Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50)

by Homer

  Both which, if truth be spoken, were ordain’d

  And ‘stablish’d for the holy place, where sits

  Who to great Peter’s sacred chair succeeds.

  He from this journey, in thy song renown’d,

  Learn’d things, that to his victory gave rise

  And to the papal robe. In after-times

  The chosen vessel also travel’d there,

  To bring us back assurance in that faith,

  Which is the entrance to salvation’s way.

  But I, why should I there presume? or who

  Permits it? not, Aeneas I nor Paul.

  Myself I deem not worthy, and none else

  Will deem me. I, if on this voyage then

  I venture, fear it will in folly end.

  Thou, who art wise, better my meaning know’st,

  Than I can speak.” As one, who unresolves

  What he hath late resolv’d, and with new thoughts

  Changes his purpose, from his first intent

  Remov’d; e’en such was I on that dun coast,

  Wasting in thought my enterprise, at first

  So eagerly embrac’d. “If right thy words

  I scan,” replied that shade magnanimous,

  “Thy soul is by vile fear assail’d, which oft

  So overcasts a man, that he recoils

  From noblest resolution, like a beast

  At some false semblance in the twilight gloom.

  That from this terror thou mayst free thyself,

  I will instruct thee why I came, and what

  I heard in that same instant, when for thee

  Grief touch’d me first. I was among the tribe,

  Who rest suspended, when a dame, so blest

  And lovely, I besought her to command,

  Call’d me; her eyes were brighter than the star

  Of day; and she with gentle voice and soft

  Angelically tun’d her speech address’d:

  “O courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fame

  Yet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts!

  A friend, not of my fortune but myself,

  On the wide desert in his road has met

  Hindrance so great, that he through fear has turn’d.

  Now much I dread lest he past help have stray’d,

  And I be ris’n too late for his relief,

  From what in heaven of him I heard. Speed now,

  And by thy eloquent persuasive tongue,

  And by all means for his deliverance meet,

  Assist him. So to me will comfort spring.

  I who now bid thee on this errand forth

  Am Beatrice; from a place I come.

  (Note: Beatrice. I use this word, as it is pronounced in the Italian, as consisting of four syllables, of which the third is a long one.) Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence, Who prompts my speech. When in my Master’s sight I stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell.”

  She then was silent, and I thus began:

  “O Lady! by whose influence alone,

  Mankind excels whatever is contain’d

  Within that heaven which hath the smallest orb,

  So thy command delights me, that to obey,

  If it were done already, would seem late.

  No need hast thou farther to speak thy will;

  Yet tell the reason, why thou art not loth

  To leave that ample space, where to return

  Thou burnest, for this centre here beneath.”

  She then: “Since thou so deeply wouldst inquire,

  I will instruct thee briefly, why no dread

  Hinders my entrance here. Those things alone

  Are to be fear’d, whence evil may proceed,

  None else, for none are terrible beside.

  I am so fram’d by God, thanks to his grace!

  That any suff’rance of your misery

  Touches me not, nor flame of that fierce fire

  Assails me. In high heaven a blessed dame

  Besides, who mourns with such effectual grief

  That hindrance, which I send thee to remove,

  That God’s stern judgment to her will inclines.”

  To Lucia calling, her she thus bespake:

  “Now doth thy faithful servant need thy aid

  And I commend him to thee.” At her word

  Sped Lucia, of all cruelty the foe,

  And coming to the place, where I abode

  Seated with Rachel, her of ancient days,

  She thus address’d me: “Thou true praise of God!

  Beatrice! why is not thy succour lent

  To him, who so much lov’d thee, as to leave

  For thy sake all the multitude admires?

  Dost thou not hear how pitiful his wail,

  Nor mark the death, which in the torrent flood,

  Swoln mightier than a sea, him struggling holds?”

  Ne’er among men did any with such speed

  Haste to their profit, flee from their annoy,

  As when these words were spoken, I came here,

  Down from my blessed seat, trusting the force

  Of thy pure eloquence, which thee, and all

  Who well have mark’d it, into honour brings.”

  “When she had ended, her bright beaming eyes

  Tearful she turn’d aside; whereat I felt

  Redoubled zeal to serve thee. As she will’d,

  Thus am I come: I sav’d thee from the beast,

  Who thy near way across the goodly mount

  Prevented. What is this comes o’er thee then?

  Why, why dost thou hang back? why in thy breast

  Harbour vile fear? why hast not courage there

  And noble daring? Since three maids so blest

  Thy safety plan, e’en in the court of heaven;

  And so much certain good my words forebode.”

