And now the visage of that saintly light
Was to the sun, that fills it, turn’d again,
As to the good, whose plenitude of bliss
Sufficeth all.  O ye misguided souls! 
Infatuate, who from such a good estrange
Your hearts, and bend your gaze on vanity,
Alas for you!—­And lo! toward me, next,
Another of those splendent forms approach’d,
That, by its outward bright’ning, testified
The will it had to pleasure me.  The eyes
Of Beatrice, resting, as before,
Firmly upon me, manifested forth
Approval of my wish.  “And O,” I cried,
“Blest spirit! quickly be my will perform’d;
And prove thou to me, that my inmost thoughts
I can reflect on thee.”  Thereat the light,
That yet was new to me, from the recess,
Where it before was singing, thus began,
As one who joys in kindness:  “In that part
Of the deprav’d Italian land, which lies
Between Rialto, and the fountain-springs
Of Brenta and of Piava, there doth rise,
But to no lofty eminence, a hill,
From whence erewhile a firebrand did descend,
That sorely sheet the region.  From one root
I and it sprang; my name on earth Cunizza: 
And here I glitter, for that by its light
This star o’ercame me.  Yet I naught repine,
Nor grudge myself the cause of this my lot,
Which haply vulgar hearts can scarce conceive.

“This jewel, that is next me in our heaven,
Lustrous and costly, great renown hath left,
And not to perish, ere these hundred years
Five times absolve their round.  Consider thou,
If to excel be worthy man’s endeavour,
When such life may attend the first.  Yet they
Care not for this, the crowd that now are girt
By Adice and Tagliamento, still
Impenitent, tho’ scourg’d.  The hour is near,
When for their stubbornness at Padua’s marsh
The water shall be chang’d, that laves Vicena
And where Cagnano meets with Sile, one
Lords it, and bears his head aloft, for whom
The web is now a-warping.  Feltro too
Shall sorrow for its godless shepherd’s fault,
Of so deep stain, that never, for the like,
Was Malta’s bar unclos’d.  Too large should be
The skillet, that would hold Ferrara’s blood,
And wearied he, who ounce by ounce would weight it,
The which this priest, in show of party-zeal,
Courteous will give; nor will the gift ill suit
The country’s custom.  We descry above,
Mirrors, ye call them thrones, from which to us
Reflected shine the judgments of our God: 
Whence these our sayings we avouch for good.”

She ended, and appear’d on other thoughts
Intent, re-ent’ring on the wheel she late
Had left.  That other joyance meanwhile wax’d
A thing to marvel at, in splendour glowing,
Like choicest ruby stricken by the sun,
For, in that upper clime, effulgence comes
Of gladness, as here laughter:  and below,
As the mind saddens, murkier grows the shade.