His goodly spirit should move forth, returning To its appointed kingdom, nor would have His body laid upon another bier. “Think now of one, who were a fit colleague, To keep the bark of Peter in deep sea Helm’d to right point; and such our Patriarch was. Therefore who follow him, as he enjoins, Thou mayst be certain, take good lading in. But hunger of new viands tempts his flock, So that they needs into strange pastures wide Must spread them: and the more remote from him The stragglers wander, so much mole they come Home to the sheep-fold, destitute of milk. There are of them, in truth, who fear their harm, And to the shepherd cleave; but these so few, A little stuff may furnish out their cloaks. “Now, if my words be clear, if thou have ta’en Good heed, if that, which I have told, recall To mind, thy wish may be in part fulfill’d: For thou wilt see the point from whence they split, Nor miss of the reproof, which that implies, ‘That well they thrive not sworn with vanity.’” CANTO XII Soon as its final word the blessed flame Had rais’d for utterance, straight the holy mill Began to wheel, nor yet had once revolv’d, Or ere another, circling, compass’d it, Motion to motion, song to song, conjoining, Song, that as much our muses doth excel, Our Sirens with their tuneful pipes, as ray Of primal splendour doth its faint reflex. As when, if Juno bid her handmaid forth, Two arches parallel, and trick’d alike, Span the thin cloud, the outer taking birth From that within (in manner of that voice Whom love did melt away, as sun the mist), And they who gaze, presageful call to mind The compact, made with Noah, of the world No more to be o’erflow’d; about us thus Of sempiternal roses, bending, wreath’d Those garlands twain, and to the innermost E’en thus th’ external answered. When the footing, And other great festivity, of song, And radiance, light with light accordant, each Jocund and blythe, had at their pleasure still’d (E’en as the eyes by quick volition mov’d, Are shut and rais’d together), from the heart Of one amongst the new lights mov’d a voice, That made me seem like needle to the star, In turning to its whereabout, and thus Began: “The love, that makes me beautiful, Prompts me to tell of th’ other guide, for whom Such good of mine is spoken. Where one is, The other worthily should also be; That as their warfare was alike, alike Should be their glory. Slow, and full of doubt, And with thin ranks, after its banner mov’d The army of Christ (which it so clearly cost To reappoint), when its imperial Head, Who reigneth ever, for the drooping host Did make provision, thorough grace alone, And not through its deserving. As thou heard’st, Two champions to the succour of his spouse He sent, who by their deeds and words might join Again his scatter’d people. In that clime, Where springs the pleasant west-wind to unfold The fresh leaves, with which Europe sees herself New-garmented; nor from those billows far,