That mountain on whose slope Cassino stands Was frequented of old upon its summit By a deluded folk and ill-disposed; And I am he who first up thither bore The name of Him who brought upon the earth The truth that so much sublimateth us. And such abundant grace upon me shone That all the neighbouring towns I drew away From the impious worship that seduced the world. These other fires, each one of them, were men Contemplative, enkindled by that heat Which maketh holy flowers and fruits spring up. Here is Macarius, here is Romualdus, Here are my brethren, who within the cloisters Their footsteps stayed and kept a steadfast heart.” And I to him: “The affection which thou showest Speaking with me, and the good countenance Which I behold and note in all your ardours, In me have so my confidence dilated As the sun doth the rose, when it becomes As far unfolded as it hath the power. Therefore I pray, and thou assure me, father, If I may so much grace receive, that I May thee behold with countenance unveiled.” He thereupon: “Brother, thy high desire In the remotest sphere shall be fulfilled, Where are fulfilled all others and my own. There perfect is, and ripened, and complete, Every desire; within that one alone Is every part where it has always been; For it is not in space, nor turns on poles, And unto it our stairway reaches up, Whence thus from out thy sight it steals away. Up to that height the Patriarch Jacob saw it Extending its supernal part, what time So thronged with angels it appeared to him. But to ascend it now no one uplifts His feet from off the earth, and now my Rule Below remaineth for mere waste of paper. The walls that used of old to be an Abbey Are changed to dens of robbers, and the cowls Are sacks filled full of miserable flour. But heavy usury is not taken up So much against God’s pleasure as that fruit Which maketh so insane the heart of monks; For whatsoever hath the Church in keeping Is for the folk that ask it in God’s name, Not for one’s kindred or for something worse. The flesh of mortals is so very soft, That good beginnings down below suffice not From springing of the oak to bearing acorns. Peter began with neither gold nor silver, And I with orison and abstinence, And Francis with humility his convent. And if thou lookest at each one’s beginning, And then regardest whither he has run, Thou shalt behold the white changed into brown. In verity the Jordan backward turned, And the sea’s fleeing, when God willed were more A wonder to behold, than succour here.” Thus unto me he said; and then withdrew To his own band, and the band closed together; Then like a whirlwind all was upward rapt. The gentle Lady urged me on behind them Up o’er that stairway by a single sign, So did her virtue overcome my nature;