Canto XXI

in itself receiveth Can be of this the cause, and naught beside; Because that neither rain, nor hail, nor snow, Nor dew, nor hoar-frost any higher falls Than the short, little stairway of three steps. Dense clouds do not appear, nor rarefied, Nor coruscation, nor the daughter of Thaumas, That often upon earth her region shifts; No arid vapor any farther rises Than to the top of the three steps I spake of, Whereon the Vicar of Peter has his feet. Lower down perchance it trembles less or more, But, for the wind that in the earth is hidden I know not how, up here it never trembled. It trembles here, whenever any soul Feels itself pure, so that it soars, or moves To mount aloft, and such a cry attends it. Of purity the will alone gives proof, Which, being wholly free to change its convent, Takes by surprise the soul, and helps it fly. First it wills well; but the desire permits not, Which divine justice with the self-same will There was to sin, upon the torment sets. And I, who have been lying in this pain Five hundred years and more, but just now felt A free volition for a better seat. Therefore thou heardst the earthquake, and the pious Spirits along the mountain rendering praise Unto the Lord, that soon he speed them upwards.” So said he to him; and since we enjoy As much in drinking as the thirst is great, I could not say how much it did me good. And the wise Leader: “Now I see the net That snares you here, and how ye are set free, Why the earth quakes, and wherefore ye rejoice. Now who thou wast be pleased that I may know; And why so many centuries thou hast here Been lying, let me gather from thy words.” “In days when the good Titus, with the aid Of the supremest King, avenged the wounds Whence issued forth the blood by Judas sold, Under the name that most endures and honors, Was I on earth,” that spirit made reply, “Greatly renowned, but not with faith as yet. My vocal spirit was so sweet, that Rome Me, a Thoulousian, drew unto herself, Where I deserved to deck my brows with myrtle. Statius the people name me still on earth; I sang of Thebes, and then of great Achilles; But on the way fell with my second burden. The seeds unto my ardor were the sparks Of that celestial flame which heated me, Whereby more than a thousand have been fired; Of the