As the multitude Flock round a herald sent with olive branch, To hear what news he brings, and in their haste Tread one another down; e'en so at sight Of me those happy spirits were fixed, each one Forgetful of its errand to depart Where, cleansed from sin, it might be made all fair. "Then one I saw darting before the rest With such fond ardor to embrace me, I To do the like was moved. O shadows vain! Except in outward semblance: thrice my hands I clasped behind it, they as oft return'd Empty into my breast again. Surprise I need must think was painted in my looks, For that the shadow smiled and backward drew. To follow it I hastened, but with voice Of sweetness it enjoined me to desist. Then who it was I knew, and pray'd of it, To talk with me it would a little pause. It answered: 'Thee as in my mortal frame I loved, so loosed from it I love thee still, And therefore pause: but why walkest thou here?' "'Not without purpose once more to return, Thou find'st me, my Casella, where I am, Journeying this way;' I said: 'but how of thee Hath so much time been lost?' He answered straight "'No outrage hath been done to me, if he, Who when and whom he chooses takes, hath oft Denied me passage here; since of just will His will he makes. These three months past indeed, He, whoso chose to enter, with free leave Hath taken; whence I wandering by the shore Where Tiber's wave grows salt, of him gain'd kind Admittance, at that river's mouth, toward which His wings are pointed; for there always throng All such as not to Acheron descend.' "Then I: '"If new law taketh not from thee Memory or custom of love-tuned song, That whilom all my cares had power to 'swage: Please thee therewith a little to console My spirit, that encumber'd with its frame, Traveling so far, of pain is overcome.' "'Love, that discourses in my thoughts,' he then Began in such soft accents, that within The sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guide, And all who came with him, so well were pleased, That seemed nought else might in their thoughts have room. "Fast fixed in mute attention to his notes We stood, when lo! that old man venerable Exclaiming, 'How is this, ye tardy spirits? What negligence detains you loitering here? Run to the mountain to cast off those scales, That from your eyes the sight of God conceal.' "As a wild flock of pigeons, to their food Collected, blade or tares, without their pride Accustomed, and in still and quiet sort, If aught alarm them, suddenly desert Their meal, assailed by more important care; So I that new-come troop beheld, the song Deserting, hasten to the mountain side, As one who goes, yet, where he tends, knows not. Nor with less hurried step did we depart."