CANTO III

That sun, which erst with love my bosom warm’d
Had of fair truth unveil’d the sweet aspect,
By proof of right, and of the false reproof;
And I, to own myself convinc’d and free
Of doubt, as much as needed, rais’d my head
Erect for speech.  But soon a sight appear’d,
Which, so intent to mark it, held me fix’d,
That of confession I no longer thought. 
     As through translucent and smooth glass, or wave
Clear and unmov’d, and flowing not so deep
As that its bed is dark, the shape returns
So faint of our impictur’d lineaments,
That on white forehead set a pearl as strong
Comes to the eye:  such saw I many a face,
All stretch’d to speak, from whence I straight conceiv’d
Delusion opposite to that, which rais’d
Between the man and fountain, amorous flame. 
     Sudden, as I perceiv’d them, deeming these
Reflected semblances to see of whom
They were, I turn’d mine eyes, and nothing saw;
Then turn’d them back, directed on the light
Of my sweet guide, who smiling shot forth beams
From her celestial eyes.  “Wonder not thou,”
She cry’d, “at this my smiling, when I see
Thy childish judgment; since not yet on truth
It rests the foot, but, as it still is wont,
Makes thee fall back in unsound vacancy. 
True substances are these, which thou behold’st,
Hither through failure of their vow exil’d. 
But speak thou with them; listen, and believe,
That the true light, which fills them with desire,
Permits not from its beams their feet to stray.” 
     Straight to the shadow which for converse seem’d
Most earnest, I addressed me, and began,
As one by over-eagerness perplex’d: 
“O spirit, born for joy! who in the rays
Of life eternal, of that sweetness know’st
The flavour, which, not tasted, passes far
All apprehension, me it well would please,
If thou wouldst tell me of thy name, and this
Your station here.”  Whence she, with kindness prompt,
And eyes glist’ning with smiles:  “Our charity,
To any wish by justice introduc’d,
Bars not the door, no more than she above,
Who would have all her court be like herself. 
I was a virgin sister in the earth;
And if thy mind observe me well, this form,
With such addition grac’d of loveliness,
Will not conceal me long, but thou wilt know
Piccarda, in the tardiest sphere thus plac’d,
Here ’mid these other blessed also blest. 
Our hearts, whose high affections burn alone
With pleasure, from the Holy Spirit conceiv’d,
Admitted to his order dwell in joy. 
And this condition, which appears so low,
Is for this cause assign’d us, that our vows
Were in some part neglected and made void.” 
     Whence I to her replied:  “Something divine
Beams in your countenance, wond’rous fair,
From former knowledge quite transmuting you. 
Therefore to recollect was I so slow.