IN the midway of this our mortal life,
　　I found me in a gloomy wood, astray
　　Gone from the path direct: and e'en to tell
　　It were no easy task, how savage wild
　　That forest, how robust and rough its growth,
　　Which to remember only, my dismay
　　Renews, in bitterness not far from death.
　　Yet to discourse of what there good befell,
　　All else will I relate discover'd there.
　　How first I enter'd it I scarce can say,
　　Such sleepy dullness in that instant weigh'd
　　My senses down, when the true path I left,
　　But when a mountain's foot I reach'd, where clos'd
　　The valley, that had pierc'd my heart with dread,
　　I look'd aloft, and saw his shoulders broad
　　Already vested with that planet's beam,
　　Who leads all wanderers safe through every way.
　　
　　Then was a little respite to the fear,
　　That in my heart's recesses deep had lain,
　　All of that night, so pitifully pass'd:
　　And as a man, with difficult short breath,
　　Forespent with toiling, 'scap'd from sea to shore,
　　Turns to the perilous wide waste, and stands
　　At gaze; e'en so my spirit, that yet fail'd
　　Struggling with terror, turn'd to view the straits,
　　That none hath pass'd and liv'd. My weary frame
　　After short pause recomforted, again
　　I journey'd on over that lonely steep,
　　
　　
　　The hinder foot still firmer. Scarce the ascent
　　Began, when, lo! a panther, nimble, light,
　　And cover'd with a speckled skin, appear'd,
　　Nor, when it saw me, vanish'd, rather strove
　　To check my onward going; that ofttimes
　　With purpose to retrace my steps I turn'd.
　　
　　The hour was morning's prime, and on his way
　　Aloft the sun ascended with those stars,
　　That with him rose, when Love divine first mov'd
　　Those its fair works: so that with joyous hope
　　All things conspir'd to fill me, the gay skin
　　Of that swift animal, the matin dawn
　　And the sweet season. Soon that joy was chas'd,
　　And by new dread succeeded, when in view
　　A lion came, 'gainst me, as it appear'd,
　　
　　With his head held aloft and hunger-mad,
　　That e'en the air was fear-struck. A she-wolf
　　Was at his heels, who in her leanness seem'd
　　Full of all wants, and many a land hath made
　　Disconsolate ere now. She with such fear
　　O'erwhelmed me, at the sight of her appall'd,
　　That of the height all hope I lost. As one,
　　Who with his gain elated, sees the time
　　When all unwares is gone, he inwardly
　　Mourns with heart-griping anguish; such was I,
　　Haunted by that fell beast, never at peace,
　　Who coming o'er against me, by degrees
　　Impell'd me where the sun in silence rests.
　　
　　While to the lower space with backward step
　　I fell, my ken discern'd the form one of one,
　　Whose voice seem'd faint through long disuse of speech.
　　When him in that great desert I espied,
　　"Have mercy on me!" cried I out aloud,
　　"Spirit! or living man! what e'er thou be!"
　　
　　He answer'd: "Now not man, man once I was,
　　And born of Lombard parents, Mantuana both
　　By country, when the power of Julius yet
　　Was scarcely firm. At Rome my life was past
　　Beneath the mild Augustus, in the time
　　Of fabled deities and false. A bard
　　Was I, and made Anchises' upright son
　　The subject of my song, who came from Troy,
　　When the flames prey'd on Ilium's haughty towers.
　　But thou, say wherefore to such perils past
　　Return'st thou? wherefore not this pleasant mount
　　Ascendest, cause and source of all delight?"
　　"And art thou then that Virgil, that well-spring,
　　From which such copious floods of eloquence
　　Have issued?" I with front abash'd replied.
　　"Glory and light of all the tuneful train!
　　May it avail me that I long with zeal
　　Have sought thy volume, and with love immense
　　Have conn'd it o'er. My master thou and guide!
　　Thou he from whom alone I have deriv'd
　　That style, which for its beauty into fame
　　Exalts me. See the beast, from whom I fled.
　　O save me from her, thou illustrious sage!
　　
　　
　　"For every vein and pulse throughout my frame
　　She hath made tremble." He, soon as he saw
　　That I was weeping, answer'd, "Thou must needs
　　Another way pursue, if thou wouldst 'scape
　　From out that savage wilderness. This beast,
　　At whom thou criest, her way will suffer none
　　To pass, and no less hindrance makes than death:
　　So bad and so accursed in her kind,
　　That never sated is her ravenous will,
　　Still after food more craving than before.
　　To many an animal in wedlock vile
　　She fastens, and shall yet to many more,
　　Until that greyhound come, who shall destroy
　　Her with sharp pain. He will not life support
　　By earth nor its base metals, but by love,
　　Wisdom, and virtue, and his land shall be
　　The land 'twixt either Feltro. In his might
　　Shall safety to Italia's plains arise,
　　For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure,
　　Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell.
　　He with incessant chase through every town
　　Shall worry, until he to hell at length
　　Restore her, thence by envy first let loose.
　　I for thy profit pond'ring now devise,
　　That thou mayst follow me, and I thy guide
　　Will lead thee hence through an eternal space,
　　Where thou shalt hear despairing shrieks, and see
　　Spirits of old tormented, who invoke
　　A second death; and those next view, who dwell
　　Content in fire, for that they hope to come,
　　Whene'er the time may be, among the blest,
　　Into whose regions if thou then desire
　　T' ascend, a spirit worthier then I
　　Must lead thee, in whose charge, when I depart,
　　Thou shalt be left: for that Almighty King,
　　Who reigns above, a rebel to his law,
　　Adjudges me, and therefore hath decreed,
　　That to his city none through me should come.
　　He in all parts hath sway; there rules, there holds
　　His citadel and throne. O happy those,
　　Whom there he chooses!" I to him in few:
　　"Bard! by that God, whom thou didst not adore,
　　I do beseech thee (that this ill and worse
　　I may escape) to lead me, where thou saidst,
　　That I Saint Peter's gate may view, and those
　　Who as thou tell'st, are in such dismal plight."
