e last level of the circles where those phantoms dwell that
I had left behind me, like sorrows one would fain forget, I saw a vast
shade. Standing in an attitude of aspiration, that soul looked eagerly
into space; his feet were riveted by the will of God to the topmost
point of the margin, and he remained for ever in the painful strain by
which we project our purpose when we long to soar, as birds about to
take wing. I saw the man; he neither looked at us nor heard us; every
muscle quivered and throbbed; at each separate instant he seemed to
feel, though he did not move, all the fatigue of traversing the infinite
that divided him from Paradise where, as he gazed steadfastly, he
believed he had glimpses of a beloved image. At this last gate of Hell,
as at the first, I saw the stamp of despair even in hope. The hapless
creature was so fearfully held by some unseen force, that his anguish
entered into my bones and froze my blood. I shrank closer to my Guide,
whose protection restored me to peace and silence.

"Suddenly the Shade gave a cry of joy--a cry as shrill as that of the
mother bird that sees a hawk in the air, or suspects its presence. We
looked where he was looking, and saw, as it were, a sapphire, floating
high up in the abysses of light. The glowing star fell with the
swiftness of a sunbeam when it flashes over the horizon in the morning
and its first rays shoot across the world. The Splendor became clearer
and grew larger; presently I beheld the cloud of glory in which the
angels move--a shining vapor that emanates from their divine substance,
and that glitters here and there like tongues of flame. A noble face,
whose glory none may endure that have not won the mantle, the laurel,
and the palm--the attribute of the Powers--rose above this cloud as
white and pure as snow. It was Light within light. His wings as they
waved shed dazzling ripples in the spheres through which he descended,
as the glance of God pierces through the universe. At last I saw the
archangel in all his glory. The flower of eternal beauty that belongs to
the angels of the Spirit shone in him. In one hand he held a green
palm branch, in the other a sword of flame: the palm to bestow on the
pardoned soul, the sword to drive back all the hosts of Hell with one
sweep. As he approached, the perfumes of Heaven fell upon us as dew. In
the region where the archangel paused, the air took the hues of opal,
and moved in eddies of which he was the centre