She recommenced, continuing without pause,
  "Say, say if this be true; to such a charge,
  Thy own confession needs must be conjoined."

My faculties were in so great confusion,
  That the voice moved, but sooner was extinct
  Than by its organs it was set at large.

Confusion and dismay together mingled
  Forced such a Yes! from out my mouth, that sight
  Was needful to the understanding of it.

Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 'tis discharged
  Too tensely drawn the bowstring and the bow,
  And with less force the arrow hits the mark, 

Whence she to me: "In those desires of mine
  Which led thee to the loving of that good,
  Beyond which there is nothing to aspire to,

What trenches lying traverse or what chains
  Didst thou discover, that of passing onward
  Thou shouldst have thus despoiled thee of the hope? 

After the heaving of a bitter sigh,
  Hardly had I the voice to make response,
  And with fatigue my lips did fashion it.

Weeping I said: "The things that present were
  With their false pleasure turned aside my steps,
  Soon as your countenance concealed itself." 

But when from one's own cheeks comes bursting forth
  The accusal of the sin, in our tribunal
  Against the edge the wheel doth turn itself.

But still, that thou mayst feel a greater shame
  For thy transgression, and another time
  Hearing the Sirens thou mayst be more strong,

Never to thee presented art or nature
  Pleasure so great as the fair limbs wherein
  I was enclosed, which scattered are in earth.

And if the highest pleasure thus did fail thee
  By reason of my death, what mortal thing
  Should then have drawn thee into its desire?

Thou oughtest not to have stooped thy 
pinions downward
  To wait for further blows, or little girl,
  Or other vanity of such brief use.

The callow birdlet waits for two or three,
  But to the eyes of those already fledged,
  In vain the net is spread or shaft is shot."
 

So was I standing; and she said: "If thou
  In hearing sufferest pain, lift up thy beard
  And thou shalt feel a greater pain in seeing."

With less resistance is a robust holm
  Uprooted, either by a native wind
  Or else by that from regions of Iarbas, 

And as my countenance was lifted up,
  Mine eye perceived those creatures beautiful
  Had rested from the strewing of the flowers;

And, still but little reassured, mine eyes
  Saw Beatrice turned round towards the monster,
  That is one person only in two natures.

So pricked me then the thorn of penitence,
  That of all other things the one which turned me
  Most to its love became the most my foe.

Such self-conviction stung me at the heart
  O'erpowered I fell, and what I then became
  She knoweth who had furnished me the cause. 

Up to my throat she in the stream had drawn me,
  And, dragging me behind her, she was moving
  Upon the water lightly as a shuttle.

When I was near unto the blessed shore,
  "Asperges me," I heard so sweetly sung,
  Remember it I cannot, much less write it.

Then forth she drew me, and all dripping brought
  Into the dance of the four beautiful,
  And each one with her arm did cover me.

'We here are Nymphs, and in the Heaven are stars;
  Ere Beatrice descended to the world,
  We as her handmaids were appointed her.

Thus singing they began; and afterwards
  Unto the Griffin's breast they led me with them,
  Where Beatrice was standing, turned towards us.

"See that thou dost not spare thine eyes," they said;
  "Before the emeralds have we stationed thee,
  Whence Love aforetime drew for thee his weapons."

As in a glass the sun, not otherwise
  Within them was the twofold monster shining,
  Now with the one, now with the other nature.

Think, Reader, if within myself I marvelled,
  When I beheld the thing itself stand still,
  And in its image it transformed itself.

Themselves revealing of the highest rank
  In bearing, did the other three advance,
  Singing to their angelic saraband.

"Turn, Beatrice, O turn thy holy eyes,"
  Such was their song, "unto thy faithful one,
  Who has to see thee ta'en so many steps.

O splendour of the living light eternal!
  Who underneath the shadow of Parnassus
  Has grown so pale, or drunk so at its cistern,

He would not seem to have his mind encumbered
  Striving to paint thee as thou didst appear,
  Where the harmonious heaven o'ershadowed thee,