　　
　　Onward he mov'd, I close his steps pursu'd.

　　NOW was the day departing, and the air,
　　Imbrown'd with shadows, from their toils releas'd
　　All animals on earth; and I alone
　　Prepar'd myself the conflict to sustain,
　　Both of sad pity, and that perilous road,
　　Which my unerring memory shall retrace.
　　
　　O Muses! O high genius! now vouchsafe
　　Your aid! O mind! that all I saw hast kept
　　Safe in a written record, here thy worth
　　And eminent endowments come to proof.
　　
　　I thus began: "Bard! thou who art my guide,
　　Consider well, if virtue be in me
　　Sufficient, ere to this high enterprise
　　Thou trust me. Thou hast told that Silvius' sire,
　　Yet cloth'd in corruptible flesh, among
　　Th' immortal tribes had entrance, and was there
　　Sensible present. Yet if heaven's great Lord,
　　Almighty foe to ill, such favour shew'd,
　　In contemplation of the high effect,
　　Both what and who from him should issue forth,
　　It seems in reason's judgment well deserv'd:
　　Sith he of Rome, and of Rome's empire wide,
　　In heaven's empyreal height was chosen sire:
　　Both which, if truth be spoken, were ordain'd
　　And 'stablish'd for the holy place, where sits
　　Who to great Peter's sacred chair succeeds.
　　He from this journey, in thy song renown'd,
　　Learn'd things, that to his victory gave rise
　　And to the papal robe. In after-times
　　The chosen vessel also travel'd there,
　　To bring us back assurance in that faith,
　　Which is the entrance to salvation's way.
　　But I, why should I there presume? or who
　　Permits it? not, Aeneas I nor Paul.
　　Myself I deem not worthy, and none else
　　Will deem me. I, if on this voyage then
　　I venture, fear it will in folly end.
　　Thou, who art wise, better my meaning know'st,
　　Than I can speak." As one, who unresolves
　　What he hath late resolv'd, and with new thoughts
　　Changes his purpose, from his first intent
　　Remov'd; e'en such was I on that dun coast,
　　Wasting in thought my enterprise, at first
　　So eagerly embrac'd. "If right thy words
　　I scan," replied that shade magnanimous,
　　"Thy soul is by vile fear assail'd, which oft
　　So overcasts a man, that he recoils
　　From noblest resolution, like a beast
　　At some false semblance in the twilight gloom.
　　That from this terror thou mayst free thyself,
　　I will instruct thee why I came, and what
　　I heard in that same instant, when for thee
　　Grief touch'd me first. I was among the tribe,
　　Who rest suspended, when a dame, so blest
　　And lovely, I besought her to command,
　　Call'd me; her eyes were brighter than the star
　　Of day; and she with gentle voice and soft
　　Angelically tun'd her speech address'd:
　　"O courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fame
　　Yet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts!
　　A friend, not of my fortune but myself,
　　On the wide desert in his road has met
　　Hindrance so great, that he through fear has turn'd.
　　Now much I dread lest he past help have stray'd,
　　And I be ris'n too late for his relief,
　　From what in heaven of him I heard. Speed now,
　　And by thy eloquent persuasive tongue,
　　And by all means for his deliverance meet,
　　Assist him. So to me will comfort spring.
　　I who now bid thee on this errand forth
　　Am Beatrice; from a place I come.
　　
　　 (Note: Beatrice. I use this word, as it is
　　pronounced in the Italian, as consisting of four
　　syllables, of which the third is a long one.)
　　
　　Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence,
　　Who prompts my speech. When in my Master's sight
　　I stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell."
　　
　　She then was silent, and I thus began:
　　"O Lady! by whose influence alone,
　　Mankind excels whatever is contain'd
　　Within that heaven which hath the smallest orb,
　　So thy command delights me, that to obey,
　　If it were done already, would seem late.
　　No need hast thou farther to speak thy will;
　　Yet tell the reason, why thou art not loth
　　To leave that ample space, where to return
　　Thou burnest, for this centre here beneath."
　　
　　She then: "Since thou so deeply wouldst inquire,
　　I will instruct thee briefly, why no dread
　　Hinders my entrance here. Those things alone
　　Are to be fear'd, whence evil may proceed,
　　None else, for none are terrible beside.
　　I am so fram'd by God, thanks to his grace!
　　That any suff'rance of your misery
　　Touches me not, nor flame of that fierce fire
　　Assails me. In high heaven a blessed dame
　　Besides, who mourns with such effectual grief
　　That hindrance, which I send thee to remove,
　　That God's stern judgment to her will inclines."
　　To Lucia calling, her she thus bespake:
　　"Now doth thy faithful servant need thy aid
　　And I commend him to thee." At her word
　　Sped Lucia, of all cruelty the foe,
　　And coming to the place, where I abode
　　Seated with Rachel, her of ancient days,
　　She thus address'd me: "Thou true praise of God!
　　Beatrice! why is not thy succour lent
　　To him, who so much lov'd thee, as to leave
　　For thy sake all the multitude admires?
　　Dost thou not hear how pitiful his wail,
　　Nor mark the death, which in the torrent flood,
　　Swoln mightier than a sea, him struggling holds?"
　　Ne'er among men did any with such speed
　　Haste to their profit, flee from their annoy,
　　As when these words were spoken, I came here,
　　Down from my blessed seat, trusting the force
　　Of thy pure eloquence, which thee, and all
　　Who well have mark'd it, into honour brings."
　　
　　"When she had ended, her bright beaming eyes
　　Tearful she turn'd aside; whereat I felt
　　Redoubled zeal to serve thee. As she will'd,
　　Thus am I come: I sav'd thee from the beast,
　　Who thy near way across the goodly mount
　　Prevented. What is this comes o'er thee then?
　　Why, why dost thou hang back? why in thy breast
　　Harbour vile fear? why hast not courage there
　　And noble daring? Since three maids so blest
　　Thy safety plan, e'en in the court of heaven;
　　And so much certain good my words forebode."
