THE CELESTIAL PILOT.

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, II.

AND now, behold! as at the approach of morning,
Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery red
Down in the west upon the ocean floor,

Appeared to me-may I again behold it!-
A light along the sea, so swiftly coming,
Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled.

And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little
Mine
eyes, that I might question my conductor,
Again I saw it brighter grown and larger.

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Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared

I knew not what of white, and underneath,
Little by little, there came forth another.

My master yet had uttered not a word,
While the first brightness into wings unfolded;
But when he clearly recognized the pilot,

He cried aloud: "Quick, quick, and bow the

knee!

Behold the Angel of God! fold up thy hands! Henceforward shalt thou see such officers!

"See, how he scorns all human arguments, So that no oar he wants, nor other sail

Than his own wings, between so distant shores!

"See, how he holds them, pointed straight to

heaven,

Fanning the air with the eternal pinions,

That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!"

And then, as nearer and more near us came The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared, So that the eye could not sustain his presence,

But down I cast it; and he came to shore With a small vessel, gliding swift and light, So that the water swallowed naught thereof.

Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot!
Beatitude seemed written in his face!

And more than a hundred spirits sat within.

"In exitu Israel out of Egypt!"

Thus sang they all together in one voice,
With whatso in that Psalm is after written.

Then made he sign of holy rood upon them, Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore, And he departed swiftly as he came.

THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE.

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXVIII.

LONGING already to search in and round
The heavenly forest, dense and living-green,
Which to the eyes tempered the new-born day,

Withouten more delay I left the bank,

Crossing the level country slowly, slowly,

Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance.

A gently-breathing air, that no mutation
Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead,
No heaver blow, than of a pleasant breeze,

Whereat the tremulous branches readily

Did all of them bow downward towards that

side

Where its first shadow casts the Holy Moun

tain;

Yet not from their upright direction bent
So that the little birds upon their tops

Should cease the practice of their tuneful

art;

But, with full-throated joy, the hours of prime Singing received they in the midst of foliage That made monotonous burden to their rhymes,

Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells,

Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco.