# Purgatory Canto 30

*Exported from [Holy-Writings.com](https://www.holy-writings.com/) on 2026-06-18 — 1 clipping.*

---

> Christianity Index  Divine Comedy Index  Previous: Purgatory Canto 29  Next: Purgatory Canto 31  
> 
> Canto XXX
> 
> Argument
> 
>      Beatrice descends from Heaven, and rebukes the Poet.
> 
> Soon as that polar light,[1] fair ornament
> Of the first Heaven, which hath never known
> Setting nor rising, nor the shadowy veil
> Of other cloud than sin, to duty there
> Each one convoying, as that lower doth
> The steersman to his port, stood firmly fix'd;
> Forthwith the saintly tribe, who in the van
> Between the Gryphon and its radiance came,
> Did turn them to the car, as to their rest:
> And one, as if commission'd from above,
> In holy chant thrice shouted forth aloud;
> "Come,[2] spouse! from Libanus:" and all the rest
> Took up the song. - At the last audit, so
> The blest shall rise, from forth his cavern each
> Uplifting lightly his new - vested flesh;
> As, on the sacred litter, at the voice
> Authoritative of that elder, sprang
> A hundred ministers and messengers
> Of life eternal. "Blessed[3] thou, who comest!"
> And, "Oh!" they cried, "from full hands scatter ye
> Unwithering lilies": and, so saying, cast
> Flowers overhead and round them on all sides.
> 
> [1: The seven candlesticks of gold, which he calls the polar light of
> Heaven itself, because they perform the same office for Christians that the
> polar star does for mariners, in guiding them to their port.]
> 
> [2: "Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, with me, from Lebanon." -
> Song of Solomon, iv. 8.]
> 
> [3: Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord." - Matt. xxi.
> 9.]
> 
> I have beheld, ere now, at break of day,
> The eastern clime all roseate; and the sky
> Opposed, one deep and beautiful serene;
> And the sun's face so shaded, and with mists
> Attemper'd, at his rising, that the eye
> Long while endured the sight: thus, in a cloud
> Of flowers, that from those hands angelic rose,
> And down within and outside of the car
> Fell showering, in white veil with olive wreathed,
> A virgin in my view appear'd, beneath
> 
> Green mantle, robed in hue of living flame:
> And o'er my spirit, that so long a time
> Had from her presence felt no shuddering dread,
> Albeit mine eyes discern'd her not, there moved
> A hidden virtue from her, at whose touch
> The power of ancient love was strong within me.
> 
> No sooner on my vision streaming, smote
> The heavenly influence, which, years past, and e'en
> In childhood, thrill'd me, than towards Virgil I
> Turn'd me to leftward; panting, like a babe,
> That flees for refuge to his mother's breast,
> If aught have terrified or work'd him woe:
> And would have cried, "There is no dram of blood,
> That doth not quiver in me. The old flame
> Throws out clear tokens of reviving fire."
> But Virgil had bereaved us of himself;
> Virgil, my best - loved father, Virgil, he
> To whom I gave me up for safety: nor
> All, our prime mother lost, avail'd to save
> My undew'd cheeks from blur of soiling tears.
> 
> "Dante! weep not that Virgil leaves thee; nay,
> Weep thou not yet: behoves thee feel the edge
> Of other sword; and thou shalt weep for that."
> 
> As to the prow or stern, some admiral
> Paces the deck, inspiriting his crew,
> When 'mid the sail - yards all hands ply aloof;
> Thus, on the left side of the car, I saw
> (Turning me at the sound of mine own name,
> Which here I am compell'd to register)
> The virgin station'd, who before appear'd
> Veil'd in that festive shower angelical.
> 
> Towards me, across the stream, she bent her eyes;
> Though from her brow the veil descending, bound
> With foliage of Minerva, suffer'd not
> That I beheld her clearly: then with act
> Full royal, still insulting o'er her thrall,
> Added, as one who, speaking, keepeth back
> The bitterest saying, to conclude the speech:
> "Observe me well. I am, in sooth, I am
> Beatrice. What! and hast thou deign'd at last
> Approach the mountain? Knewest not, O man!
> Thy happiness is here?" Down fell mine eyes
> On the clear fount; but there, myself espying,
> Recoil'd, and sought the greensward; such a weight
> Of shame was on my forehead. With a mien
> Of that stern majesty, which doth surround
> A mother's presence to her awe - struck child,
> She look'd; a flavor of such bitterness
> Was mingled in her pity. There her words
> Brake off; and suddenly the angels sang,
> "In thee, O gracious Lord! my hope hath been":
> But[4] went no further than, "Thou, Lord! hast set
> My feet in ample room" As snow, that lies,
> Amidst the living rafters on the back
> Of Italy, congeal'd, when drifted high
> And closely piled by rough Sclavonian blasts;
> Breathe but the land whereon no shadow falls,
> And straightway melting it distills away,
> Like a fire - wasted taper: thus was I,
> Without a sigh or tear, or everithese
> Did sing, that, with the chiming of Heaven's sphere,
> Still in their warbling chime: but when the strain
> Of dulcet symphony express'd for me
> Their soft compassion, more than could the words,
> "Virgin! why so consumest him?" then, the ice
> Congeal'd about my bosom, turn'd itself
> To spirit and water; and with anguish forth
> Gush'd, through the lips and eyelids, from the heart.
> 
> [4: "But." They sang the thirty - first Psalm, to the end of the
> eighth verse. What follows would not have suited the place or the occasion.]
> 
> Upon the chariot's same edge still she stood,
> Immovable; and thus address'd her words
> To those bright semblances with pity touch'd:
> "Ye in the eternal day your vigils keep;
> So that nor night nor slumber, with close stealth,
> Conveys from you a single step, in all
> The goings on of time: thence, with more heed
> I shape mine answer, for his ear intended,
> Who there stands weeping; that the sorrow now
> May equal the transgression. Not alone
> 
> Through operation of the mighty orbs,
> That mark each seed to some predestined aim,
> As with aspect or fortunate or ill
> The constellations meet; but through benign
> Largess of heavenly graces, which rain down
> From such a height as mocks our vision, this man
> Was, in the freshness of his being, such,
> So gifted virtually, that in him
> All better habits wondrously had thrived
> The more of kindly strength is in the soil,
> So much doth evil seed and lack of culture
> Mar it the more, and make it run to wildness.
> These looks sometime upheld him; for I show'd
> My youthful eyes, and led him by their light
> In upright walking. Soon as I had reach'd
> Tee threshold of my second age, and changed
> My mortal for immortal; then he left me,
> And gave himself to others. When from flesh
> To spirit I had risen, and increase
> Of beauty and of virtue circled me,
> I was less dear to him, and valued less.
> His steps were turn'd into deceitful ways,
> Following false images of good, that make
> No promise perfect. Nor avail'd me aught
> To sue for inspirations, with the which,
> I, both in dreams of night, and otherwise,
> Did call him back; of them, so little reck'd him.
> Such depth he fell, that all device was short
> Of his preserving, save that he should view
> The children of perdition. To this end
> I visited the purlieus of the dead:
> And one, who hath conducted him thus high,
> Received my supplications urged with weeping.
> It were a breaking of God's high decree,
> If Lethe should be pass'd, and such food[5] tasted,
> Without the cost of some repentant tear."
> 
> [5: The oblivion of sins.]
>
> — *Purgatory Canto 30*