6 “Dante, though Virgil be gone away, weep not yet, weep not yet, 57 for weep thou needst must by another sword.” Like an admiral who, on poop or on prow, comes to see the people that are serving 60 on the other ships, and to do well encourages them, upon the left-hand border of the chariot – when I turned me at the sound of my own name, 63 which of necessity is registered here, I saw the Lady, who had first appeared to me veiled beneath the angelic festival, 66 directing her eyes toward me across the stream. Although the veil, which descended from her head, circled by the leaf of Minerva, 69 did not allow her to appear distinctly, royally, still severe in her mien, she went on, as one who speaks, 72 and his warmest words keeps back. “Look at me well: I am, indeed, I am, indeed, Beatrice. How hast thou deigned to approach the mountain? 75 Didst not know thou that here man is happy?” My eyes fell down to the clear fount; but seeing myself in it I drew them to the grass, 78 such great shame weighed on my brow. As the mother to her son seems haughty, so she seemed to me; for somewhat bitter 81 tastes the savor of tart pity.
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