Canto XXVII

his head, and said: “How now? Shall we stay on this side?” then smiled as one Does at a child who’s vanquished by an apple. Then into the fire in front of me he entered, Beseeching Statius to come after me, Who a long way before divided us. When I was in it, into molten glass I would have cast me to refresh myself, So without measure was the burning there! And my sweet Father, to encourage me, Discoursing still of Beatrice went on, Saying: “Her eyes I seem to see already!” A voice, that on the other side was singing, Directed us, and we, attent alone On that, came forth where the ascent began. “ Venite, benedicti Patris mei ,” Sounded within a splendor, which was there Such it o’ercame me, and I could not look. “The sun departs,” it added, “and night cometh; Tarry ye not, but onward urge your steps, So long as yet the west becomes not dark.” Straight forward through the rock the path ascended In such a way that I cut off the rays Before me of the sun, that now was low. And of few stairs we yet had made assay, Ere by the vanished shadow the sun’s setting Behind us we perceived, I and my Sages. And ere in all its parts immeasurable The horizon of one aspect had become, And Night her boundless dispensation held, Each of us of a stair had made his bed; Because the nature of the mount took from us The power of climbing, more than the delight. Even as in ruminating passive grow The goats, who have been swift and venturesome Upon the mountaintops ere they were fed, Hushed in the shadow, while the sun is hot, Watched by the herdsman, who upon his staff Is leaning, and in leaning tendeth them; And as the shepherd, lodging out of doors, Passes the night beside his quiet flock, Watching that no wild beast may scatter it, Such at that hour were we, all three of us, I like the goat, and like the herdsmen they, Begirt on this side and on that by rocks. Little could there be seen of things without; But through that little I beheld the stars More luminous and larger than their wont. Thus ruminating, and beholding these, Sleep seized upon me⁠—sleep, that oftentimes Before a deed is done has tidings of it. It was the hour, I think, when from the East First on the mountain Citherea beamed, Who with the fire of love seems always burning;