# Purgatory Canto  2

*Exported from [Holy-Writings.com](https://www.holy-writings.com/) on 2026-06-19 — 1 clipping.*

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> 
> Canto II
> 
> Argument
> 
>      They behold a vessel under conduct of an angel, coming over the waves
> with spirits to Purgatory, among whom, when the passengers have landed, Dante
> recognizes his friend Casella; but, while they are entertained by him with a
> song, they hear Cato exclaiming against their negligent loitering, and at that
> rebuke hasten forward to the mountain.
> 
> Now had the sun[1] to that horizon reach'd,
> That covers, with the most exalted point
> Of its meridian circle, Salem's walls;
> And night, that opposite to him her orb
> Rounds, from the stream of Ganges issued forth,
> Holding the scales,[2] that from her hands are dropt
> When she reigns highest:[3] so that where I was,
> Aurora's white and vermeil - tinctured cheek
> To orange turn'd as she in age increased.
> 
> [1: "Now had the sun." Dante was now antipodal to Jerusalem; so that
> while the sun was setting with respect to that place, which he supposes to be
> the middle of the inhabited earth, to him it was rising.]
> 
> [2: The constellation Libra.]
> 
> [3: "When she reigns highest" is (according to Venturi, whom I have
> followed) "when the autumnal equinox is passed." Lombardi supposes it to mean
> "when the nights begin to increase, that is, after the summer solstice."]
> 
> Meanwhile we linger'd by the water's brink,
> Like men, who, musing on their road, in thought
> Journey, while motionless the body rests.
> When lo! as, near upon the hour of dawn,
> Through the thick vapors Mars with fiery beam
> Glares down in west, over the ocean floor;
> So seem'd, what once again I hope to view,
> A light, so swiftly coming through the sea,
> No winged course might equal its career.
> From which when for a space I had withdrawn
> Mine eyes, to make inquiry of my guide,
> Again I look'd, and saw it grown in size
> And brightness: then on either side appear'd
> Something, but what I knew not, of bright hue,
> 
> And by degrees from underneath it came
> Another. My preceptor silent yet
> Stood, while the brightness, that we first discern'd,
> Open'd the form of wings: then when he knew
> The pilot, cried aloud, "Down, down; bend low
> Thy knees; behold God's angel: fold thy hands:
> Now shalt thou see true ministers indeed.
> Lo! how all human means he sets at naught;
> So that nor oar he needs, nor other sail
> Except his wings, between such distant shores.
> Lo! how straight up to Heaven he holds them rear'd,
> Winnowing the air with these eternal plumes,
> That not like mortal hairs fall off or change."
> 
> As more and more toward us came, more bright
> Appear'd the bird of God, nor could the eye
> Endure his splendor near: I mine bent down.
> He drove ashore in a small bark so swift
> And light, that in its course no wave it drank.
> The heavenly steersman at the prow was seen,
> Visibly written Blessed in his looks.
> Within a hundred spirits and more there sat.
> 
> "In Exitu[4] Israel de Egypto,"
> All with one voice together sang, with what
> In the remainder of that hymn is writ.
> Then soon as with the sign of holy cross
> He bless'd them, they at once leap'd out on land:
> He, swiftly as he came, return'd. The crew,
> There left, appear'd astounded with the place,
> Gazing around, as one who sees new sights.
> 
> [4: "In Exitu." "When Israel came out of Egypt." Ps. cxiv.]
> 
> From every side the sun darted his beams,
> And with his arrowy radiance from mid heaven
> Had chased the Capricorn, when that strange tribe,
> Lifting their eyes toward us: "If ye know,
> Declare what path will lead us to the mount."
> 
> Them Virgil answer'd: "Ye suppose, perchance,
> Us well acquainted with this place: but here,
> We, as yourselves, are strangers. Not long erst
> We came, before you but a little space,
> By other road so rough and hard, that now
> 
> The ascent will seem to us as play." The spirits,
> Who from my breathing had perceived I lived,
> Grew pale with wonder. As the multitude
> Flock round a herald sent with olive branch,
> To hear what news he brings, and in their haste
> Tread one another down; e'en so at sight
> Of me those happy spirits were fix'd, each one
> Forgetful of its errand to depart
> Where, cleansed from sin, it might be made all fair.
> 
> Then one I saw darting before the rest
> With such fond ardour to embrace me, I
> To do the like was moved. O shadows vain!
> Except in outward semblance: thrice my hands
> I clasp'd behind it, they as oft return'd
> Empty into my breast again. Surprise
> I need must think was painted in my looks,
> For that the shadow smiled and backward drew.
> To follow it I hasten'd, but with voice
> Of sweetness it enjoin'd me to desist.
> Then who it was I knew, and pray'd of it,
> To talk with me it would a little pause.
> It answer'd: "Thee as in my mortal frame
> I loved, so loosed from it I love thee still,
> And therefore pause: but why walkest thou here?"
> 
> "Not without purpose once more to return,
> Thou find'st me, my Casella,[5] where I am,
> Journeying this way;" I said: "but how of thee
> Hath so much time been lost?" He answer'd straight:
> 
> [5: "My Casella." A Florentine, celebrated for his skill in music,
> "in whose company, says Landino, "Dante often recreated his spirits, wearied
> by severer studies," See Dr. Burney's History of Music, vol. ii. cap. iv., p.
> 322. See also Milton's sonnet to Henry Lawes: "Dante shall give fame leave to
> set thee higher Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing, Met in the milder
> shades of Purgatory."]
> 
> "No outrage hath been done to me, if he,[6]
> Who when and whom he chooses takes, hath oft
> Denied me passage here; since of just will
> His will he makes. These three months past[7] indeed,
> He, who so chose to enter, with free leave
> 
> [6: "He." The conducting angel.]
> 
> [7: "These three months past." Since the time of the Jubilee, during
> which all spirits not condemned to eternal punishment were supposed to pass
> over to Purgatory as soon as they pleased.]
> 
> Hath taken; whence I wandering by the shore[8]
> Where Tiber's wave grows salt, of him gain'd kind
> Admittance, at that river's mouth, toward which
> His wings are pointed; for there always throng
> All such as not to Acheron descend."
> 
> [8: "The shore." Ostia.]
> 
> Then I: "If new law taketh not from thee
> Memory or custom of love - tuned song,
> That whilom all my cares had power to 'swage;
> Please thee therewith a little to console
> My spirit, that encumber'd with its frame,
> Travelling so far, of pain is overcome."
> 
> "Love, that discourses in my thoughts," he then
> Began in such soft accents, that within
> The sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guide,
> And all who came with him, so well were pleased,
> That seem'd naught else might in their thoughts have room.
> 
> Fast fix'd in mute attention to his notes
> We stood, when lo! that old man venerable
> Exclaiming, "How is this, ye tardy spirits?
> What negligence detains you loitering here?
> Run to the mountain to cast off those scales,
> That from your eyes the sight of God conceal."
> 
> As a wild flock of pigeons, to their food
> Collected, blade or tares, without their pride
> Accustom'd, and in still and quiet sort,
> If aught alarm them, suddenly desert
> Their meal, assail'd by more important care;
> So I that new - come troop beheld, the song
> Deserting, hasten to the mountain's side,
> As one who goes, yet, where he tends, knows not.
> 
> Nor with less hurried step did we depart.
>
> — *Purgatory Canto  2*