  As florets, by the frosty air of night

  Bent down and clos’d, when day has blanch’d their leaves,

  Rise all unfolded on their spiry stems;

  So was my fainting vigour new restor’d,

  And to my heart such kindly courage ran,

  That I as one undaunted soon replied:

  “O full of pity she, who undertook

  My succour! and thou kind who didst perform

  So soon her true behest! With such desire

  Thou hast dispos’d me to renew my voyage,

  That my first purpose fully is resum’d.

  Lead on: one only will is in us both.

  Thou art my guide, my master thou, and lord.”

  So spake I; and when he had onward mov’d,

  I enter’d on the deep and woody way.

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  The Inferno Canto III (All hope abandon ye who enter here)

  Durante degli Alighieri (c. 1265–1321)

  “THROUGH me you pass into the city of woe:

  Through me you pass into eternal pain:

  Through me among the people lost for aye.

  Justice the founder of my fabric mov’d:

  To rear me was the task of power divine,

  Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.

  Before me things create were none, save things

  Eternal, and eternal I endure.

  “All hope abandon ye who enter here.”

  Such characters in colour dim I mark’d

  Over a portal’s lofty arch inscrib’d:

  Whereat I thus: “Master, these words import

  Hard meaning.” He as one prepar’d replied:

  “Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave;

  Here be vile fear extinguish’d. We are come

  Where I have told thee we shall see the souls

  To misery doom’d, who intellectual good

  Have lost.” And when his hand he had stretch’d forth

  To mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheer’d,

&nbs
p; Into that secret place he led me on.

  Here sighs with lamentations and loud moans

  Resounded through the air pierc’d by no star,

  That e’en I wept at entering. Various tongues,

  Horrible languages, outcries of woe,

  Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse,

  With hands together smote that swell’d the sounds,

  Made up a tumult, that for ever whirls

  Round through that air with solid darkness stain’d,

  Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.

  I then, with error yet encompass’d, cried:

  “O master! What is this I hear? What race

  Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?”

  He thus to me: “This miserable fate

  Suffer the wretched souls of those, who liv’d

  Without or praise or blame, with that ill band

  Of angels mix’d, who nor rebellious prov’d

  Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves

  Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth,

  Not to impair his lustre, nor the depth

  Of Hell receives them, lest th’ accursed tribe

  Should glory thence with exultation vain.”

  I then: “Master! what doth aggrieve them thus,

  That they lament so loud?” He straight replied:

  “That will I tell thee briefly. These of death

  No hope may entertain: and their blind life

  So meanly passes, that all other lots

  They envy. Fame of them the world hath none,

  Nor suffers; mercy and justice scorn them both.

  Speak not of them, but look, and pass them by.”

  And I, who straightway look’d, beheld a flag,

  Which whirling ran around so rapidly,

  That it no pause obtain’d: and following came

  Such a long train of spirits, I should ne’er

  Have thought, that death so many had despoil’d.

  When some of these I recogniz’d, I saw

  And knew the shade of him, who to base fear

  Yielding, abjur’d his high estate. Forthwith

  I understood for certain this the tribe

  Of those ill spirits both to God displeasing

  And to his foes. These wretches, who ne’er lived,

  Went on in nakedness, and sorely stung

  By wasps and hornets, which bedew’d their cheeks

  With blood, that mix’d with tears dropp’d to their feet,

  And by disgustful worms was gather’d there.

  Then looking farther onwards I beheld

  A throng upon the shore of a great stream:

  Whereat I thus: “Sir! grant me now to know

  Whom here we view, and whence impell’d they seem

  So eager to pass o’er, as I discern

  Through the blear light?” He thus to me in few:

  “This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arrive

  Beside the woeful tide of Acheron.”

  Then with eyes downward cast and fill’d with shame,

  Fearing my words offensive to his ear,

  Till we had reach’d the river, I from speech

  Abstain’d. And lo! toward us in a bark

  Comes on an old man hoary white with eld,

  Crying, “Woe to you wicked spirits! hope not

  Ever to see the sky again. I come

  To take you to the other shore across,

  Into eternal darkness, there to dwell

  In fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who there

  Standest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leave

  These who are dead.” But soon as he beheld

  I left them not, “By other way,” said he,

  “By other haven shalt thou come to shore,

  Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boat

  Must carry.” Then to him thus spake my guide:

  “Charon! thyself torment not: so ‘t is will’d,

  Where will and power are one: ask thou no more.”

  Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeks

  Of him the boatman o’er the livid lake,

  Around whose eyes glar’d wheeling flames. Meanwhile

  Those spirits, faint and naked, color chang’d,

  And gnash’d their teeth, soon as the cruel words

  They heard. God and their parents they blasphem’d,

  The human kind, the place, the time, and seed

  That did engender them and give them birth.

