Thereafter four I saw of humble aspect, And behind all an aged man alone Walking in sleep with countenance acute. And like the foremost company these seven Were habited; yet of the flower-de-luce No garland round about the head they wore, But of the rose, and other flowers vermilion; At little distance would the sight have sworn That all were in a flame above their brows. And when the car was opposite to me Thunder was heard; and all that folk august Seemed to have further progress interdicted, There with the vanward ensigns standing still. Purgatorio: Canto XXX When the Septentrion of the highest heaven (Which never either setting knew or rising, Nor veil of other cloud than that of sin, And which made every one therein aware Of his own duty, as the lower makes Whoever turns the helm to come to port) Motionless halted, the veracious people, That came at first between it and the Griffin, Turned themselves to the car, as to their peace. And one of them, as if by Heaven commissioned, Singing, “Veni, sponsa, de Libano” Shouted three times, and all the others after. Even as the Blessed at the final summons Shall rise up quickened each one from his cavern, Uplifting light the reinvested flesh, So upon that celestial chariot A hundred rose ‘ad vocem tanti senis,’ Ministers and messengers of life eternal. They all were saying, “Benedictus qui venis,” And, scattering flowers above and round about, “Manibus o date lilia plenis.” Ere now have I beheld, as day began, The eastern hemisphere all tinged with rose, And the other heaven with fair serene adorned; And the sun’s face, uprising, overshadowed So that by tempering influence of vapours For a long interval the eye sustained it; Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers Which from those hands angelical ascended, And downward fell again inside and out, Over her snow-white veil with olive cinct Appeared a lady under a green mantle, Vested in colour of the living flame. And my own spirit, that already now So long a time had been, that in her presence Trembling with awe it had not stood abashed, Without more knowledge having by mine eyes, Through occult virtue that from her proceeded Of ancient love the mighty influence felt. As soon as on my vision smote the power Sublime, that had already pierced me through Ere from my boyhood I had yet come forth, To the left hand I turned with that reliance With which the little child runs to his mother, When he has fear, or when he is afflicted, To say unto Virgilius: “Not a drachm Of blood remains in me, that does not tremble; I know the traces of the ancient flame.” But us Virgilius of himself deprived Had left, Virgilius, sweetest of all fathers, Virgilius, to whom I for safety gave me: