Cunizza, Folco of Marseilles, and Rahab.
Beautiful Clemence, after that thy Charles Had me enlightened, he narrated to me The treacheries his seed should undergo; But said: “Be still and let the years roll round”; So I can only say, that lamentation Legitimate shall follow on your wrongs. And of that holy light the life already Had to the Sun which fills it turned again, As to that good which for each thing sufficeth. Ah, souls deceived, and creatures impious, Who from such good do turn away your hearts, Directing upon vanity your foreheads! And now, behold, another of those splendors Approached me, and its will to pleasure me It signified by brightening outwardly. The eyes of Beatrice, that fastened were Upon me, as before, of dear assent To my desire assurance gave to me. “Ah, bring swift compensation to my wish, Thou blessed spirit,” I said, “and give me proof That what I think in thee I can reflect!” Whereat the light, that still was new to me, Out of its depths, whence it before was singing, As one delighted to do good, continued: “Within that region of the land depraved Of Italy, that lies between Rialto And fountainheads of Brenta and of Piava, Rises a hill, and mounts not very high, Wherefrom descended formerly a torch That made upon that region great assault. Out of one root were born both I and it; Cunizza was I called, and here I shine Because the splendor of this star o’ercame me. But gladly to myself the cause I pardon Of my allotment, and it does not grieve me; Which would perhaps seem strong unto your vulgar. Of this so luculent and precious jewel, Which of our heaven is nearest unto me, Great fame remained; and ere it die away This hundredth year shall yet quintupled be. See if man ought to make him excellent, So that another life the first may leave! And thus thinks not the present multitude Shut in by Adige and Tagliamento, Nor yet for being scourged is penitent. But soon ’twill be that Padua in the marsh Will