Innocence Once Lost - Religious Classics Collection. Джон Мильтон

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Innocence Once Lost - Religious Classics Collection - Джон Мильтон

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close to me approached, even as before,

       The very same who had entreated me,

       Attent to listen in their countenance.

      I, who their inclination twice had seen,

       Began: "O souls secure in the possession,

       Whene'er it may be, of a state of peace,

      Neither unripe nor ripened have remained

       My members upon earth, but here are with me

       With their own blood and their articulations.

      I go up here to be no longer blind;

       A Lady is above, who wins this grace,

       Whereby the mortal through your world I bring.

      But as your greatest longing satisfied

       May soon become, so that the Heaven may house you

       Which full of love is, and most amply spreads,

      Tell me, that I again in books may write it,

       Who are you, and what is that multitude

       Which goes upon its way behind your backs?"

      Not otherwise with wonder is bewildered

       The mountaineer, and staring round is dumb,

       When rough and rustic to the town he goes,

      Than every shade became in its appearance;

       But when they of their stupor were disburdened,

       Which in high hearts is quickly quieted,

      "Blessed be thou, who of our border-lands,"

       He recommenced who first had questioned us,

       "Experience freightest for a better life.

      The folk that comes not with us have offended

       In that for which once Caesar, triumphing,

       Heard himself called in contumely, 'Queen.'

      Therefore they separate, exclaiming, 'Sodom!'

       Themselves reproving, even as thou hast heard,

       And add unto their burning by their shame.

      Our own transgression was hermaphrodite;

       But because we observed not human law,

       Following like unto beasts our appetite,

      In our opprobrium by us is read,

       When we part company, the name of her

       Who bestialized herself in bestial wood.

      Now knowest thou our acts, and what our crime was;

       Wouldst thou perchance by name know who we are,

       There is not time to tell, nor could I do it.

      Thy wish to know me shall in sooth be granted;

       I'm Guido Guinicelli, and now purge me,

       Having repented ere the hour extreme."

      The same that in the sadness of Lycurgus

       Two sons became, their mother re-beholding,

       Such I became, but rise not to such height,

      The moment I heard name himself the father

       Of me and of my betters, who had ever

       Practised the sweet and gracious rhymes of love;

      And without speech and hearing thoughtfully

       For a long time I went, beholding him,

       Nor for the fire did I approach him nearer.

      When I was fed with looking, utterly

       Myself I offered ready for his service,

       With affirmation that compels belief.

      And he to me: "Thou leavest footprints such

       In me, from what I hear, and so distinct,

       Lethe cannot efface them, nor make dim.

      But if thy words just now the truth have sworn,

       Tell me what is the cause why thou displayest

       In word and look that dear thou holdest me?"

      And I to him: "Those dulcet lays of yours

       Which, long as shall endure our modern fashion,

       Shall make for ever dear their very ink!"

      "O brother," said he, "he whom I point out,"

       And here he pointed at a spirit in front,

       "Was of the mother tongue a better smith.

      Verses of love and proses of romance,

       He mastered all; and let the idiots talk,

       Who think the Lemosin surpasses him.

      To clamour more than truth they turn their faces,

       And in this way establish their opinion,

       Ere art or reason has by them been heard.

      Thus many ancients with Guittone did,

       From cry to cry still giving him applause,

       Until the truth has conquered with most persons.

      Now, if thou hast such ample privilege

       'Tis granted thee to go unto the cloister

       Wherein is Christ the abbot of the college,

      To him repeat for me a Paternoster,

       So far as needful to us of this world,

       Where power of sinning is no longer ours."

      Then, to give place perchance to one behind,

       Whom he had near, he vanished in the fire

       As fish in water going to the bottom.

      I moved a little tow'rds him pointed out,

       And said that to his name my own desire

       An honourable place was making ready.

      He of his own

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