Appeared a little ruby each, wherein
  Ray of the sun was burning so enkindled
  That each into mine eyes refracted it.

And what it now behoves me to retrace
  Nor voice has e'er reported, nor ink written,
  Nor was by fantasy e'er comprehended;

And it began: "Being just and merciful
  Am I exalted here unto that glory
  Which cannot be exceeded by desire;

And upon earth I left my memory
  Such, that the evil-minded people there
  Commend it, but continue not the story." 

Whence I thereafter: "O perpetual flowers
  Of the eternal joy, that only one
  Make me perceive your odours manifold,

Exhaling, break within me the great fast
  Which a long season has in hunger held me,
  Not finding for it any food on earth.

You know how I attentively address me
  To listen; and you know what is the doubt
  That is in me so very old a fast."

Even as a falcon, issuing from his hood,
Doth move his head, and with his wings applaud him,
  Showing desire, and making himself fine, 

Then it began: "He who a compass turned
  On the world's outer verge, and who within it
  Devised so much occult and manifest,

Could not the impress of his power so make
  On all the universe, as that his Word
  Should not remain in infinite excess.

And hence appears it, that each minor nature
  Is scant receptacle unto that good
  Which has no end, and by itself is measured.

In consequence our vision, which perforce
  Must be some ray of that intelligence
  With which all things whatever are replete,

Therefore into the justice sempiternal
  The power of vision that your world receives,
  As eye into the ocean, penetrates;

Which, though it see the bottom near the shore,
  Upon the deep perceives it not, and yet
  'Tis there, but it is hidden by the depth.

Amply to thee is opened now the cavern
  Which has concealed from thee the living justice
  Of which thou mad'st such frequent questioning.

For saidst thou: 'Born a man is on the shore
  Of Indus, and is none who there can speak
  Of Christ, nor who can read, nor who can write;

He dieth unbaptised and without faith;
  Where is this justice that condemneth him?
  Where is his fault, if he do not believe?'

Now who art thou, that on the bench wouldst sit
  In judgment at a thousand miles away,
  With the short vision of a single span?

O animals terrene, O stolid minds,
  The primal will, that in itself is good,
  Ne'er from itself, the Good Supreme, has moved.

So much is just as is accordant with it;
  No good created draws it to itself,
  But it, by raying forth, occasions that."- 

So lifted I my brows, and even such
  Became the blessed image, which its wings
  Was moving, by so many counsels urged.

Circling around it sang, and said: "As are
  My notes to thee, who dost not comprehend them,
  Such is the eternal judgment to you mortals."

It recommenced: "Unto this kingdom never
  Ascended one who had not faith in Christ,
  Before or since he to the tree was nailed.

But look thou, many crying are, 'Christ, Christ!'
  Who at the judgment shall be far less near
  To him than some shall be who knew not Christ. 

What to your kings may not the Persians say,
  When they that volume opened shall behold
  In which are written down all their dispraises?

There shall be seen, among the deeds of Albert,
  That which ere long shall set the pen in motion,
  For which the realm of Prague shall be deserted.

There shall be seen the pride that causes thirst,
  Which makes the Scot and Englishman so mad
  That they within their boundaries cannot rest;

Be seen the luxury and effeminate life
  Of him of Spain, and the Bohemian,
  Who valour never knew and never wished;

Be seen the avarice and poltroonery
  Of him who guards the Island of the Fire,
  Wherein Anchises finished his long life;

And to declare how pitiful he is
  Shall be his record in contracted letters
  Which shall make note of much in little space. 

And he of Portugal and he of Norway
  Shall there be known, and he of Rascia too,
  Who saw in evil hour the coin of Venice.

O happy Hungary, if she let herself
  Be wronged no farther! and Navarre the happy,
  If with the hills that gird her she be armed!