　　
　　As florets, by the frosty air of night
　　Bent down and clos'd, when day has blanch'd their leaves,
　　Rise all unfolded on their spiry stems;
　　So was my fainting vigour new restor'd,
　　And to my heart such kindly courage ran,
　　That I as one undaunted soon replied:
　　"O full of pity she, who undertook
　　My succour! and thou kind who didst perform
　　So soon her true behest! With such desire
　　Thou hast dispos'd me to renew my voyage,
　　That my first purpose fully is resum'd.
　　Lead on: one only will is in us both.
　　Thou art my guide, my master thou, and lord."
　　
　　So spake I; and when he had onward mov'd,
　　I enter'd on the deep and woody way.

　　"THROUGH me you pass into the city of woe:
　　Through me you pass into eternal pain:
　　Through me among the people lost for aye.
　　Justice the founder of my fabric mov'd:
　　To rear me was the task of power divine,
　　Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.
　　Before me things create were none, save things
　　Eternal, and eternal I endure.
　　
　　
　　"All hope abandon ye who enter here."
　　
　　Such characters in colour dim I mark'd
　　Over a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd:
　　Whereat I thus: "Master, these words import
　　Hard meaning." He as one prepar'd replied:
　　"Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave;
　　Here be vile fear extinguish'd. We are come
　　Where I have told thee we shall see the souls
　　To misery doom'd, who intellectual good
　　Have lost." And when his hand he had stretch'd forth
　　To mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheer'd,
　　Into that secret place he led me on.
　　
　　Here sighs with lamentations and loud moans
　　Resounded through the air pierc'd by no star,
　　That e'en I wept at entering. Various tongues,
　　Horrible languages, outcries of woe,
　　Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse,
　　With hands together smote that swell'd the sounds,
　　Made up a tumult, that for ever whirls
　　Round through that air with solid darkness stain'd,
　　Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.
　　
　　I then, with error yet encompass'd, cried:
　　"O master! What is this I hear? What race
　　Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?"
　　
　　He thus to me: "This miserable fate
　　Suffer the wretched souls of those, who liv'd
　　Without or praise or blame, with that ill band
　　Of angels mix'd, who nor rebellious prov'd
　　Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves
　　Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth,
　　Not to impair his lustre, nor the depth
　　Of Hell receives them, lest th' accursed tribe
　　Should glory thence with exultation vain."
　　
　　I then: "Master! what doth aggrieve them thus,
　　That they lament so loud?" He straight replied:
　　"That will I tell thee briefly. These of death
　　No hope may entertain: and their blind life
　　So meanly passes, that all other lots
　　They envy. Fame of them the world hath none,
　　Nor suffers; mercy and justice scorn them both.
　　Speak not of them, but look, and pass them by."
　　
　　And I, who straightway look'd, beheld a flag,
　　Which whirling ran around so rapidly,
　　That it no pause obtain'd: and following came
　　Such a long train of spirits, I should ne'er
　　Have thought, that death so many had despoil'd.
　　
　　When some of these I recogniz'd, I saw
　　And knew the shade of him, who to base fear
　　Yielding, abjur'd his high estate. Forthwith
　　I understood for certain this the tribe
　　Of those ill spirits both to God displeasing
　　And to his foes. These wretches, who ne'er lived,
　　Went on in nakedness, and sorely stung
　　By wasps and hornets, which bedew'd their cheeks
　　With blood, that mix'd with tears dropp'd to their feet,
　　And by disgustful worms was gather'd there.
　　
　　Then looking farther onwards I beheld
　　A throng upon the shore of a great stream:
　　Whereat I thus: "Sir! grant me now to know
　　Whom here we view, and whence impell'd they seem
　　So eager to pass o'er, as I discern
　　Through the blear light?" He thus to me in few:
　　"This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arrive
　　Beside the woeful tide of Acheron."
　　
　　Then with eyes downward cast and fill'd with shame,
　　Fearing my words offensive to his ear,
　　Till we had reach'd the river, I from speech
　　Abstain'd. And lo! toward us in a bark
　　Comes on an old man hoary white with eld,
　　
　　
　　Crying, "Woe to you wicked spirits! hope not
　　Ever to see the sky again. I come
　　To take you to the other shore across,
　　Into eternal darkness, there to dwell
　　In fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who there
　　Standest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leave
　　These who are dead." But soon as he beheld
　　I left them not, "By other way," said he,
　　"By other haven shalt thou come to shore,
　　Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boat
　　Must carry." Then to him thus spake my guide:
　　"Charon! thyself torment not: so 't is will'd,
　　Where will and power are one: ask thou no more."
　　
　　Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeks
　　Of him the boatman o'er the livid lake,
　　Around whose eyes glar'd wheeling flames. Meanwhile
　　Those spirits, faint and naked, color chang'd,
　　And gnash'd their teeth, soon as the cruel words
　　They heard. God and their parents they blasphem'd,
　　The human kind, the place, the time, and seed
　　That did engender them and give them birth.
　　
　　Then all together sorely wailing drew
　　To the curs'd strand, that every man must pass
　　Who fears not God. Charon, demoniac form,
　　With eyes of burning coal, collects them all,
　　Beck'ning, and each, that lingers, with his oar
　　Strikes. As fall off the light autumnal leaves,
　　One still another following, till the bough
　　Strews all its honours on the earth beneath;
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　E'en in like manner Adam's evil brood
　　Cast themselves one by one down from the shore,
　　Each at a beck, as falcon at his call.
　　
　　Thus go they over through the umber'd wave,
　　And ever they on the opposing bank
　　Be landed, on this side another throng
　　Still gathers. "Son," thus spake the courteous guide,
　　"Those, who die subject to the wrath of God,
　　All here together come from every clime,
　　And to o'erpass the river are not loth:
　　For so heaven's justice goads them on, that fear
　　Is turn'd into desire. Hence ne'er hath past
　　Good spirit. If of thee Charon complain,
　　Now mayst thou know the import of his words."
