And without boasting, so God give him grace.” 
Like to the scholar, practis’d in his task,
Who, willing to give proof of diligence,
Seconds his teacher gladly, “Hope,” said I,
“Is of the joy to come a sure expectance,
Th’ effect of grace divine and merit preceding. 
This light from many a star visits my heart,
But flow’d to me the first from him, who sang
The songs of the Supreme, himself supreme
Among his tuneful brethren.  ’Let all hope
In thee,’ so speak his anthem, ’who have known
Thy name;’ and with my faith who know not that? 
From thee, the next, distilling from his spring,
In thine epistle, fell on me the drops
So plenteously, that I on others shower
The influence of their dew.”  Whileas I spake,
A lamping, as of quick and vollied lightning,
Within the bosom of that mighty sheen,
Play’d tremulous; then forth these accents breath’d: 
“Love for the virtue which attended me
E’en to the palm, and issuing from the field,
Glows vigorous yet within me, and inspires
To ask of thee, whom also it delights;
What promise thou from hope in chief dost win.” 
     “Both scriptures, new and ancient,” I reply’d;
“Propose the mark (which even now I view)
For souls belov’d of God.  Isaias saith,
     That, in their own land, each one must be clad
In twofold vesture; and their proper lands this delicious life. 
In terms more full,
And clearer far, thy brother hath set forth
This revelation to us, where he tells
Of the white raiment destin’d to the saints.” 
And, as the words were ending, from above,
“They hope in thee,” first heard we cried:  whereto
Answer’d the carols all.  Amidst them next,
A light of so clear amplitude emerg’d,
That winter’s month were but a single day,
Were such a crystal in the Cancer’s sign. 
     Like as a virgin riseth up, and goes,
And enters on the mazes of the dance,
Though gay, yet innocent of worse intent,
Than to do fitting honour to the bride;
So I beheld the new effulgence come
Unto the other two, who in a ring
Wheel’d, as became their rapture.  In the dance
And in the song it mingled.  And the dame
Held on them fix’d her looks:  e’en as the spouse
Silent and moveless.  “This is he, who lay
Upon the bosom of our pelican: 
This he, into whose keeping from the cross
The mighty charge was given.”  Thus she spake,
Yet therefore naught the more remov’d her Sight
From marking them, or ere her words began,
Or when they clos’d.  As he, who looks intent,
And strives with searching ken, how he may see
The sun in his eclipse, and, through desire
Of seeing, loseth power of sight:  so I
Peer’d on that last resplendence, while I heard: 
“Why dazzlest thou thine eyes in seeking that,
Which here abides not?  Earth my body is,
In earth:  and shall be, with the rest, so long,
As till our number equal the decree