Inasmuch as the instantaneous flight
  Had scattered them asunder o'er the plain,
  Turned to the mountain whither reason spurs us,

I pressed me close unto my faithful comrade,
  And how without him had I kept my course?
  Who would have led me up along the mountain?

He seemed to me within himself remorseful;
  O noble conscience, and without a stain,
  How sharp a sting is trivial fault to thee!

After his feet had laid aside the haste
  Which mars the dignity of every act,
  My mind, that hitherto had been restrained,

Let loose its faculties as if delighted,
  And I my sight directed to the hill
  That highest tow'rds the heaven uplifts itself.

The sun, that in our rear was flaming red,
  Was broken in front of me into the figure
  Which had in me the stoppage of its rays;

Unto one side I turned me, with the fear
  Of being left alone, when I beheld
  Only in front of me the ground obscured.

"Why dost thou still mistrust?" my Comforter
  Began to say to me turned wholly round;
  "Dost thou not think me with thee, and that I guide thee?

'Tis evening there already where is buried
  The body within which I cast a shadow;
  'Tis from Brundusium ta'en, and Naples has it.

Now if in front of me no shadow fall,
  Marvel not at it more than at the heavens,
  Because one ray impedeth not another

To suffer torments, both of cold and heat,
  Bodies like this that Power provides, which wills
  That how it works be not unveiled to us.

Insane is he who hopeth that our reason
  Can traverse the illimitable way,
  Which the one Substance in three Persons follows!

Mortals, remain contented at the 'Quia;'
  For if ye had been able to see all,
  No need there were for Mary to give birth;

And ye have seen desiring without fruit,
  Those whose desire would have been quieted,
  Which evermore is given them for a grief.

I speak of Aristotle and of Plato,
  And many others;"--and here bowed his head,
  And more he said not, and remained disturbed.

We came meanwhile unto the mountain's foot;
  There so precipitate we found the rock,
  That nimble legs would there have been in vain.

'Twixt Lerici and Turbia, the most desert,
  The most secluded pathway is a stair
  Easy and open, if compared with that.

"Who knoweth now upon which hand the hill
  Slopes down," my Master said, his footsteps staying,
  "So that who goeth without wings may mount?"

And while he held his eyes upon the ground
  Examining the nature of the path,
  And I was looking up around the rock,

On the left hand appeared to me a throng
  Of souls, that moved their feet in our direction,
  And did not seem to move, they came so slowly.

"Lift up thine eyes," I to the Master said;
  "Behold, on this side, who will give us counsel,
  If thou of thine own self can have it not."

Then he looked at me, and with frank expression
  Replied: "Let us go there, for they come slowly,
  And thou be steadfast in thy hope, sweet son."

Still was that people as far off from us,
  After a thousand steps of ours I say,
  As a good thrower with his hand would reach,

When they all crowded unto the hard masses
  Of the high bank, and motionless stood and close,
  As he stands still to look who goes in doubt.

"O happy dead!  O spirits elect already!"
  Virgilius made beginning, "by that peace
  Which I believe is waiting for you all,