And now, behold! as at the approach of morning,
  Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery red
  Down in the west upon the ocean floor
Appeared to me,—­may I again behold it! 
  A light along the sea, so swiftly coming,
  Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled. 
And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little
  Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor,
  Again I saw it brighter grown and larger. 
Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared
  I knew not what of white, and underneath,
  Little by little, there came forth another. 
My master yet had uttered not a word,
  While the first whiteness into wings unfolded;
  But, when he clearly recognized the pilot,
He cried aloud:  “Quick, quick, and bow the knee! 
  Behold the Angel of God! fold up thy hands! 
  Henceforward shalt thou see such officers! 
See, how he scorns all human arguments,
  So that no oar he wants, nor other sail
  Than his own wings, between so distant shores! 
See, how he holds them, pointed straight to heaven,
  Fanning the air with the eternal pinions,
  That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!”
And then, as nearer and more near us came
  The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared,
  So that the eye could not sustain his presence,
But down I cast it; and he came to shore
  With a small vessel, gliding swift and light,
  So that the water swallowed naught thereof. 
Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot! 
  Beatitude seemed written in his face! 
  And more than a hundred spirits sat within. 
“In exitu Israel de Aegypto!”
  Thus sang they all together in one voice,
  With whatso in that Psalm is after written. 
Then made he sign of holy rood upon them,
  Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore,
  And he departed swiftly as he came.

THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE

PURGATORIO XXVIII. 1-33.

Longing already to search in and round
  The heavenly forest, dense and living-green,
  Which tempered to the eyes the newborn day,
Withouten more delay I left the bank,
  Crossing the level country slowly, slowly,
  Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance. 
A gently-breathing air, that no mutation
  Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead,
  No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze,
Whereat the tremulous branches readily
  Did all of them bow downward towards that side
  Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;
Yet not from their upright direction bent
  So that the little birds upon their tops
  Should cease the practice of their tuneful art;
But with full-throated joy, the hours of prime
  Singing received they in the midst of foliage
  That made monotonous burden to their rhymes,
Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells,
  Through the pine forests on the shore