‘Twas now the hour that brings to men at sea, Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell, Fond thoughts and longing back with them to be; And thrills the pilgrim with a tender spell Of love, if haply, new upon his way, He faintly hear a chime from some far bell, That seems to mourn the dying of the day; When I forbore my listening faculty To mark one spirit uprisen amid the band Who joined both palms and lifted them on high (First having claimed attention with his hand) And towards the Orient bent so fixed an eye As ‘twere he said, “My God! on thee alone My longing rests.” Then from his lips there came _Te lucis ante_, so devout of tone, So sweet, my mind was ravished by the same The others next, full sweetly and devout, Fixing their gaze on the supernal wheels, Followed him chanting the whole Psalm throughout. Now, reader, to the truth my verse conceals Make sharp thy vision; subtle is the veil So fine ‘twere easily passed through unseen. I saw that gentle army, meek and pale, Silently gazing upward with a mien As of expectancy, and from on high Beheld two angels with two swords descend Which flamed with fire, but, as I could descry, They bare no points, being broken at the end. Green robes, in hue more delicate than spring’s Tender new leaves, they trailed behind and fanned With gentle beating of their verdant wings. One, coming near, just over us took stand, Down to th’ opponent bank the other sped, So that the spirits were between them grouped Full well could I discern each flaxen head; But in their faces mine eyes’ virtue drooped, As ‘twere confounded by excess and dead. “From Mary’s bosom they have both come here,” Sordello said—“this valley to protect Against the serpent that will soon appear:” Whence I, unknowing which way to expect This object, turned me, almost froze with fear, And to those trusty shoulders closely clung. Again Sordello: “Go we down and see These mighty shades, and let them hear our tongue: Thy presence will to them right gracious be.” Only three steps I think brought me below Where one I noticed solely eyeing me As if who I might be he fain would know. ‘Twas dusk, yet not so but the dusky air, Between his eyes and mine, within the dell, Showed what before it did not quite declare. Towards me he moved, and I towards him as well: Gentle Judge Nino, when I saw thee there What joy was mine to find thee not in hell! We left unsaid no form of fair salute: Then he inquired: “How long since thou didst come O’er the far waters to the mountain’s foot?” “O but this morn,” said I, “the realms of gloom I passed: in the first life I am, but fain Would find the next by following on this track.” Like to men suddenly amazed, the twain, He and Sordello, hearing this, drew back. One looked at Virgil, one into the face