　　
　　This said, the gloomy region trembling shook
　　So terribly, that yet with clammy dews
　　Fear chills my brow. The sad earth gave a blast,
　　That, lightening, shot forth a vermilion flame,
　　Which all my senses conquer'd quite, and I
　　Down dropp'd, as one with sudden slumber seiz'd.

　　BROKE the deep slumber in my brain a crash
　　Of heavy thunder, that I shook myself,
　　As one by main force rous'd. Risen upright,
　　My rested eyes I mov'd around, and search'd
　　With fixed ken to know what place it was,
　　Wherein I stood. For certain on the brink
　　I found me of the lamentable vale,
　　The dread abyss, that joins a thund'rous sound
　　Of plaints innumerable. Dark and deep,
　　And thick with clouds o'erspread, mine eye in vain
　　Explor'd its bottom, nor could aught discern.
　　
　　"Now let us to the blind world there beneath
　　Descend;" the bard began all pale of look:
　　"I go the first, and thou shalt follow next."
　　
　　Then I his alter'd hue perceiving, thus:
　　"How may I speed, if thou yieldest to dread,
　　Who still art wont to comfort me in doubt?"
　　
　　He then: "The anguish of that race below
　　With pity stains my cheek, which thou for fear
　　Mistakest. Let us on. Our length of way
　　Urges to haste." Onward, this said, he mov'd;
　　And ent'ring led me with him on the bounds
　　Of the first circle, that surrounds th' abyss.
　　Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heard
　　Except of sighs, that made th' eternal air
　　Tremble, not caus'd by tortures, but from grief
　　Felt by those multitudes, many and vast,
　　Of men, women, and infants. Then to me
　　The gentle guide: "Inquir'st thou not what spirits
　　Are these, which thou beholdest? Ere thou pass
　　Farther, I would thou know, that these of sin
　　Were blameless; and if aught they merited,
　　It profits not, since baptism was not theirs,
　　The portal to thy faith. If they before
　　The Gospel liv'd, they serv'd not God aright;
　　And among such am I. For these defects,
　　And for no other evil, we are lost;
　　
　　
　　"Only so far afflicted, that we live
　　Desiring without hope." So grief assail'd
　　My heart at hearing this, for well I knew
　　Suspended in that Limbo many a soul
　　Of mighty worth. "O tell me, sire rever'd!
　　Tell me, my master!" I began through wish
　　Of full assurance in that holy faith,
　　Which vanquishes all error; "say, did e'er
　　Any, or through his own or other's merit,
　　Come forth from thence, whom afterward was blest?"
　　
　　Piercing the secret purport of my speech,
　　He answer'd: "I was new to that estate,
　　When I beheld a puissant one arrive
　　Amongst us, with victorious trophy crown'd.
　　He forth the shade of our first parent drew,
　　Abel his child, and Noah righteous man,
　　Of Moses lawgiver for faith approv'd,
　　Of patriarch Abraham, and David king,
　　Israel with his sire and with his sons,
　　Nor without Rachel whom so hard he won,
　　And others many more, whom he to bliss
　　Exalted. Before these, be thou assur'd,
　　No spirit of human kind was ever sav'd."
　　
　　We, while he spake, ceas'd not our onward road,
　　Still passing through the wood; for so I name
　　Those spirits thick beset. We were not far
　　On this side from the summit, when I kenn'd
　　A flame, that o'er the darken'd hemisphere
　　Prevailing shin'd. Yet we a little space
　　Were distant, not so far but I in part
　　Discover'd, that a tribe in honour high
　　That place possess'd. "O thou, who every art
　　And science valu'st! who are these, that boast
　　Such honour, separate from all the rest?"
　　
　　He answer'd: "The renown of their great names
　　That echoes through your world above, acquires
　　Favour in heaven, which holds them thus advanc'd."
　　Meantime a voice I heard: "Honour the bard
　　Sublime! his shade returns that left us late!"
　　No sooner ceas'd the sound, than I beheld
　　Four mighty spirits toward us bend their steps,
　　Of semblance neither sorrowful nor glad.
　　
　　When thus my master kind began: "Mark him,
　　Who in his right hand bears that falchion keen,
　　The other three preceding, as their lord.
　　This is that Homer, of all bards supreme:
　　Flaccus the next in satire's vein excelling;
　　The third is Naso; Lucan is the last.
　　Because they all that appellation own,
　　With which the voice singly accosted me,
　　Honouring they greet me thus, and well they judge."
　　
　　So I beheld united the bright school
　　Of him the monarch of sublimest song,
　　That o'er the others like an eagle soars.
　　When they together short discourse had held,
　　They turn'd to me, with salutation kind
　　Beck'ning me; at the which my master smil'd:
　　Nor was this all; but greater honour still
　　They gave me, for they made me of their tribe;
　　And I was sixth amid so learn'd a band.
　　
　　Far as the luminous beacon on we pass'd
　　Speaking of matters, then befitting well
　　To speak, now fitter left untold. At foot
　　Of a magnificent castle we arriv'd,
　　Seven times with lofty walls begirt, and round
　　Defended by a pleasant stream. O'er this
　　As o'er dry land we pass'd. Next through seven gates
　　I with those sages enter'd, and we came
　　Into a mead with lively verdure fresh.
　　
　　There dwelt a race, who slow their eyes around
　　Majestically mov'd, and in their port
　　Bore eminent authority; they spake
　　Seldom, but all their words were tuneful sweet.
　　
　　We to one side retir'd, into a place
　　Open and bright and lofty, whence each one
　　Stood manifest to view. Incontinent
　　There on the green enamel of the plain
　　Were shown me the great spirits, by whose sight
　　I am exalted in my own esteem.
　　
　　Electra there I saw accompanied
　　By many, among whom Hector I knew,
　　Anchises' pious son, and with hawk's eye
　　Caesar all arm'd, and by Camilla there
　　Penthesilea. On the other side
　　Old King Latinus, seated by his child
　　Lavinia, and that Brutus I beheld,
　　Who Tarquin chas'd, Lucretia, Cato's wife
　　Marcia, with Julia and Cornelia there;
　　And sole apart retir'd, the Soldan fierce.
