Canto XXX

To say unto Virgilius: “Not a drachm Of blood remains in me, that does not tremble; I know the traces of the ancient flame.” But us Virgilius of himself deprived Had left, Virgilius, sweetest of all fathers, Virgilius, to whom I for safety gave me: Nor whatsoever lost the ancient mother Availed my cheeks now purified from dew, That weeping they should not again be darkened. “Dante, because Virgilius has departed Do not weep yet, do not weep yet awhile; For by another sword thou need’st must weep.” E’en as an admiral, who on poop and prow Comes to behold the people that are working In other ships, and cheers them to well-doing, Upon the left hand border of the car, When at the sound I turned of my own name, Which of necessity is here recorded, I saw the Lady, who erewhile appeared Veiled underneath the angelic festival, Direct her eyes to me across the river. Although the veil, that from her head descended, Encircled with the foliage of Minerva, Did not permit her to appear distinctly, In attitude still royally majestic Continued she, like unto one who speaks, And keeps his warmest utterance in reserve: “Look at me well; in sooth I’m Beatrice! How didst thou deign to come unto the Mountain? Didst thou not know that man is happy here?” Mine eyes fell downward into the clear fountain, But, seeing myself therein, I sought the grass, So great a shame did weigh my forehead down. As to the son the mother seems superb, So she appeared to me; for somewhat bitter Tasteth the savor of severe compassion. Silent became she, and the Angels sang Suddenly, “ In te, Domine, speravi ”: But beyond pedes meos did not pass. Even as the snow among the living rafters Upon the back of Italy congeals, Blown on and drifted by Sclavonian winds, And then, dissolving, trickles through itself Whene’er the land that loses shadow breathes, So that it seems a fire that melts a taper; E’en thus was I without a tear or sigh, Before the song of those who sing forever After the music of the eternal spheres. But when I heard in their sweet melodies Compassion for me, more than had they said, “O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus upbraid him?” The ice, that was about my heart congealed, To air and water changed, and in my anguish