prayers
To hasten on their state of blessedness;
Straight I began:  “O thou, my luminary! 
It seems expressly in thy text denied,
That heaven’s supreme decree can never bend
To supplication; yet with this design
Do these entreat.  Can then their hope be vain,
Or is thy saying not to me reveal’d?”
     He thus to me:  “Both what I write is plain,
And these deceiv’d not in their hope, if well
Thy mind consider, that the sacred height
Of judgment doth not stoop, because love’s flame
In a short moment all fulfils, which he
Who sojourns here, in right should satisfy. 
Besides, when I this point concluded thus,
By praying no defect could be supplied;
Because the pray’r had none access to God. 
Yet in this deep suspicion rest thou not
Contented unless she assure thee so,
Who betwixt truth and mind infuses light. 
I know not if thou take me right; I mean
Beatrice.  Her thou shalt behold above,
Upon this mountain’s crown, fair seat of joy.” 
     Then I:  “Sir! let us mend our speed; for now
I tire not as before; and lo! the hill
Stretches its shadow far.”  He answer’d thus: 
“Our progress with this day shall be as much
As we may now dispatch; but otherwise
Than thou supposest is the truth.  For there
Thou canst not be, ere thou once more behold
Him back returning, who behind the steep
Is now so hidden, that as erst his beam
Thou dost not break.  But lo! a spirit there
Stands solitary, and toward us looks: 
It will instruct us in the speediest way.” 
     We soon approach’d it.  O thou Lombard spirit! 
How didst thou stand, in high abstracted mood,
Scarce moving with slow dignity thine eyes! 
It spoke not aught, but let us onward pass,
Eyeing us as a lion on his watch. 
I3ut Virgil with entreaty mild advanc’d,
Requesting it to show the best ascent. 
It answer to his question none return’d,
But of our country and our kind of life
Demanded.  When my courteous guide began,
“Mantua,” the solitary shadow quick
Rose towards us from the place in which it stood,
And cry’d, “Mantuan!  I am thy countryman
Sordello.”  Each the other then embrac’d. 
     Ah slavish Italy! thou inn of grief,
Vessel without a pilot in loud storm,
Lady no longer of fair provinces,
But brothel-house impure! this gentle spirit,
Ev’n from the Pleasant sound of his dear land
Was prompt to greet a fellow citizen
With such glad cheer; while now thy living ones
In thee abide not without war; and one
Malicious gnaws another, ay of those
Whom the same wall and the same moat contains,
Seek, wretched one! around thy sea-coasts wide;
Then homeward to thy bosom turn, and mark
If any part of the sweet peace enjoy. 
What boots it, that thy reins Justinian’s hand
Befitted, if thy saddle be unpress’d? 
Nought doth he now but aggravate thy shame.