　　
　　Then when a little more I rais'd my brow,
　　I spied the master of the sapient throng,
　　Seated amid the philosophic train.
　　Him all admire, all pay him rev'rence due.
　　There Socrates and Plato both I mark'd,
　　Nearest to him in rank; Democritus,
　　Who sets the world at chance, Diogenes,
　　With Heraclitus, and Empedocles,
　　And Anaxagoras, and Thales sage,
　　Zeno, and Dioscorides well read
　　In nature's secret lore. Orpheus I mark'd
　　And Linus, Tully and moral Seneca,
　　Euclid and Ptolemy, Hippocrates,
　　Galenus, Avicen, and him who made
　　That commentary vast, Averroes.
　　
　　Of all to speak at full were vain attempt;
　　For my wide theme so urges, that ofttimes
　　My words fall short of what bechanc'd. In two
　　The six associates part. Another way
　　My sage guide leads me, from that air serene,
　　Into a climate ever vex'd with storms:
　　And to a part I come where no light shines.

　　FROM the first circle I descended thus
　　Down to the second, which, a lesser space
　　Embracing, so much more of grief contains
　　Provoking bitter moans. There, Minos stands
　　Grinning with ghastly feature: he, of all
　　Who enter, strict examining the crimes,
　　Gives sentence, and dismisses them beneath,
　　According as he foldeth him around:
　　For when before him comes th' ill fated soul,
　　It all confesses; and that judge severe
　　Of sins, considering what place in hell
　　Suits the transgression, with his tail so oft
　　Himself encircles, as degrees beneath
　　He dooms it to descend. Before him stand
　　Always a num'rous throng; and in his turn
　　Each one to judgment passing, speaks, and hears
　　His fate, thence downward to his dwelling hurl'd.
　　
　　
　　"O thou! who to this residence of woe
　　Approachest?" when he saw me coming, cried
　　Minos, relinquishing his dread employ,
　　"Look how thou enter here; beware in whom
　　Thou place thy trust; let not the entrance broad
　　Deceive thee to thy harm." To him my guide:
　　"Wherefore exclaimest? Hinder not his way
　　By destiny appointed; so 'tis will'd
　　Where will and power are one. Ask thou no more."
　　
　　Now 'gin the rueful wailings to be heard.
　　Now am I come where many a plaining voice
　　Smites on mine ear. Into a place I came
　　Where light was silent all. Bellowing there groan'd
　　A noise as of a sea in tempest torn
　　By warring winds. The stormy blast of hell
　　With restless fury drives the spirits on
　　Whirl'd round and dash'd amain with sore annoy.
　　When they arrive before the ruinous sweep,
　　There shrieks are heard, there lamentations, moans,
　　And blasphemies 'gainst the good Power in heaven.
　　
　　
　　I understood that to this torment sad
　　The carnal sinners are condemn'd, in whom
　　Reason by lust is sway'd. As in large troops
　　And multitudinous, when winter reigns,
　　The starlings on their wings are borne abroad;
　　So bears the tyrannous gust those evil souls.
　　On this side and on that, above, below,
　　It drives them: hope of rest to solace them
　　Is none, nor e'en of milder pang. As cranes,
　　Chanting their dol'rous notes, traverse the sky,
　　Stretch'd out in long array: so I beheld
　　Spirits, who came loud wailing, hurried on
　　By their dire doom. Then I: "Instructor! who
　　Are these, by the black air so scourg'd?"—"The first
　　'Mong those, of whom thou question'st," he replied,
　　"O'er many tongues was empress. She in vice
　　Of luxury was so shameless, that she made
　　Liking be lawful by promulg'd decree,
　　To clear the blame she had herself incurr'd.
　　This is Semiramis, of whom 'tis writ,
　　That she succeeded Ninus her espous'd;
　　And held the land, which now the Soldan rules.
　　The next in amorous fury slew herself,
　　And to Sicheus' ashes broke her faith:
　　Then follows Cleopatra, lustful queen."
　　
　　
　　There mark'd I Helen, for whose sake so long
　　The time was fraught with evil; there the great
　　Achilles, who with love fought to the end.
　　Paris I saw, and Tristan; and beside
　　A thousand more he show'd me, and by name
　　Pointed them out, whom love bereav'd of life.
　　
　　When I had heard my sage instructor name
　　Those dames and knights of antique days, o'erpower'd
　　By pity, well-nigh in amaze my mind
　　Was lost; and I began: "Bard! willingly
　　I would address those two together coming,
　　Which seem so light before the wind." He thus:
　　"Note thou, when nearer they to us approach.
　　
　　
　　"Then by that love which carries them along,
　　Entreat; and they will come." Soon as the wind
　　Sway'd them toward us, I thus fram'd my speech:
　　"O wearied spirits! come, and hold discourse
　　With us, if by none else restrain'd." As doves
　　By fond desire invited, on wide wings
　　And firm, to their sweet nest returning home,
　　Cleave the air, wafted by their will along;
　　Thus issu'd from that troop, where Dido ranks,
　　They through the ill air speeding; with such force
　　My cry prevail'd by strong affection urg'd.
　　
　　"O gracious creature and benign! who go'st
　　Visiting, through this element obscure,
　　Us, who the world with bloody stain imbru'd;
　　If for a friend the King of all we own'd,
　　Our pray'r to him should for thy peace arise,
　　Since thou hast pity on our evil plight.
　　()f whatsoe'er to hear or to discourse
　　It pleases thee, that will we hear, of that
　　Freely with thee discourse, while e'er the wind,
　　As now, is mute. The land, that gave me birth,
　　Is situate on the coast, where Po descends
　　To rest in ocean with his sequent streams.
　　
　　"Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt,
　　Entangled him by that fair form, from me
　　Ta'en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still:
　　Love, that denial takes from none belov'd,
　　Caught me with pleasing him so passing well,
　　That, as thou see'st, he yet deserts me not.
