Upon the mountain that the souls doth heal, 1662 And when descending into the dead world, 1663 Were spoken to me of my future life Some grievous words; although I feel myself In sooth foursquare against the blows of chance. 1664 On this account my wish would be content To hear what fortune is approaching me, Because foreseen an arrow comes more slowly.” Thus did I say unto that selfsame light 1665 That unto me had spoken before; and even As Beatrice willed was my own will confessed. Not in vague phrase, in which the foolish folk 1666 Ensnared themselves of old, ere yet was slain The Lamb of God who taketh sins away, But with clear words and unambiguous Language responded that paternal love, 1667 Hid and revealed by its own proper smile: “Contingency, that outside of the volume