In the second Canto, Dante begins to feel his courage unequal to the task, and asks his guide whether he has really strength to undertake the proposed journey, whereupon Virgil, to reassure him, relates the circumstances which led to his own intervention. For Beatrice had herself descended from Paradise to entreat him to go to Dante's succour in his present dangers: and on Virgil's asking how it was she could bear for one moment to leave the joys of heaven, she replied that when sitting with Rachel (the type of the contemplative life) she had received a message from the divine mercy by the hands of Lucia, (the type of illuminating grace,) announcing that he who had loved her so much on earth was then in deadly peril, and bidding her go to his assistance. On this Beatrice had descended to ask Virgil's help, who as we have seen arrived in time to save Dante from the attacks of the wolf. The latter on hearing this, feels his courage revive, and the two poets together begin their journey through the dark wood.

The third Canto, one of the most celebrated of the whole poem, needs little explanation. The 59th line must be understood to refer to Celestine V., who was induced to abdicate the Papacy, and afterwards imprisoned by order of Boniface, his successor. His subsequent canonization proves that Dante's opinion of him was not confirmed by later generations. Our readers should notice the art with which, in this and future cantos, the whole apparatus, so to speak, of the pagan Tartarus is employed, without the slightest injury to the religious feeling which throughout underlies the narrative, Charon, Minos, Cerberus, and the like, are (what they could not be in Virgil) devils, clothed for convenience' sake in the garb and office familiar to those conversant with classical mythology; so that we have no mere colourless reproduction of other poets' imaginations, but a terrible reality imparted to each character, and enforced on the reader's mind by some or other diabolic trait appropriate to each. Our readers should compare the Charon of the sixth book of the Æneid with Dante's conception, and they will see that there is nothing in the VOL. 7.

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PART 38.

heathen poet to match the ideas contained in such passages as lines 84-87, and 109-111 of this third Canto. And the same is the case in

other instances also.

THE INFERNO.-CANTO III.

Through me the road lies unto sorrow's city,
Through me the road lies unto gloom infernal,
Through me among the nation reft of pity.
'Twas justice moved my Maker's mind supernal:
Me God did fashion, power and virtue's centre,
Highest intelligence, and love eternal.

Before me nought created my Inventor,

Save things that die not, and I live immortal;
All hope abandon, ye who here do enter.
Engraven on the summit of a portal

These words of dull dark colour I discerned :
Then I, 'O Master, sad to eyes of mortal
Their meaning is.' But he, in answer learned,
'Here needs must be abandoned all suspicion,
Here must all cowardice away be spurned.
Lo, here the place and object of my mission,

Where thou shalt see the wretched souls abiding,
Who of the mind's true bliss have lost fruition.'
And then his hand, with countenance unchiding,
On mine he laid, whence comfort I received,
Into hell's secret place my footsteps guiding.
There sighs, complaints, and moanings unrelieved
Throughout the starless atmosphere resounding,
Drew tears thus early from mine eyes aggrieved.
In diverse language, words of woe astounding,
Speeches of grief, accents of anger, voices
Piercing and harsh, with beat of hands abounding,
Made a discordancy of blended noises,

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All in that air of gloom without a morrow,
As sand the whirlwind in mid heaven poises.
Then, horror's utterance for my thoughts to borrow,

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" Master,' I said, 'what hear I now? what nation
Is this that seems so overcome with sorrow?'

Then he in answer, 'This sad habitation

The souls inherit who on earth remained
Alike removed from blame and commendation.
They partnership with that vile crew have gained
Of angels who to God, though not rebelling,
Yet faithless were, and from the cause abstained.

Heaven drave them forth, its beauty's clouds dispelling,
Nor yet doth Hell receive them, for no glory
Of theirs could grace the lowest sinner's dwelling.'
Then I, 'What woe holds here its territory?

O Master, why such grievous lamentation?'
Whereat he answered, Brief shall be my story.
These wretches have of death no expectation,

And to such shame doth their blind life ally them,
They needs must envy every other station.
The world forbids its honours to come nigh them;
Mercy and Justice turn away despising;

Speak not of them; one look, and then pass by them.'

Then I beheld, and lo a banner rising,

Which onward sped, and filled my mind with wonder,
Incessant circles in its course devising:

And next a troop of spirits followed under;
I hardly could believe that death had ever
So many souls from bodies rent asunder.

