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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 107 pages of information about Divine Comedy, Cary's Translation, Purgatory.

Well I descried the whiteness on their heads;
But in their visages the dazzled eye
Was lost, as faculty that by too much
Is overpower’d.  “From Mary’s bosom both
Are come,” exclaim’d Sordello, “as a guard
Over the vale, ganst him, who hither tends,
The serpent.”  Whence, not knowing by which path
He came, I turn’d me round, and closely press’d,
All frozen, to my leader’s trusted side.

Sordello paus’d not:  “To the valley now
(For it is time) let us descend; and hold
Converse with those great shadows:  haply much
Their sight may please ye.”  Only three steps down
Methinks I measur’d, ere I was beneath,
And noted one who look’d as with desire
To know me.  Time was now that air arrow dim;
Yet not so dim, that ’twixt his eyes and mine
It clear’d not up what was conceal’d before. 
Mutually tow’rds each other we advanc’d. 
Nino, thou courteous judge! what joy I felt,
When I perceiv’d thou wert not with the bad!

No salutation kind on either part
Was left unsaid.  He then inquir’d:  “How long
Since thou arrived’st at the mountain’s foot,
Over the distant waves?”—­“O!” answer’d I,
“Through the sad seats of woe this morn I came,
And still in my first life, thus journeying on,
The other strive to gain.”  Soon as they heard
My words, he and Sordello backward drew,
As suddenly amaz’d.  To Virgil one,
The other to a spirit turn’d, who near
Was seated, crying:  “Conrad! up with speed: 
Come, see what of his grace high God hath will’d.” 
Then turning round to me:  “By that rare mark
Of honour which thou ow’st to him, who hides
So deeply his first cause, it hath no ford,
When thou shalt be beyond the vast of waves. 
Tell my Giovanna, that for me she call
There, where reply to innocence is made. 
Her mother, I believe, loves me no more;
Since she has chang’d the white and wimpled folds,
Which she is doom’d once more with grief to wish. 
By her it easily may be perceiv’d,
How long in women lasts the flame of love,
If sight and touch do not relume it oft. 
For her so fair a burial will not make
The viper which calls Milan to the field,
As had been made by shrill Gallura’s bird.”

He spoke, and in his visage took the stamp
Of that right seal, which with due temperature
Glows in the bosom.  My insatiate eyes
Meanwhile to heav’n had travel’d, even there
Where the bright stars are slowest, as a wheel
Nearest the axle; when my guide inquir’d: 
“What there aloft, my son, has caught thy gaze?”

I answer’d:  “The three torches, with which here
The pole is all on fire.”  He then to me: 
“The four resplendent stars, thou saw’st this morn
Are there beneath, and these ris’n in their stead.”

While yet he spoke.  Sordello to himself
Drew him, and cry’d:  “Lo there our enemy!”
And with his hand pointed that way to look.

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