And mingled by that second, foul from fair.
“What is this labour?” said the peer to John;
And the disciple answered Otho’s heir,
“Know that the Parcae are those ancient wives,
That in this fashion spin your feeble lives.
“As long as one fleece lasts, life in such wise
Endureth, nor outlasts it by a thought.
For Death and Nature have their watchful eyes
On the hour when each should to his end be brought.
The choicest threads are culled for Paradise,
And, after, for its ornaments are wrought;
And fashioned from the strands of foulest show
Are galling fetters for the damned below.”
On all the fleeces that erewhile were laid
Upon the reel, and culled for other care,
The names were graved on little plates, which made
Of silver, or of gold, or iron, were,
These piled in many heaps he next surveyed;
Whence an old man some skins was seen to bear,
Who, seemingly unwearied, hurried sore,
His restless way retracing evermore.
That elder is so nimble and so prest,
That he seems born to run: he bears away
Out of those heaps by lapfulls in his vest
The tickets that the different names display.
Wherefore and whither he his steps addrest,
To you I shall in other canto say,
If you, in sign of pleasure, will attend,
With that kind audience ye are wont to lend.
Canto XXXV
The apostle praises authors to the peer.
Duke Aymon’s martial daughter in affray,
Conquers the giant monarch of Argier,
And of the good Frontino makes a prey.
She next from Arles defies her cavalier,
And, while he marvels who would him assay,
Grandonio and Ferraù she with her hand
And Serpentine unhorses on the strand.
Madonna, who will scale the high ascent
Of heaven, to me my judgment to restore,
Which, since from your bright eyes the weapon went,
That pierced my heart, is wasting evermore?
Yet will not I such mighty loss lament,
So that it drain no faster than before;
But—ebbing further—I should fear to be
Such as Orlando is described by me.
To have anew that judgment, through the skies,
I deem there is no need for me to fly
To the moon’s circle, or to Paradise;
For, I believe, mine is not lodged so high.
On your bright visage, on your beauteous eyes,
Alabastrine neck, and paps of ivory,
Wander my wits, and I with busy lip,
If I may have them back, these fain would sip.
Astolpho wandered through that palace wide,
Observing al the future lives around:
When those already woven he had spied
Upon the fatal wheel for finish wound,
He a fair fleece discerned that far outvied
Fine gold, whose wondrous lustre jewels ground,
Could these into a thread be drawn by art,
Would never equal by the thousandth part.
The beauteous fleece he saw with wondrous glee
Equalled by none amid that countless store;
And when and whose such glorious life should be,
Longed sore to know. “This,” (said the apostle hoar,
Concealing nothing of its history,)
“Shall have existence twenty years before,
Dating from The Incarnate Word, the year
Shall marked my men with M and D appear;433
“And, as for splendour and for substance fair,
This fleece shall have no like or equal, so
Shall the blest age wherein it shall appear
Be singular in this our world below;
Because all graces, excellent and rare,
Which Nature or which Study can bestow,
Or bounteous Fortune upon men can shower,
Shall be its certain and eternal dower.
“Between the king of rivers’ horns,” (he cries,)
“Stands what is now a small and humble town.434
Before it runs the Po, behind it lies
A misty pool of marsh; this—looking down
The stream of future years—I recognize
First of Italian cities of renown;
Not only famed for wall and palace rare,
But noble ways of life and studies fair.
“Such exaltation, reached so suddenly,
Is not fortuitous nor wrought in vain;
But that is may his worthy cradle be,
Whereof I speak, shall so the heaven ordain.
For where men look for fruit they graff the tree,
And study still the rising plant to train;
And artist uses to refine the gold
Designed by him the precious gem to hold.
“Nor ever, in terrestrial realm, so fine
And fair a raiment spirit did invest,
And rarely soul so great from realms divine
Has been, or will be, thitherward addrest,
As that whereof The Eternal had design
To fashion good Hippolytus of Este:
Hippolytus of Este shall he be hight,
On whom so rich a gift of God shall light.
“All those fair graces, that, on many spent,
Would have served many wholly to array,
Are all united for his ornament,
Of whom thou hast entreated me to say.
To prop the arts, the virtues is he sent;
And should I seek his merits to display,
So long a time would last my tedious strain,
Orlando might expect his wits in vain.”
’Twas so Christ’s servant with the cavalier
Discoursed; they having satisfied their view
With sight of that fair mansion, far and near,
That whence conveyed were human lives, the two
Issued upon the stream, whose waves appear
Turbid with sand and of discoloured hue;
And found that ancient man upon the shore,
Who names, engraved on metal, thither bore.
I know not if you recollect; of him
I speak, whose story I erewhile suspended,
Ancient of visage, and so swift of limb,
That faster far than forest stag he wended.
With names he filled his mantle to the brim,
Aye thinned the pile, but ne’er his labour ended;
And in that stream, hight Lethe, next bestowed,
Yea, rather cast away, his costly load.
I say, that when upon the river side
Arrives that ancient, of his store profuse,
He all those names into the turbid tide
Discharges, as he shakes his mantle loose.
A countless shoal, they in the stream subside;
Nor henceforth are they fit
