Unwillingly from question I refrain, To her, by whom my silence and my speech Are order’d, looking for a sign: whence she, Who in the sight of Him, that seeth all, Saw wherefore I was silent, prompted me T’ indulge the fervent wish; and I began: “I am not worthy, of my own desert, That thou shouldst answer me; but for her sake, Who hath vouchsaf’d my asking, spirit blest! That in thy joy art shrouded! say the cause, Which bringeth thee so near: and wherefore, say, Doth the sweet symphony of Paradise Keep silence here, pervading with such sounds Of rapt devotion ev’ry lower sphere?” “Mortal art thou in hearing as in sight;” Was the reply: “and what forbade the smile Of Beatrice interrupts our song. Only to yield thee gladness of my voice, And of the light that vests me, I thus far Descend these hallow’d steps: not that more love Invites me; for lo! there aloft, as much Or more of love is witness’d in those flames: But such my lot by charity assign’d, That makes us ready servants, as thou seest, To execute the counsel of the Highest. “That in this court,” said I, “O sacred lamp! Love no compulsion needs, but follows free Th’ eternal Providence, I well discern: This harder find to deem, why of thy peers Thou only to this office wert foredoom’d.” I had not ended, when, like rapid mill, Upon its centre whirl’d the light; and then The love, that did inhabit there, replied: “Splendour eternal, piercing through these folds, Its virtue to my vision knits, and thus Supported, lifts me so above myself, That on the sov’ran essence, which it wells from, I have the power to gaze: and hence the joy, Wherewith I sparkle, equaling with my blaze The keenness of my sight. But not the soul, That is in heav’n most lustrous, nor the seraph That hath his eyes most fix’d on God, shall solve What thou hast ask’d: for in th’ abyss it lies Of th’ everlasting statute sunk so low, That no created ken may fathom it. And, to the mortal world when thou return’st, Be this reported; that none henceforth dare Direct his footsteps to so dread a bourn. The mind, that here is radiant, on the earth Is wrapt in mist. Look then if she may do, Below, what passeth her ability, When she is ta’en to heav’n.” By words like these Admonish’d, I the question urg’d no more; And of the spirit humbly sued alone T’ instruct me of its state. “’Twixt either shore Of Italy, nor distant from thy land, A stony ridge ariseth, in such sort, The thunder doth not lift his voice so high, They call it Catria: at whose foot a cell Is sacred to the lonely Eremite, For worship set apart and holy rites.” A third time thus it spake; then added: “There So firmly to God’s service I adher’d, That with no costlier viands than the juice Of olives, easily I pass’d the heats Of summer and the winter frosts, content In heav’n-ward musings. Rich were the returns And fertile, which that cloister once was us’d To render to these heavens: now ’t is fall’n Into a waste so empty, that ere long