Canto XXI

thou askest, From all created sight it is cut off. And to the mortal world, when thou returnest, This carry back, that it may not presume Longer tow’rd such a goal to move its feet. The mind, that shineth here, on earth doth smoke; From this observe how can it do below That which it cannot though the heaven assume it?” Such limit did its words prescribe to me, The question I relinquished, and restricted Myself to ask it humbly who it was. “Between two shores of Italy rise cliffs, And not far distant from thy native place, So high, the thunders far below them sound, And form a ridge that Catria is called, ’Neath which is consecrate a hermitage Wont to be dedicate to worship only.” Thus unto me the third speech recommenced, And then, continuing, it said: “Therein Unto God’s service I became so steadfast, That feeding only on the juice of olives Lightly I passed away the heats and frosts, Contented in my thoughts contemplative. That cloister used to render to these heavens Abundantly, and now is empty grown, So that perforce it soon must be revealed. I in that place was Peter Damiano; And Peter the Sinner was I in the house Of Our Lady on the Adriatic shore. Little of mortal life remained to me, When I was called and dragged forth to the hat Which shifteth evermore from bad to worse. Came Cephas, and the mighty Vessel came Of the Holy Spirit, meagre and barefooted, Taking the food of any hostelry. Now someone to support them on each side The modern shepherds need, and some to lead them, So heavy are they, and to hold their trains. They cover up their palfreys with their cloaks, So that two beasts go underneath one skin; O Patience, that dost tolerate so much!” At this voice saw I many little flames From step to step descending and revolving, And every revolution made them fairer. Round about this one came they and stood still, And a cry uttered of so loud a sound, It here could find no parallel, nor I Distinguished it, the thunder so o’ercame me.