He moved his pinions afterwards and fanned us, Affirming those ‘qui lugent’ to be blessed, For they shall have their souls with comfort filled. “What aileth thee, that aye to earth thou gazest?” To me my Guide began to say, we both Somewhat beyond the Angel having mounted. And I: “With such misgiving makes me go A vision new, which bends me to itself, So that I cannot from the thought withdraw me.” “Didst thou behold,” he said, “that old enchantress, Who sole above us henceforth is lamented? Didst thou behold how man is freed from her? Suffice it thee, and smite earth with thy heels, Thine eyes lift upward to the lure, that whirls The Eternal King with revolutions vast.” Even as the hawk, that first his feet surveys, Then turns him to the call and stretches forward, Through the desire of food that draws him thither, Such I became, and such, as far as cleaves The rock to give a way to him who mounts, Went on to where the circling doth begin. On the fifth circle when I had come forth, People I saw upon it who were weeping, Stretched prone upon the ground, all downward turned. “Adhaesit pavimento anima mea,” I heard them say with sighings so profound, That hardly could the words be understood. “O ye elect of God, whose sufferings Justice and Hope both render less severe, Direct ye us towards the high ascents.” “If ye are come secure from this prostration, And wish to find the way most speedily, Let your right hands be evermore outside.” Thus did the Poet ask, and thus was answered By them somewhat in front of us; whence I In what was spoken divined the rest concealed, And unto my Lord’s eyes mine eyes I turned; Whence he assented with a cheerful sign To what the sight of my desire implored. When of myself I could dispose at will, Above that creature did I draw myself, Whose words before had caused me to take note, Saying: “O Spirit, in whom weeping ripens That without which to God we cannot turn, Suspend awhile for me thy greater care. Who wast thou, and why are your backs turned upwards, Tell me, and if thou wouldst that I procure thee Anything there whence living I departed.” And he to me: “Wherefore our backs the heaven Turns to itself, know shalt thou; but beforehand ‘Scias quod ego fui successor Petri.’ Between Siestri and Chiaveri descends A river beautiful, and of its name The title of my blood its summit makes. A month and little more essayed I how Weighs the great cloak on him from mire who keeps it, For all the other burdens seem a feather. Tardy, ah woe is me! was my conversion; But when the Roman Shepherd I was made, Then I discovered life to be a lie. I saw that there the heart was not at rest, Nor farther in that life could one ascend; Whereby the love of this was kindled in me.