FROM THE PURGATORIO OF DANTE, CANTO 28, LINES 1-51. by Percy Bysshe Shelley: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
Shelley translates the beginning of Canto 28 from Dante's *Purgatorio*, where the pilgrim enters a divine forest at the summit of Purgatory and encounters a mysterious, beautiful woman singing and picking flowers next to a dark, crystal-clear stream.
The poem
[Published in part (lines 1-8, 22-51) by Medwin, “The Angler in Wales”, 1834, “Life of Shelley”, 1847; reprinted in full by Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.] And earnest to explore within—around— The divine wood, whose thick green living woof Tempered the young day to the sight—I wound Up the green slope, beneath the forest’s roof, With slow, soft steps leaving the mountain’s steep, _5 And sought those inmost labyrinths, motion-proof Against the air, that in that stillness deep And solemn, struck upon my forehead bare, The slow, soft stroke of a continuous... In which the ... leaves tremblingly were _10 All bent towards that part where earliest The sacred hill obscures the morning air. Yet were they not so shaken from the rest, But that the birds, perched on the utmost spray, Incessantly renewing their blithe quest, _15 With perfect joy received the early day, Singing within the glancing leaves, whose sound Kept a low burden to their roundelay, Such as from bough to bough gathers around The pine forest on bleak Chiassi’s shore, _20 When Aeolus Sirocco has unbound. My slow steps had already borne me o’er Such space within the antique wood, that I Perceived not where I entered any more,— When, lo! a stream whose little waves went by, _25 Bending towards the left through grass that grew Upon its bank, impeded suddenly My going on. Water of purest hue On earth, would appear turbid and impure Compared with this, whose unconcealing dew, _30 Dark, dark, yet clear, moved under the obscure Eternal shades, whose interwoven looms The rays of moon or sunlight ne’er endure. I moved not with my feet, but mid the glooms Pierced with my charmed eye, contemplating _35 The mighty multitude of fresh May blooms Which starred that night, when, even as a thing That suddenly, for blank astonishment, Charms every sense, and makes all thought take wing,— A solitary woman! and she went _40 Singing and gathering flower after flower, With which her way was painted and besprent. ‘Bright lady, who, if looks had ever power To bear true witness of the heart within, Dost bask under the beams of love, come lower _45 Towards this bank. I prithee let me win This much of thee, to come, that I may hear Thy song: like Proserpine, in Enna’s glen, Thou seemest to my fancy, singing here And gathering flowers, as that fair maiden when _50 She lost the Spring, and Ceres her, more dear. NOTES: _2 The 1862; That 1834. _4, _5 So 1862; Up a green slope, beneath the starry roof, With slow, slow steps— 1834. _6 inmost 1862; leafy 1834. _9 So 1862; The slow, soft stroke of a continuous sleep cj. Rossetti, 1870. _9-_28 So 1862; Like the sweet breathing of a child asleep: Already I had lost myself so far Amid that tangled wilderness that I Perceived not where I ventured, but no fear Of wandering from my way disturbed, when nigh A little stream appeared; the grass that grew Thick on its banks impeded suddenly My going on. 1834. _13 the 1862; their cj. Rossetti, 1870. _26 through]the cj. Rossetti. _28 hue 1862; dew 1834. _30 dew 1862; hue 1834. _32 Eternal shades 1862; Of the close boughs 1834. _33 So 1862; No ray of moon or sunshine would endure 1834. _34, _35 So 1862; My feet were motionless, but mid the glooms Darted my charmed eyes—1834. _37 Which 1834; That 1862. _39 So 1834; Dissolves all other thought...1862. _40 So 1862; Appeared a solitary maid—she went 1834. _46 Towards 1862; Unto 1834. _47 thee, to come 1862; thee O come 1834. ***
Shelley translates the beginning of Canto 28 from Dante's *Purgatorio*, where the pilgrim enters a divine forest at the summit of Purgatory and encounters a mysterious, beautiful woman singing and picking flowers next to a dark, crystal-clear stream. The scene is vibrant and dreamlike, filled with birdsong, rustling leaves, and May blossoms. It concludes with the narrator calling out to the woman and likening her to Proserpine — the goddess who was taken from a meadow of flowers and lost the spring for eternity.
Line-by-line
And earnest to explore within—around— / The divine wood, whose thick green living woof
Up the green slope, beneath the forest's roof, / With slow, soft steps leaving the mountain's steep,
Against the air, that in that stillness deep / And solemn, struck upon my forehead bare,
In which the ... leaves tremblingly were / All bent towards that part where earliest
Yet were they not so shaken from the rest, / But that the birds, perched on the utmost spray,
Such as from bough to bough gathers around / The pine forest on bleak Chiassi's shore,
My slow steps had already borne me o'er / Such space within the antique wood, that I
When, lo! a stream whose little waves went by, / Bending towards the left through grass that grew
Water of purest hue / On earth, would appear turbid and impure
I moved not with my feet, but mid the glooms / Pierced with my charmed eye, contemplating
Which starred that night, when, even as a thing / That suddenly, for blank astonishment,
A solitary woman! and she went / Singing and gathering flower after flower,
'Bright lady, who, if looks had ever power / To bear true witness of the heart within,
Thou seemest to my fancy, singing here / And gathering flowers, as that fair maiden when
Tone & mood
The tone remains hushed and reverent, reminiscent of the quiet found in a cathedral or a forest just after dawn. Shelley captures Dante's slow, deliberate sense of wonder: nothing feels rushed, and every detail is appreciated. There's also a hint of enchantment, even a slight disorientation, as the pilgrim becomes absorbed in the woods. The final stanza introduces a touch of gentle melancholy with the reference to Proserpine, reminding us that beauty and loss are always closely connected.
