No nearer reach’d him, than my thought his words,
The branches of another fruit, thick hung,
And blooming fresh, appear’d.  E’en as our steps
Turn’d thither, not far off it rose to view. 
Beneath it were a multitude, that rais’d
Their hands, and shouted forth I know not What
Unto the boughs; like greedy and fond brats,
That beg, and answer none obtain from him,
Of whom they beg; but more to draw them on,
He at arm’s length the object of their wish
Above them holds aloft, and hides it not. 
     At length, as undeceiv’d they went their way: 
And we approach the tree, who vows and tears
Sue to in vain, the mighty tree.  “Pass on,
And come not near.  Stands higher up the wood,
Whereof Eve tasted, and from it was ta’en
’this plant.”  Such sounds from midst the thickets came. 
Whence I, with either bard, close to the side
That rose, pass’d forth beyond.  “Remember,” next
We heard, “those noblest creatures of the clouds,
How they their twofold bosoms overgorg’d
Oppos’d in fight to Theseus:  call to mind
The Hebrews, how effeminate they stoop’d
To ease their thirst; whence Gideon’s ranks were thinn’d,
As he to Midian march’d adown the hills.” 
     Thus near one border coasting, still we heard
The sins of gluttony, with woe erewhile
Reguerdon’d.  Then along the lonely path,
Once more at large, full thousand paces on
We travel’d, each contemplative and mute. 
     “Why pensive journey thus ye three alone?”
Thus suddenly a voice exclaim’d:  whereat
I shook, as doth a scar’d and paltry beast;
Then rais’d my head to look from whence it came. 
     Was ne’er, in furnace, glass, or metal seen
So bright and glowing red, as was the shape
I now beheld.  “If ye desire to mount,”
He cried, “here must ye turn.  This way he goes,
Who goes in quest of peace.”  His countenance
Had dazzled me; and to my guides I fac’d
Backward, like one who walks, as sound directs. 
     As when, to harbinger the dawn, springs up
On freshen’d wing the air of May, and breathes
Of fragrance, all impregn’d with herb and flowers,
E’en such a wind I felt upon my front
Blow gently, and the moving of a wing
Perceiv’d, that moving shed ambrosial smell;
And then a voice:  “Blessed are they, whom grace
Doth so illume, that appetite in them
Exhaleth no inordinate desire,
Still hung’ring as the rule of temperance wills.”

CANTO XXV

It was an hour, when he who climbs, had need
To walk uncrippled:  for the sun had now
To Taurus the meridian circle left,
And to the Scorpion left the night.  As one
That makes no pause, but presses on his road,
Whate’er betide him, if some urgent need
Impel:  so enter’d we upon our way,
One before other; for, but singly, none
That steep and narrow scale admits to climb.