I thus began: “Bard! thou who art my guide, Consider well, if virtue be in me Sufficient, ere to this high enterprise Thou trust me. Thou hast told that Silvius’ sire, Yet cloth’d in corruptible flesh, among Th’ immortal tribes had entrance, and was there Sensible present. Yet if heaven’s great Lord, Almighty foe to ill, such favour shew’d, In contemplation of the high effect, Both what and who from him should issue forth, It seems in reason’s judgment well deserv’d: Sith he of Rome, and of Rome’s empire wide, In heaven’s empyreal height was chosen sire: Both which, if truth be spoken, were ordain’d And ’stablish’d for the holy place, where sits Who to great Peter’s sacred chair succeeds. He from this journey, in thy song renown’d, Learn’d things, that to his victory gave rise And to the papal robe. In after-times The chosen vessel also travel’d there, To bring us back assurance in that faith, Which is the entrance to salvation’s way. But I, why should I there presume? or who Permits it? not Aeneas I nor Paul. Myself I deem not worthy, and none else Will deem me. I, if on this voyage then I venture, fear it will in folly end. Thou, who art wise, better my meaning know’st, Than I can speak.” As one, who unresolves What he hath late resolv’d, and with new thoughts Changes his purpose, from his first intent Remov’d; e’en such was I on that dun coast, Wasting in thought my enterprise, at first So eagerly embrac’d. “If right thy words I scan,” replied that shade magnanimous, “Thy soul is by vile fear assail’d, which oft So overcasts a man, that he recoils From noblest resolution, like a beast At some false semblance in the twilight gloom. That from this terror thou mayst free thyself, I will instruct thee why I came, and what I heard in that same instant, when for thee Grief touch’d me first. I was among the tribe, Who rest suspended, when a dame, so blest And lovely, I besought her to command, Call’d me; her eyes were brighter than the star Of day; and she with gentle voice and soft Angelically tun’d her speech address’d: “O courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fame Yet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts! A friend, not of my fortune but myself, On the wide desert in his road has met Hindrance so great, that he through fear has turn’d. Now much I dread lest he past help have stray’d, And I be ris’n too late for his relief, From what in heaven of him I heard. Speed now, And by thy eloquent persuasive tongue, And by all means for his deliverance meet, Assist him. So to me will comfort spring. I who now bid thee on this errand forth Am Beatrice; from a place I come. (Note: Beatrice. I use this word, as it is pronounced in the Italian, as consisting of four syllables, of which the third is a long one.) Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence, Who prompts my speech. When in my Master’s sight I stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell.”