When we were upon the upper edge of the high bank on the open
slope, "My Master," said I, "what way shall we take?" And he to
me, "Let no step of thine fall back, always win up the mountain
behind me, till some sage guide appear for us."

The summit was so high it surpassed the sight and the side
steeper far than a line from the mid quadrant to the centre.[1] I
was weary, when I began, "O sweet Father, turn and regard howl
remain alone if thou dost not stop." "My son," said he, "far as
here drag thyself," pointing me to a ledge a little above, which
on that side circles all the hill. His words so spurred me, that
I forced myself, scrambling after him, until the belt was beneath
my feet. There we both sat down, turning to the east, whence we
had ascended, for to look back is wont to encourage one. I first
turned my eyes to the low shores, then I raised them to the sun,
and wondered that on the left we were struck by it. The Poet
perceived clearly that I was standing all bewildered at the
chariot of the light, where between us and Aquilo,[2] it was
entering. Whereupon he to me, "If Castor and Pollux were in
company with that mirror [3] which up and down guides with its
light, thou wouldst see the ruddy Zodiac revolving still closer
to the Bears, if it went not out of its old road.[4] How that may
be, if thou wishest to be able to think, collected in thyself
imagine Zion and this mountain to stand upon the earth so that
both have one sole horizon, and different hemispheres; then thou
wilt see that the road which Phaethon, to his harm, knew not how
to drive, must needs pass on the one side of this mountain, and
on the other side of that, if thy intelligence right clearly