　　
　　
　　"Love brought us to one death: Caina waits
　　The soul, who spilt our life." Such were their words;
　　At hearing which downward I bent my looks,
　　And held them there so long, that the bard cried:
　　"What art thou pond'ring?" I in answer thus:
　　"Alas! by what sweet thoughts, what fond desire
　　Must they at length to that ill pass have reach'd!"
　　
　　Then turning, I to them my speech address'd.
　　And thus began: "Francesca! your sad fate
　　Even to tears my grief and pity moves.
　　But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs,
　　By what, and how love granted, that ye knew
　　Your yet uncertain wishes?" She replied:
　　"No greater grief than to remember days
　　Of joy, when mis'ry is at hand! That kens
　　Thy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerly
　　If thou art bent to know the primal root,
　　From whence our love gat being, I will do,
　　As one, who weeps and tells his tale. One day
　　For our delight we read of Lancelot,
　　How him love thrall'd. Alone we were, and no
　　Suspicion near us. Ofttimes by that reading
　　Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue
　　Fled from our alter'd cheek. But at one point
　　Alone we fell. When of that smile we read,
　　The wished smile, rapturously kiss'd
　　By one so deep in love, then he, who ne'er
　　From me shall separate, at once my lips
　　All trembling kiss'd. The book and writer both
　　Were love's purveyors. In its leaves that day
　　We read no more." While thus one spirit spake,
　　The other wail'd so sorely, that heartstruck
　　I through compassion fainting, seem'd not far
　　From death, and like a corpse fell to the ground.

　　MY sense reviving, that erewhile had droop'd
　　With pity for the kindred shades, whence grief
　　O'ercame me wholly, straight around I see
　　New torments, new tormented souls, which way
　　Soe'er I move, or turn, or bend my sight.
　　In the third circle I arrive, of show'rs
　　Ceaseless, accursed, heavy, and cold, unchang'd
　　For ever, both in kind and in degree.
　　Large hail, discolour'd water, sleety flaw
　　Through the dun midnight air stream'd down amain:
　　Stank all the land whereon that tempest fell.
　　
　　Cerberus, cruel monster, fierce and strange,
　　Through his wide threefold throat barks as a dog
　　Over the multitude immers'd beneath.
　　His eyes glare crimson, black his unctuous beard,
　　His belly large, and claw'd the hands, with which
　　He tears the spirits, flays them, and their limbs
　　Piecemeal disparts. Howling there spread, as curs,
　　Under the rainy deluge, with one side
　　The other screening, oft they roll them round,
　　A wretched, godless crew. When that great worm
　　Descried us, savage Cerberus, he op'd
　　His jaws, and the fangs show'd us; not a limb
　　Of him but trembled. Then my guide, his palms
　　Expanding on the ground, thence filled with earth
　　Rais'd them, and cast it in his ravenous maw.
　　
　　
　　
　　E'en as a dog, that yelling bays for food
　　His keeper, when the morsel comes, lets fall
　　His fury, bent alone with eager haste
　　To swallow it; so dropp'd the loathsome cheeks
　　Of demon Cerberus, who thund'ring stuns
　　The spirits, that they for deafness wish in vain.
　　
　　We, o'er the shades thrown prostrate by the brunt
　　Of the heavy tempest passing, set our feet
　　Upon their emptiness, that substance seem'd.
　　
　　They all along the earth extended lay
　　Save one, that sudden rais'd himself to sit,
　　Soon as that way he saw us pass. "O thou!"
　　He cried, "who through the infernal shades art led,
　　Own, if again thou know'st me. Thou wast fram'd
　　Or ere my frame was broken." I replied:
　　"The anguish thou endur'st perchance so takes
　　Thy form from my remembrance, that it seems
　　As if I saw thee never. But inform
　　Me who thou art, that in a place so sad
　　Art set, and in such torment, that although
　　Other be greater, more disgustful none
　　Can be imagin'd." He in answer thus:
　　
　　
　　
　　"Thy city heap'd with envy to the brim,
　　Ay that the measure overflows its bounds,
　　Held me in brighter days. Ye citizens
　　Were wont to name me Ciacco. For the sin
　　Of glutt'ny, damned vice, beneath this rain,
　　E'en as thou see'st, I with fatigue am worn;
　　Nor I sole spirit in this woe: all these
　　Have by like crime incurr'd like punishment."
　　
　　No more he said, and I my speech resum'd:
　　"Ciacco! thy dire affliction grieves me much,
　　Even to tears. But tell me, if thou know'st,
　　What shall at length befall the citizens
　　Of the divided city; whether any just one
　　Inhabit there: and tell me of the cause,
　　Whence jarring discord hath assail'd it thus?"
　　
　　He then: "After long striving they will come
　　To blood; and the wild party from the woods
　　Will chase the other with much injury forth.
　　Then it behoves, that this must fall, within
　　Three solar circles; and the other rise
　　By borrow'd force of one, who under shore
　　Now rests. It shall a long space hold aloof
　　Its forehead, keeping under heavy weight
　　The other oppress'd, indignant at the load,
　　And grieving sore. The just are two in number,
　　But they neglected. Av'rice, envy, pride,
　　Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of all
　　On fire." Here ceas'd the lamentable sound;
　　And I continu'd thus: "Still would I learn
　　More from thee, farther parley still entreat.
　　Of Farinata and Tegghiaio say,
　　They who so well deserv'd, of Giacopo,
　　Arrigo, Mosca, and the rest, who bent
　　Their minds on working good. Oh! tell me where
　　They bide, and to their knowledge let me come.
　　For I am press'd with keen desire to hear,
　　If heaven's sweet cup or poisonous drug of hell
　　Be to their lip assign'd." He answer'd straight:
　　"These are yet blacker spirits. Various crimes
　　Have sunk them deeper in the dark abyss.
　　If thou so far descendest, thou mayst see them.
　　But to the pleasant world when thou return'st,
　　Of me make mention, I entreat thee, there.
　　No more I tell thee, answer thee no more."