Then some to recognize did I endeavour,

And saw his ghost, who made, in sloth immersed,
The great refusal. More I doubted never,
But understood this was the tribe unversed
In righteous deeds, alike displeasure giving
To God and to his enemies accursed.
These wretched ones, whose life was never living,
Were naked, and beneath the torture cowered
Of stings of wasps and hornets. There arriving,
I saw the blood all down their faces showered,

Which, mingled with their tears' distressful torrent,
Was at their feet by loathsome worms devoured.
Then when I turned from visions so abhorrent,
Lo, a great concourse by a river's border;
Whereat I said, 'O Master, give me warrant
To know who these men be, and by what order
They seek a passage with such haste unfeigned,
As I can judge through the dim light's disorder.'
Then he in answer, 'All will be explained

When we with steadfast feet thereunto tending
The mournful brink of Acheron have attained.'
So I with eyes abashed and downwards bending
Until we reached the stream of melancholy,
Withheld my questions, fearful of offending.
But lo, an old man, hoar and aged, slowly
Came steering towards us o'er the tide infernal,
Exclaiming, 'Woe, woe to you, souls unholy:

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60

70

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Ne'er hope to see the land of bliss supernal,
I come to lead you to a bourne far distant,
Midst fire and ice, in darkness sempiternal.
And thou, who standest there, soul yet existent,

Go from among the dead: why shouldst thou tarry?'—
But when he saw that I remained persistent,-—

'By other ports and ways 'tis necessary

Thou shouldst pass over, who no pass hast earned; A nimbler boat than mine such weight must carry.' To him my guide, Charon, be not concerned;

So it is there willed where the power remaineth The will to accomplish; more may not be learned.' Then that hoar face its quietude regaineth

Of him the steersman of the leaden river,
Whose either eye a wheel of fire containeth.
But those faint naked ghosts began to quiver,

With gnash of teeth and colour changed appearing,
When him they heard the cruel taunt deliver.
God and their parents they with frenzied daring
Did curse, the human race, the time ill-fated
And place of their conception and their bearing.
Then drew they all together, congregated

At the evil strand which their deep woe enhances,
By every man who fears not God awaited.
The hellish Charon, with coal-burning glances,
Gathers them all with signs within his tether,
Strikes with his oar whoe'er too slow advances.
Then as the leaves descend in autumn weather,

One next another, till the tree bereaved
To earth surrenders all her spoils together;
So Adam's evil offspring, sorely grieved,

Drop one by one from off the shore when beckoned,
As drops the bird by charmer's voice deceived.

So o'er the wave they go with tale full reckoned,
But ere the first freight yonder bank has gained,
Already on this side gathers fast a second.
'My son,' the courteous Master then explained,
'Those who, to whatsoever land belonging,
Die 'neath God's anger, hither are arraigned;
See how they all to cross the stream are thronging:
The spur of wrath divine allows no leisure,
So that their very fear is turned to longing.
Here comes no righteous soul; if then displeasure
Did Charon move, when he thy presence viewed,
Thou well the import of his words canst measure.'

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He spake, and through the darkening plain ensued
So fierce a trembling, that my spirit frightened,
E'en at the memory is with sweat bedewed.
The sighing earth sent forth a blast, which lightened
Flashes of hue vermilion without number,

Which beat on every sense with pressure heightened,
And down I fell, as one o'ercome by slumber.
(To be continued.)

130

MUSINGS OVER THE CHRISTIAN YEAR
AND LYRA INNOCENTIUM.

QUINQUAGESIMA.

QUINQUAGESIMA always seems divided between two favourite thoughts. It is the Rainbow Sunday, and the Sunday of Charity; and perhaps one special charm in the peculiarly bright soft hymn of the day is that it contrives to unite both thoughts, and make the one shed its light upon the other.

The rainbow-necked strong-winged dove, the grey peaceful olive leaf, the lovely rainbow, are all three saluted lovingly as the still existing emblems of the Covenant of Mercy granted to man after the Flood. In all the unspeakable delight with which Noah and his family must have come forth from the Ark, what was their first and greatest joy? Love. The gracious promise of mercy and pardon for ever to the earth, rejoicing their hearts as our Lord's look of welcome rejoices the souls that sin and earth forsook in time to die His friends.

And on the patriarch's eye shone the visible token of that Promise of Love, the gentle rainbow, which is most truly light-light, not dazzling like the sunbeam, but soft and refreshing to the eye.

The rainbow colours are the sun's rays divided and parted into their several hues. Even so the Divine Perfection of Love, which is too much and too bright for our contemplation in the Godhead, is in our Lord on earth rendered capable of being gazed upon and studied. Like the sunbeam, it is parted into rainbow hues shown in detail, so as to win our affections and become our example. Then, with a rapid glance at the Epistle in which St. Paul traces every virtue to charity, just as every colour is traced by opticians to light, the whole is summed up in the stanza

'God by His Bow vouchsafes to write

This truth in Heaven above;

As every lovely hue is light,

So every grace is love."

The Lyra poem-one of those on children's troubles, and entitled 'Fear of Wild Beasts,'-seems at first sight vague and dreamy, being apparently