CANTO XVI, Lines 67–72. Voi che vivete, ogni cagion recate CANTO XVII, Lines 1–9. Ricorditi, lettor, se mai nell'alpe Ti colse nebbia, per la qual vedessi In giugnere a veder, com'io rividi Lines 40-54. Come si frange il sonno, ove di butto CANTO XVI, Lines 67-72. Ye living people refer every cause up to the heavens, as if they of necessity moved all things with themselves. If it were thus, free will would be destroyed in you, and there would be no justice in having joy for good and grief for evil. CANTO XVII, Lines 1-9. Bethink thee, reader, if ever in the Alps a mist enfolded thee, through which thou I couldst see not otherwise than as moles through their skin, how when the moist and dense vapors begin to grow thin the sun's globe enters feebly through them, and thy imagination will easily come to see how I first beheld again the sun, which was already at its setting. Lines 40-54. As sleep is broken when of a sudden the new light strikes the closed eyes, and, broken, quivers before it wholly dies, Così l'immaginar mio cadde giuso, Tosto ch'un lume il volto mi percosse, Maggiore assai, che quello ch'è in nostr'uso. I' mi volgea per vedere ov'io fosse, Di riguardar chi era che parlava, Lines 115-123. È chi, per esser suo vicin soppresso, so my imagining fell down as soon as a light, greater by far than we are used to, ascent,' which removed me from every other thought, and made my desire to see who it was that spoke, as eager as that which never rests until it is met face to face. But as before the sun which quells our sight, and by excess of light veils its own form, so here my power failed. Lines 115-123. There is he who hopes to excel through the abasement of his neighbor, and, for this reason only, longs that he may be cast down from his high estate. There is he who fears loss of power, favor, honor, and fame because another rises, whereat he is so saddened that he loves the opposite. And there is he who seems so ashamed of an injury Si, che si fa della vendetta ghiotto; E tal convien, che il male altrui impronti. CANTO XVIII, Lines 1-9. Posto avea fine al suo ragionamento Di fuor taceva, e dentro dicea: Forse Lines 139-145. Poi quando fur da noi tanto divise |