　　
　　This said, his fixed eyes he turn'd askance,
　　A little ey'd me, then bent down his head,
　　And 'midst his blind companions with it fell.
　　
　　When thus my guide: "No more his bed he leaves,
　　Ere the last angel-trumpet blow. The Power
　　Adverse to these shall then in glory come,
　　Each one forthwith to his sad tomb repair,
　　Resume his fleshly vesture and his form,
　　And hear the eternal doom re-echoing rend
　　The vault." So pass'd we through that mixture foul
　　Of spirits and rain, with tardy steps; meanwhile
　　Touching, though slightly, on the life to come.
　　For thus I question'd: "Shall these tortures, Sir!
　　When the great sentence passes, be increas'd,
　　Or mitigated, or as now severe?"
　　
　　He then: "Consult thy knowledge; that decides
　　That as each thing to more perfection grows,
　　It feels more sensibly both good and pain.
　　Though ne'er to true perfection may arrive
　　This race accurs'd, yet nearer then than now
　　They shall approach it." Compassing that path
　　Circuitous we journeyed, and discourse
　　Much more than I relate between us pass'd:
　　Till at the point, where the steps led below,
　　Arriv'd, there Plutus, the great foe, we found.

　　"AH me! O Satan! Satan!" loud exclaim'd
　　Plutus, in accent hoarse of wild alarm:
　　And the kind sage, whom no event surpris'd,
　　To comfort me thus spake: "Let not thy fear
　　Harm thee, for power in him, be sure, is none
　　To hinder down this rock thy safe descent."
　　Then to that sworn lip turning, "Peace!" he cried,
　　
　　
　　"Curs'd wolf! thy fury inward on thyself
　　Prey, and consume thee! Through the dark profound
　　Not without cause he passes. So 't is will'd
　　On high, there where the great Archangel pour'd
　　Heav'n's vengeance on the first adulterer proud."
　　
　　As sails full spread and bellying with the wind
　　Drop suddenly collaps'd, if the mast split;
　　So to the ground down dropp'd the cruel fiend.
　　
　　Thus we, descending to the fourth steep ledge,
　　Gain'd on the dismal shore, that all the woe
　　Hems in of all the universe. Ah me!
　　Almighty Justice! in what store thou heap'st
　　New pains, new troubles, as I here beheld!
　　Wherefore doth fault of ours bring us to this?
　　
　　E'en as a billow, on Charybdis rising,
　　Against encounter'd billow dashing breaks;
　　Such is the dance this wretched race must lead,
　　Whom more than elsewhere numerous here I found,
　　From one side and the other, with loud voice,
　　Both roll'd on weights by main forge of their breasts,
　　Then smote together, and each one forthwith
　　Roll'd them back voluble, turning again,
　　Exclaiming these, "Why holdest thou so fast?"
　　Those answering, "And why castest thou away?"
　　So still repeating their despiteful song,
　　They to the opposite point on either hand
　　Travers'd the horrid circle: then arriv'd,
　　Both turn'd them round, and through the middle space
　　Conflicting met again. At sight whereof
　　I, stung with grief, thus spake: "O say, my guide!
　　What race is this? Were these, whose heads are shorn,
　　On our left hand, all sep'rate to the church?"
　　
　　He straight replied: "In their first life these all
　　In mind were so distorted, that they made,
　　According to due measure, of their wealth,
　　No use. This clearly from their words collect,
　　Which they howl forth, at each extremity
　　Arriving of the circle, where their crime
　　Contrary' in kind disparts them. To the church
　　Were separate those, that with no hairy cowls
　　Are crown'd, both Popes and Cardinals, o'er whom
　　Av'rice dominion absolute maintains."
　　
　　I then: "Mid such as these some needs must be,
　　Whom I shall recognize, that with the blot
　　Of these foul sins were stain'd." He answering thus:
　　"Vain thought conceiv'st thou. That ignoble life,
　　Which made them vile before, now makes them dark,
　　And to all knowledge indiscernible.
　　Forever they shall meet in this rude shock:
　　These from the tomb with clenched grasp shall rise,
　　Those with close-shaven locks. That ill they gave,
　　And ill they kept, hath of the beauteous world
　　Depriv'd, and set them at this strife, which needs
　　No labour'd phrase of mine to set if off.
　　Now may'st thou see, my son! how brief, how vain,
　　The goods committed into fortune's hands,
　　For which the human race keep such a coil!
　　Not all the gold, that is beneath the moon,
　　Or ever hath been, of these toil-worn souls
　　Might purchase rest for one." I thus rejoin'd:
　　
　　
　　
　　"My guide! of thee this also would I learn;
　　This fortune, that thou speak'st of, what it is,
　　Whose talons grasp the blessings of the world?"
　　
　　He thus: "O beings blind! what ignorance
　　Besets you? Now my judgment hear and mark.
　　He, whose transcendent wisdom passes all,
　　The heavens creating, gave them ruling powers
　　To guide them, so that each part shines to each,
　　Their light in equal distribution pour'd.
　　By similar appointment he ordain'd
　　Over the world's bright images to rule.
　　Superintendence of a guiding hand
　　And general minister, which at due time
　　May change the empty vantages of life
　　From race to race, from one to other's blood,
　　Beyond prevention of man's wisest care:
　　Wherefore one nation rises into sway,
　　Another languishes, e'en as her will
　　Decrees, from us conceal'd, as in the grass
　　The serpent train. Against her nought avails
　　Your utmost wisdom. She with foresight plans,
　　Judges, and carries on her reign, as theirs
　　The other powers divine. Her changes know
　　Nore intermission: by necessity
　　She is made swift, so frequent come who claim
　　Succession in her favours. This is she,
　　So execrated e'en by those, whose debt
　　To her is rather praise; they wrongfully
　　With blame requite her, and with evil word;
　　But she is blessed, and for that recks not:
　　Amidst the other primal beings glad
　　Rolls on her sphere, and in her bliss exults.
