Canto XXIX

She continued singing like a woman in love,

and when her words ended, she sang:

"Blessed are those whose sins are covered."

Like nymphs who once wandered alone through woodland shadows—

one seeking to avoid the sun, another yearning to see it—

she moved upstream along the bank,

and I walked beside her, matching her small steps with mine.

We had not taken a hundred paces

when both margins curved equally,

turning me to face the east.

We had not traveled much farther

when the lady turned completely toward me, saying:

"Brother, look and listen!"

Suddenly a brilliant light swept across

the vast forest on every side,

so intense I wondered if it was lightning.

But lightning ceases as it comes,

while this light continued, growing brighter and brighter.

I thought to myself: "What is this?"

A ravishing melody flowed

through the luminous air, and holy fervor

made me condemn Eve's reckless act.

For there, where earth and heaven were obedient,

that woman—alone and newly created—

could not bear to remain beneath any veil.

Had she stayed humbly covered,

I would have tasted those ineffable delights

sooner and for much longer.

While I walked among such abundant first fruits

of eternal pleasure, completely enraptured

yet still yearning for greater joys,

the air beneath the green boughs

burst into flame before us,

and the sweet sound became clear singing.

O sacred Virgins! If I have ever endured

hunger, sleepless nights, or cold for you,

now I claim my reward!

Helicon must pour forth for me,

and Urania with her choir must help me

put into verse things difficult to think.

A little farther ahead, what appeared

to be seven golden trees

filled the distance between us.

But when I drew close enough

that shared perception—which deceives the senses—

lost none of its details through distance,

the faculty that gives reason its voice

recognized them as candlesticks,

and in the singing I heard "Hosanna!"

Above them blazed magnificent banners,

far brighter than the moon in the clear sky

at midnight in the middle of her month.

I turned around, filled with wonder,

to good Virgil, and he answered

with a face no less amazed.

Then I turned back to those towering lights

moving toward us so majestically

they would have been outpaced by newlywed brides.

The lady scolded me: "Why do you burn

with such devotion only for the living lights?

Why don't you look at what follows them?"

Then I saw people coming behind,

dressed in white robes,

and such whiteness never existed on earth.

The water gleamed on my left side

and reflected back my image

like a perfect mirror.

When I positioned myself on the bank

so only the stream separated us,

I stopped to see more clearly.

I watched the flames move forward,

leaving the air behind them painted

with streaming banners overhead,

divided into seven bands

of all the colors that make the sun's bow

and Delia's belt.

These standards stretched farther back

than my sight could reach,

and the outermost seemed ten paces apart.

Under such a beautiful sky as I describe,

twenty-four Elders came forward,

two by two, crowned with lilies.

They were all singing: "Blessed are you

among the daughters of Adam,

and blessed forever shall your beauty be."

After the flowers and tender grasses

across from me on the other bank

were cleared by that chosen company—

as star follows star in heaven—

four creatures came close behind,

each crowned with green leaves.

Each had six wings,

their plumage full of eyes.

If Argus's eyes were living,

they would look like these.

Reader, I won't waste more verses

describing their forms—other demands

press on me so I cannot be extravagant here.

Read Ezekiel, who depicts them

as he saw them from the cold north,

coming with cloud, whirlwind, and fire.

As you find them in his pages,

so they were here, except that John

agrees with me about their wings, differing from Ezekiel.

The space between these four contained

a triumphal chariot on two wheels,

drawn by a Griffin's neck.

He extended both wings upward

between the center band and the three on each side,

so he damaged none by cutting through.

The wings rose so high they vanished from sight.

His limbs were gold where he was bird,

the rest white mixed with crimson.

Neither Rome with its most splendid car

ever delighted Africanus or Augustus,

and even the Sun's chariot would seem poor beside it—

that chariot of the Sun which, going astray,

was burned up at Earth's urgent prayer

when Jove acted with mysterious justice.

Three maidens came dancing in a circle

at the right wheel: one so red

she would barely be visible in fire;

the second seemed as if her flesh and bones

were carved entirely from emerald;

the third appeared like freshly fallen snow.

Sometimes the white one led their dance,

sometimes the red, and from her song

the others took their rhythm, fast or slow.

On the left, four others celebrated,

dressed in purple, following the tempo

of one among them who had three eyes.

Behind this entire procession

I saw two old men, different in dress

but similar in bearing—both dignified and solemn.

One appeared as a disciple

of supreme Hippocrates, whom nature

made for the creatures she loves most.

The other showed the opposite care,

carrying a sword so bright and sharp

it filled me with terror across the river.

Next I saw four of humble appearance,

and behind them all, a single old man

walking as if in sleep, his face keen with insight.

Like the first company, these seven

were robed in white, but wore no garland

of lilies around their heads—

instead roses and other crimson flowers.

From a short distance, one would swear

they were all crowned with flame.

When the chariot drew opposite me,

thunder crashed, and all that noble company

seemed forbidden to advance further,

stopping there with their leading banners.