Canto XX

the Holy Ghost, and which occasioned thee To turn towards me for some commentary, So long has been ordained to all our prayers As the day lasts; but when the night comes on, Contrary sound we take instead thereof. At that time we repeat Pygmalion, Of whom a traitor, thief, and parricide Made his insatiable desire of gold; And the misery of avaricious Midas, That followed his inordinate demand, At which forevermore one needs but laugh. The foolish Achan each one then records, And how he stole the spoils; so that the wrath Of Joshua still appears to sting him here. Then we accuse Sapphira with her husband, We laud the hoof-beats Heliodorus had, And the whole mount in infamy encircles Polymnestor who murdered Polydorus. Here finally is cried: ‘O Crassus, tell us, For thou dost know, what is the taste of gold?’ Sometimes we speak, one loud, another low, According to desire of speech, that spurs us To greater now and now to lesser pace. But in the good that here by day is talked of, Erewhile alone I was not; yet near by No other person lifted up his voice.” From him already we departed were, And made endeavor to o’ercome the road As much as was permitted to our power, When I perceived, like something that is falling, The mountain tremble, whence a chill seized on me, As seizes him who to his death is going. Certes so violently shook not Delos, Before Latona made her nest therein To give birth to the two eyes of the heaven. Then upon all sides there began a cry, Such that the Master drew himself towards me, Saying, “Fear not, while I am guiding thee.” “ Gloria in excelsis Deo ,” all Were saying, from what near I comprehended, Where it was possible to hear the cry. We paused immovable and in suspense, Even as the shepherds who first heard that song, Until the trembling ceased, and it was finished. Then we resumed again our holy path, Watching the shades that lay upon the ground, Already turned to their accustomed plaint. No ignorance ever with so great a strife Had rendered me importunate to know, If erreth not in this my memory, As meditating then I seemed to have; Nor out of haste to question did I dare, Nor of myself I there could aught perceive; So I went onward timorous and thoughtful.