“He, so robust of limb, who measure keeps
In song, with him of feature prominent,
With ev’ry virtue bore his girdle brac’d. 
And if that stripling who behinds him sits,
King after him had liv’d, his virtue then
From vessel to like vessel had been pour’d;
Which may not of the other heirs be said. 
By James and Frederick his realms are held;
Neither the better heritage obtains. 
Rarely into the branches of the tree
Doth human worth mount up; and so ordains
He who bestows it, that as his free gift
It may be call’d.  To Charles my words apply
No less than to his brother in the song;
Which Pouille and Provence now with grief confess. 
So much that plant degenerates from its seed,
As more than Beatrice and Margaret
Costanza still boasts of her valorous spouse.

“Behold the king of simple life and plain,
Harry of England, sitting there alone: 
He through his branches better issue spreads.

“That one, who on the ground beneath the rest
Sits lowest, yet his gaze directs aloft,
Us William, that brave Marquis, for whose cause
The deed of Alexandria and his war
Makes Conferrat and Canavese weep.”

CANTO VIII

Now was the hour that wakens fond desire
In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart,
Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell,
And pilgrim newly on his road with love
Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far,
That seems to mourn for the expiring day: 
When I, no longer taking heed to hear
Began, with wonder, from those spirits to mark
One risen from its seat, which with its hand
Audience implor’d.  Both palms it join’d and rais’d,
Fixing its steadfast gaze towards the east,
As telling God, “I care for naught beside.”

“Te Lucis Ante,” so devoutly then
Came from its lip, and in so soft a strain,
That all my sense in ravishment was lost. 
And the rest after, softly and devout,
Follow’d through all the hymn, with upward gaze
Directed to the bright supernal wheels.

Here, reader! for the truth makes thine eyes keen: 
For of so subtle texture is this veil,
That thou with ease mayst pass it through unmark’d.

I saw that gentle band silently next
Look up, as if in expectation held,
Pale and in lowly guise; and from on high
I saw forth issuing descend beneath
Two angels with two flame-illumin’d swords,
Broken and mutilated at their points. 
Green as the tender leaves but newly born,
Their vesture was, the which by wings as green
Beaten, they drew behind them, fann’d in air. 
A little over us one took his stand,
The other lighted on the’ Opposing hill,
So that the troop were in the midst contain’d.