“How chances this?” was answer’d; “who so wish’d
To ascend by night, would he be thence debarr’d
By other, or through his own weakness fail?”

The good Sordello then, along the ground
Trailing his finger, spoke:  “Only this line
Thou shalt not overpass, soon as the sun
Hath disappear’d; not that aught else impedes
Thy going upwards, save the shades of night. 
These with the wont of power perplex the will. 
With them thou haply mightst return beneath,
Or to and fro around the mountain’s side
Wander, while day is in the horizon shut.”

My master straight, as wond’ring at his speech,
Exclaim’d:  “Then lead us quickly, where thou sayst,
That, while we stay, we may enjoy delight.”

A little space we were remov’d from thence,
When I perceiv’d the mountain hollow’d out. 
Ev’n as large valleys hollow’d out on earth,

“That way,” the’ escorting spirit cried, “we go,
Where in a bosom the high bank recedes: 
And thou await renewal of the day.”

Betwixt the steep and plain a crooked path
Led us traverse into the ridge’s side,
Where more than half the sloping edge expires. 
Refulgent gold, and silver thrice refin’d,
And scarlet grain and ceruse, Indian wood
Of lucid dye serene, fresh emeralds
But newly broken, by the herbs and flowers
Plac’d in that fair recess, in color all
Had been surpass’d, as great surpasses less. 
Nor nature only there lavish’d her hues,
But of the sweetness of a thousand smells
A rare and undistinguish’d fragrance made.

“Salve Regina,” on the grass and flowers
Here chanting I beheld those spirits sit
Who not beyond the valley could be seen.

“Before the west’ring sun sink to his bed,”
Began the Mantuan, who our steps had turn’d,

“’Mid those desires not that I lead ye on. 
For from this eminence ye shall discern
Better the acts and visages of all,
Than in the nether vale among them mix’d. 
He, who sits high above the rest, and seems
To have neglected that he should have done,
And to the others’ song moves not his lip,
The Emperor Rodolph call, who might have heal’d
The wounds whereof fair Italy hath died,
So that by others she revives but slowly,
He, who with kindly visage comforts him,
Sway’d in that country, where the water springs,
That Moldaw’s river to the Elbe, and Elbe
Rolls to the ocean:  Ottocar his name: 
Who in his swaddling clothes was of more worth
Than Winceslaus his son, a bearded man,
Pamper’d with rank luxuriousness and ease. 
And that one with the nose depress, who close
In counsel seems with him of gentle look,
Flying expir’d, with’ring the lily’s flower. 
Look there how he doth knock against his breast! 
The other ye behold, who for his cheek
Makes of one hand a couch, with frequent sighs. 
They are the father and the father-in-law
Of Gallia’s bane:  his vicious life they know
And foul; thence comes the grief that rends them thus.