Down unto Mary, when the Son of God
Vouchsaf’d to clothe him in terrestrial weeds. 
Now let thine eyes wait heedful on my words,
And note thou of this just and pious realm
The chiefest nobles.  Those, highest in bliss,
The twain, on each hand next our empress thron’d,
Are as it were two roots unto this rose. 
He to the left, the parent, whose rash taste
Proves bitter to his seed; and, on the right,
That ancient father of the holy church,
Into whose keeping Christ did give the keys
Of this sweet flow’r:  near whom behold the seer,
That, ere he died, saw all the grievous times
Of the fair bride, who with the lance and nails
Was won.  And, near unto the other, rests
The leader, under whom on manna fed
Th’ ungrateful nation, fickle and perverse. 
On th’ other part, facing to Peter, lo! 
Where Anna sits, so well content to look
On her lov’d daughter, that with moveless eye
She chants the loud hosanna:  while, oppos’d
To the first father of your mortal kind,
Is Lucia, at whose hest thy lady sped,
When on the edge of ruin clos’d thine eye. 
     “But (for the vision hasteneth so an end)
Here break we off, as the good workman doth,
That shapes the cloak according to the cloth: 
And to the primal love our ken shall rise;
That thou mayst penetrate the brightness, far
As sight can bear thee.  Yet, alas! in sooth
Beating thy pennons, thinking to advance,
Thou backward fall’st.  Grace then must first be gain’d;
Her grace, whose might can help thee.  Thou in prayer
Seek her:  and, with affection, whilst I sue,
Attend, and yield me all thy heart.”  He said,
And thus the saintly orison began.

CANTO XXXIII

“O virgin mother, daughter of thy Son,
Created beings all in lowliness
Surpassing, as in height, above them all,
Term by th’ eternal counsel pre-ordain’d,
Ennobler of thy nature, so advanc’d
In thee, that its great Maker did not scorn,
Himself, in his own work enclos’d to dwell! 
For in thy womb rekindling shone the love
Reveal’d, whose genial influence makes now
This flower to germin in eternal peace! 
Here thou to us, of charity and love,
Art, as the noon-day torch:  and art, beneath,
To mortal men, of hope a living spring. 
So mighty art thou, lady! and so great,
That he who grace desireth, and comes not
To thee for aidance, fain would have desire
Fly without wings.  Nor only him who asks,
Thy bounty succours, but doth freely oft
Forerun the asking.  Whatsoe’er may be
Of excellence in creature, pity mild,
Relenting mercy, large munificence,
Are all combin’d in thee.  Here kneeleth one,
Who of all spirits hath review’d the state,
From the world’s lowest gap unto this height. 
Suppliant to thee he kneels, imploring grace
For virtue, yet more high to lift his ken