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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 443 pages of information about Divine Comedy, Cary's Translation, Complete.
Whence truly sprang the wrath that banish’d me;
And what the language, which I spake and fram’d
Not that I tasted of the tree, my son,
Was in itself the cause of that exile,
But only my transgressing of the mark
Assign’d me.  There, whence at thy lady’s hest
The Mantuan mov’d him, still was I debarr’d
This council, till the sun had made complete,
Four thousand and three hundred rounds and twice,
His annual journey; and, through every light
In his broad pathway, saw I him return,
Thousand save sev’nty times, the whilst I dwelt
Upon the earth.  The language I did use
Was worn away, or ever Nimrod’s race
Their unaccomplishable work began. 
For naught, that man inclines to, ere was lasting,
Left by his reason free, and variable,
As is the sky that sways him.  That he speaks,
Is nature’s prompting:  whether thus or thus,
She leaves to you, as ye do most affect it. 
Ere I descended into hell’s abyss,
El was the name on earth of the Chief Good,
Whose joy enfolds me:  Eli then ’t was call’d
And so beseemeth:  for, in mortals, use
Is as the leaf upon the bough; that goes,
And other comes instead.  Upon the mount
Most high above the waters, all my life,
Both innocent and guilty, did but reach
From the first hour, to that which cometh next
(As the sun changes quarter), to the sixth.

CANTO XXVII

Then “Glory to the Father, to the Son,
And to the Holy Spirit,” rang aloud
Throughout all Paradise, that with the song
My spirit reel’d, so passing sweet the strain: 
And what I saw was equal ecstasy;
One universal smile it seem’d of all things,
Joy past compare, gladness unutterable,
Imperishable life of peace and love,
Exhaustless riches and unmeasur’d bliss. 
     Before mine eyes stood the four torches lit;
And that, which first had come, began to wax
In brightness, and in semblance such became,
As Jove might be, if he and Mars were birds,
And interchang’d their plumes.  Silence ensued,
Through the blest quire, by Him, who here appoints
Vicissitude of ministry, enjoin’d;
When thus I heard:  “Wonder not, if my hue
Be chang’d; for, while I speak, these shalt thou see
All in like manner change with me.  My place
He who usurps on earth (my place, ay, mine,
Which in the presence of the Son of God
Is void), the same hath made my cemetery
A common sewer of puddle and of blood: 
The more below his triumph, who from hence
Malignant fell.”  Such colour, as the sun,
At eve or morning, paints and adverse cloud,
Then saw I sprinkled over all the sky. 
And as th’ unblemish’d dame, who in herself
Secure of censure, yet at bare report
Of other’s failing, shrinks with maiden fear;
So Beatrice in her semblance chang’d: 
And such eclipse in heav’n methinks was seen,

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