Symbols & metaphors
- The divine wood — The forest at the top of Purgatory is like the earthly paradise — Eden before the Fall. It embodies perfect, unspoiled nature, and stepping into it indicates that the pilgrim is close to finishing his purgation and is prepared to approach heaven.
- The dark, clear stream — This is the river Lethe, which in Dante's cosmology wipes away the memory of sin. Its paradoxical nature — dark since no light touches it, yet completely clear — sets it apart as belonging to a different realm of reality than anything found on earth.
- The solitary woman gathering flowers — She is Matelda in Dante's original work, representing an active and joyful life lived in innocence. Her flower-gathering brings to mind Eden and, more ominously, Proserpine — embodying both the promise of paradise and the lingering shadow of what was lost when humanity fell.
- The eastward-leaning leaves — The leaves bending toward the sunrise quietly symbolize spiritual orientation—turning toward God and light just like a plant naturally turns toward the sun. Even in Purgatory, the trees know which way to point.
- Proserpine in Enna's glen — The poem closes with the image of Proserpine gathering flowers just before Pluto abducts her. This moment connects beauty, innocence, and abrupt loss, serving as a reminder that the original earthly paradise was lost. The comparison feels gentle yet conveys a deep sense of sorrow.
- The birdsong — The birds singing in the canopy express a pure, effortless joy — the kind of happiness found in a place free from sin or suffering. Their song mingles with the rustling leaves, forming a natural melody that reflects the harmony of this sacred space.
Historical context
Shelley translated this passage from Dante's *Purgatorio* sometime before he died in 1822. However, it was only published in fragments by Thomas Medwin in 1834 and in full by Richard Garnett in 1862. During his final years, Shelley was deeply engrossed in Dante's work—his own *Triumph of Life* remains unfinished in the same way as this translation, with both pieces exuding a sense of visionary incompleteness. In Dante's *Purgatorio* Canto 28, the pilgrim reaches the Earthly Paradise after climbing through Purgatory, entering a forest that represents a restored Eden. This aligns well with Shelley's Romantic sensibility—his passion for nature, his fascination with the uncanny, and his exploration of beauty intertwined with loss all resonate within this canto. The manuscript gaps and varying readings in the notes highlight the poem's complex publication history.
FAQ
It’s a translation — Shelley is turning Canto 28, lines 1–51 of Dante's *Purgatorio* into English. He employs a terza rima structure (ABA BCB CDC...) to align with Dante's original Italian form, making it a truly faithful effort to convey not only the meaning but also the sound and flow of the original text.
The gaps show the condition of Shelley's manuscript at the time of his death in 1822. He left this translation unfinished and unrefined, and the editors who published it afterward (Medwin in 1834, Garnett in 1862) chose to keep the blanks instead of filling in words that Shelley never penned. The ellipsis in line 9 is the most well-known gap — Rossetti later proposed "sleep" as the missing word, but this is still just a guess.
In Dante's *Purgatorio*, she is later revealed to be Matelda, a character who cares for the Earthly Paradise. In this excerpt, she hasn't introduced herself yet — she is just a joyful woman, singing and picking flowers, which adds to the allure and enigma of her presence.
Proserpine, the Roman equivalent of the Greek goddess Persephone, was picking flowers in a meadow at Enna in Sicily when Pluto, the god of the underworld, kidnapped her. Her mother, Ceres (Demeter), mourned and searched for her, and during this time, the earth became barren — which is said to be the mythological origin of winter. Dante draws a parallel between the woman's innocent flower-gathering and a tale of paradise lost, and Shelley captures that bittersweet echo in his translation.
Terza rima is the interlocking rhyme scheme that Dante created for the *Divine Comedy*: ABA BCB CDC, and so forth, where the middle line of each stanza rhymes with the first and third lines of the next stanza. Shelley takes on this challenge here, which is quite ambitious in English since the language has many fewer rhymes than Italian. You can see it in pairs like "woof / roof," "steep / deep," "bare / air," and others.
In Dante's complete poem, this stream is the Lethe, one of the two rivers found in the Earthly Paradise. Lethe wipes away the memories of sins from one's life. Its paradox — clear yet dark because it’s forever shaded from both sunlight and moonlight — signifies that it functions under different rules than ordinary water. Crossing it is a crucial step in the pilgrim's final preparation before reaching heaven.
Chiassi (Classe) was the ancient port of Ravenna, known for its famous pine forest. Dante spent years in Ravenna during his exile and was very familiar with those pines — making the comparison personal and rooted in his own memories. Shelley includes it because it serves the purpose of a good simile: it ties an ethereal sound to something tangible that the reader (or at least someone who has traveled) might actually recognize.
Shelley developed a deep fascination with Dante during the final years of his life. His unfinished masterpiece, *The Triumph of Life* (1822), is crafted in terza rima and, like this passage, conveys a sense of visionary exploration — a speaker journeying through an unfamiliar, beautiful landscape while meeting a mysterious figure. Both works remained unfinished at his death, creating a haunting connection between them.