble and how faint art thou, to give Conception birth. Yet this to what I saw Is less than little. O eternal Light!
Sole in Thyself that dwell'st; and of Thyself Sole understood, past, present, or to come;
Thou smiledst, on that circling, which in Thee Seem'd as reflected splendour, while I mused;
For I therein, methought, in its own hue Beheld our image painted: steadfastly I therefore pored upon the view. As one, Who versed in geometric lore, would fain Measure the circle; and, though pondering long And deeply, that beginning, which he needs, Finds not: e'en such was I, intent to scan The novel wonder, and trace out the form, How to the circle fitted, and therein How placed: but the flight was not for my wing;
Had not a flash darted athwart my mind, And, in the spleen, unfolded what it sought.
[2: "That circling." The second of the circles, "Light of Light," in which he dimly beheld the mystery of the Incarnation.]
Here vigour fail'd the towering fantasy: But yet the will roll'd onward, like a wheel In even motion, by the Love impell'd, That moves the sun in Heaven and all the stars.
