Sojourns less distant on his homeward way,
Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fled
My slumber; whence I rose and saw my guide
Already risen.  “That delicious fruit,
Which through so many a branch the zealous care
Of mortals roams in quest of, shall this day
Appease thy hunger.”  Such the words I heard
From Virgil’s lip; and never greeting heard
So pleasant as the sounds.  Within me straight
Desire so grew upon desire to mount,
Thenceforward at each step I felt the wings
Increasing for my flight.  When we had run
O’er all the ladder to its topmost round,
As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fix’d
His eyes, and thus he spake:  “Both fires, my son,
The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen,
And art arriv’d, where of itself my ken
No further reaches.  I with skill and art
Thus far have drawn thee.  Now thy pleasure take
For guide.  Thou hast o’ercome the steeper way,
O’ercome the straighter.  Lo! the sun, that darts
His beam upon thy forehead! lo! the herb,
The arboreta and flowers, which of itself
This land pours forth profuse!  Till those bright eyes
With gladness come, which, weeping, made me haste
To succour thee, thou mayst or seat thee down,
Or wander where thou wilt.  Expect no more
Sanction of warning voice or sign from me,
Free of thy own arbitrement to choose,
Discreet, judicious.  To distrust thy sense
Were henceforth error.  I invest thee then
With crown and mitre, sovereign o’er thyself.”

CANTO XXVIII

Through that celestial forest, whose thick shade
With lively greenness the new-springing day
Attemper’d, eager now to roam, and search
Its limits round, forthwith I left the bank,
Along the champain leisurely my way
Pursuing, o’er the ground, that on all sides
Delicious odour breath’d.  A pleasant air,
That intermitted never, never veer’d,
Smote on my temples, gently, as a wind
Of softest influence:  at which the sprays,
Obedient all, lean’d trembling to that part
Where first the holy mountain casts his shade,
Yet were not so disorder’d, but that still
Upon their top the feather’d quiristers
Applied their wonted art, and with full joy
Welcom’d those hours of prime, and warbled shrill
Amid the leaves, that to their jocund lays
inept tenor; even as from branch to branch,
Along the piney forests on the shore
Of Chiassi, rolls the gath’ring melody,
When Eolus hath from his cavern loos’d
The dripping south.  Already had my steps,
Though slow, so far into that ancient wood
Transported me, I could not ken the place
Where I had enter’d, when behold! my path
Was bounded by a rill, which to the left
With little rippling waters bent the grass,
That issued from its brink.  On earth no wave
How clean soe’er, that would not seem to have