  Then all together sorely wailing drew

  To the curs’d strand, that every man must pass

  Who fears not God. Charon, demoniac form,

  With eyes of burning coal, collects them all,

  Beck’ning, and each, that lingers, with his oar

  Strikes. As fall off the light autumnal leaves,

  One still another following, till the bough

  Strews all its honours on the earth beneath;

  E’en in like manner Adam’s evil brood

  Cast themselves one by one down from the shore,

  Each at a beck, as falcon at his call.

  Thus go they over through the umber’d wave,

  And ever they on the opposing bank

  Be landed, on this side another throng

  Still gathers. “Son,” thus spake the courteous guide,

  “Those, who die subject to the wrath of God,

  All here together come from every clime,

  And to o’erpass the river are not loth:

  For so heaven’s justice goads them on, that fear

  Is turn’d into desire. Hence ne’er hath past

  Good spirit. If of thee Charon complain,

  Now mayst thou know the import of his words.”

  This said, the gloomy region trembling shook

  So terribly, that yet with clammy dews

  Fear chills my brow. The sad earth gave a blast,

  That, lightening, shot forth a vermilion flame,

  Which all my senses conquer’d quite, and I

  Down dropp’d, as one with sudden slumber seiz’d.

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  Poems from ‘La Vita Nuova’

  Translated by Charles Eliot Norton

  Durante degli Alighieri (c. 1265–1321)

  III.

  To every captive soul and gentle heart

  Unto whose sight may come the present word,

  That they thereof to me their thoughts impart,

  Be greeting in Love’s name, who is their Lord.

  Now of those hours wellnigh one third had gone

  What time doth every star appear most bright,

  When on a sudden Love before me shone,

  Remembrance of whose nature gives me fright.

  Joyful to me seemed Love, and he was keeping

  My heart within his hands, while on his arm

  He held my lady, covered o’er, and sleeping.

  Then waking her, he with this flaming heart

  Did humble feed her fearful of some harm.

  Thereon I saw him thence in tears depart.

  VII.

  O ye who turn your steps along Love’s way,

  Consider, and then say,

  If there be any grief than mine more great;

  That ye to hear me deign, I only pray;

  Then fancy, as ye may,

  If I am every torment’s inn and gate.

  ‘T was not my little goodness to repay,

  But bounty to display,

  Love gave me such a sweet and pleasant fate,

  That many times I heard behind me say,

  ”Ah, through what merit, pray,

  Hath this man’s heart become so light of late?”

  But now is wholly lost my hardihead,

  Which came from out a treasure of Love’s own,

  And I stay poor alone,

  So that of speech there cometh to me dre
ad.

  Thus wishing now to do like unto one

  Who, out of shame, concealeth his disgrace,

  I wear a joyful face,

  While in my heart I waste away and groan.

  VIII.

  Lovers, lament, since Love himself now cries,

  Hearing what cause ‘t is maketh him to weep.

  Love seëth ladies mourn in sorrow deep,

  Showing their bitter grieving through their eyes;

  Because discourteous Death, on gentle heart

  Working his cruel, unrelenting ways,

  Hath all despoiled which in the world wins praise

  For gentle dame, excepting honor’s part.

  Hear ye what honor Love to her did pay;

  For him in real form I saw lament

  Above the lovely image of the dead;

  And often toward the heaven he raised his head,

  Whereto the gentle soul had made ascent

  Which had been mistress of a shape so gay.

  Discourteous Death, of clemency the foe,

  Mother from old of woe,

  Thou judgment irresistible, severe,

  Since sorrow to this heart thou dost not spare,

  Therefore in grief I go,

  And blaming thee my very tongue outwear.

  And since I wish of grace to strip thee bare,

  Behoves me to declare

  The wrong of wrongs in this thy guilty blow;

  Not that the folk do not already know,

  But to make each thy foe,

  Who henceforth shall be nurtured with Love’s care,

  From out the world thou courtesy hast ta’en,

  And virtue, which in woman is to praise;

  And in youth’s gayest days

  The charm of love thou hast untimely slain.

  Who is this lady I will not declare,

  Save as her qualities do make her known;

  Who merits heaven, alone

  May have the hope her company to share.

  IX.

  As I the other day rode far from glad

  Along a way it pleased me not to take,

  I came on Love, who did his journey make,

  In the light garment of a pilgrim clad.

  His countenance, it seemed to me, was sad,

  As if he grieved for his lost lordship’s sake;