“This fair assemblage! stoles of snowy white
How numberless!  The city, where we dwell,
Behold how vast! and these our seats so throng’d
Few now are wanting here!  In that proud stall,
On which, the crown, already o’er its state
Suspended, holds thine eyes—­or ere thyself
Mayst at the wedding sup,—­shall rest the soul
Of the great Harry, he who, by the world
Augustas hail’d, to Italy must come,
Before her day be ripe.  But ye are sick,
And in your tetchy wantonness as blind,
As is the bantling, that of hunger dies,
And drives away the nurse.  Nor may it be,
That he, who in the sacred forum sways,
Openly or in secret, shall with him
Accordant walk:  Whom God will not endure
I’ th’ holy office long; but thrust him down
To Simon Magus, where Magna’s priest
Will sink beneath him:  such will be his meed.”

CANTO XXXI

In fashion, as a snow-white rose, lay then
Before my view the saintly multitude,
Which in his own blood Christ espous’d.  Meanwhile
That other host, that soar aloft to gaze
And celebrate his glory, whom they love,
Hover’d around; and, like a troop of bees,
Amid the vernal sweets alighting now,
Now, clustering, where their fragrant labour glows,
Flew downward to the mighty flow’r, or rose
From the redundant petals, streaming back
Unto the steadfast dwelling of their joy. 
Faces had they of flame, and wings of gold;
The rest was whiter than the driven snow. 
And as they flitted down into the flower,
From range to range, fanning their plumy loins,
Whisper’d the peace and ardour, which they won
From that soft winnowing.  Shadow none, the vast
Interposition of such numerous flight
Cast, from above, upon the flower, or view
Obstructed aught.  For, through the universe,
Wherever merited, celestial light
Glides freely, and no obstacle prevents. 
     All there, who reign in safety and in bliss,
Ages long past or new, on one sole mark
Their love and vision fix’d.  O trinal beam
Of individual star, that charmst them thus,
Vouchsafe one glance to gild our storm below! 
     If the grim brood, from Arctic shores that roam’d,
(Where helice, forever, as she wheels,
Sparkles a mother’s fondness on her son)
Stood in mute wonder ’mid the works of Rome,
When to their view the Lateran arose
In greatness more than earthly; I, who then
From human to divine had past, from time
Unto eternity, and out of Florence
To justice and to truth, how might I choose
But marvel too?  ’Twixt gladness and amaze,
In sooth no will had I to utter aught,
Or hear.  And, as a pilgrim, when he rests
Within the temple of his vow, looks round
In breathless awe, and hopes some time to tell
Of all its goodly state:  e’en so mine eyes
Cours’d up and down along the living light,