　　Now on our way pass we, to heavier woe
　　Descending: for each star is falling now,
　　That mounted at our entrance, and forbids
　　Too long our tarrying." We the circle cross'd
　　To the next steep, arriving at a well,
　　That boiling pours itself down to a foss
　　Sluic'd from its source. Far murkier was the wave
　　Than sablest grain: and we in company
　　Of the' inky waters, journeying by their side,
　　Enter'd, though by a different track, beneath.
　　Into a lake, the Stygian nam'd, expands
　　The dismal stream, when it hath reach'd the foot
　　Of the grey wither'd cliffs. Intent I stood
　　To gaze, and in the marish sunk descried
　　A miry tribe, all naked, and with looks
　　Betok'ning rage. They with their hands alone
　　Struck not, but with the head, the breast, the feet,
　　Cutting each other piecemeal with their fangs.
　　
　　
　　
　　The good instructor spake; "Now seest thou, son!
　　The souls of those, whom anger overcame.
　　This too for certain know, that underneath
　　The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs
　　Into these bubbles make the surface heave,
　　As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn.
　　Fix'd in the slime they say: 'Sad once were we
　　In the sweet air made gladsome by the sun,
　　Carrying a foul and lazy mist within:
　　Now in these murky settlings are we sad.'
　　Such dolorous strain they gurgle in their throats.
　　But word distinct can utter none." Our route
　　Thus compass'd we, a segment widely stretch'd
　　Between the dry embankment, and the core
　　Of the loath'd pool, turning meanwhile our eyes
　　Downward on those who gulp'd its muddy lees;
　　Nor stopp'd, till to a tower's low base we came.

　　MY theme pursuing, I relate that ere
　　We reach'd the lofty turret's base, our eyes
　　Its height ascended, where two cressets hung
　　We mark'd, and from afar another light
　　Return the signal, so remote, that scarce
　　The eye could catch its beam. I turning round
　　To the deep source of knowledge, thus inquir'd:
　　"Say what this means? and what that other light
　　In answer set? what agency doth this?"
　　
　　"There on the filthy waters," he replied,
　　"E'en now what next awaits us mayst thou see,
　　If the marsh-gender'd fog conceal it not."
　　
　　Never was arrow from the cord dismiss'd,
　　That ran its way so nimbly through the air,
　　As a small bark, that through the waves I spied
　　Toward us coming, under the sole sway
　　Of one that ferried it, who cried aloud:
　　"Art thou arriv'd, fell spirit?"—"Phlegyas, Phlegyas,
　　This time thou criest in vain," my lord replied;
　　"No longer shalt thou have us, but while o'er
　　The slimy pool we pass." As one who hears
　　Of some great wrong he hath sustain'd, whereat
　　Inly he pines; so Phlegyas inly pin'd
　　In his fierce ire. My guide descending stepp'd
　　Into the skiff, and bade me enter next
　　Close at his side; nor till my entrance seem'd
　　The vessel freighted. Soon as both embark'd,
　　Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow,
　　More deeply than with others it is wont.
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　While we our course o'er the dead channel held.
　　One drench'd in mire before me came, and said;
　　"Who art thou, that thou comest ere thine hour?"
　　
　　I answer'd: "Though I come, I tarry not;
　　But who art thou, that art become so foul?"
　　
　　"One, as thou seest, who mourn:" he straight replied.
　　
　　To which I thus: "In mourning and in woe,
　　Curs'd spirit! tarry thou. I know thee well,
　　E'en thus in filth disguis'd." Then stretch'd he forth
　　Hands to the bark; whereof my teacher sage
　　Aware, thrusting him back: "Away! down there,
　　"To the' other dogs!" then, with his arms my neck
　　Encircling, kiss'd my cheek, and spake: "O soul
　　Justly disdainful! blest was she in whom
　　Thou was conceiv'd! He in the world was one
　　For arrogance noted; to his memory
　　No virtue lends its lustre; even so
　　Here is his shadow furious. There above
　　How many now hold themselves mighty kings
　　Who here like swine shall wallow in the mire,
　　Leaving behind them horrible dispraise!"
　　
　　I then: "Master! him fain would I behold
　　Whelm'd in these dregs, before we quit the lake."
　　
　　He thus: "Or ever to thy view the shore
　　Be offer'd, satisfied shall be that wish,
　　Which well deserves completion." Scarce his words
　　Were ended, when I saw the miry tribes
　　Set on him with such violence, that yet
　　For that render I thanks to God and praise
　　"To Filippo Argenti:" cried they all:
　　And on himself the moody Florentine
　　Turn'd his avenging fangs. Him here we left,
　　Nor speak I of him more. But on mine ear
　　Sudden a sound of lamentation smote,
　　Whereat mine eye unbarr'd I sent abroad.
　　
　　And thus the good instructor: "Now, my son!
　　Draws near the city, that of Dis is nam'd,
　　With its grave denizens, a mighty throng."
　　
　　I thus: "The minarets already, Sir!
　　There certes in the valley I descry,
　　Gleaming vermilion, as if they from fire
　　Had issu'd." He replied: "Eternal fire,
　　That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flame
　　Illum'd; as in this nether hell thou seest."
　　
　　We came within the fosses deep, that moat
　　This region comfortless. The walls appear'd
　　As they were fram'd of iron. We had made
　　Wide circuit, ere a place we reach'd, where loud
　　The mariner cried vehement: "Go forth!
　　The' entrance is here!" Upon the gates I spied
　　More than a thousand, who of old from heaven
　　Were hurl'd. With ireful gestures, "Who is this,"
　　They cried, "that without death first felt, goes through
　　The regions of the dead?" My sapient guide
　　Made sign that he for secret parley wish'd;
　　Whereat their angry scorn abating, thus
　　They spake: "Come thou alone; and let him go
　　Who hath so hardily enter'd this realm.
　　Alone return he by his witless way;
　　If well he know it, let him prove. For thee,
　　Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so dark
　　Hast been his escort." Now bethink thee, reader!
　　What cheer was mine at sound of those curs'd words.
　　I did believe I never should return.
　　
　　"O my lov'd guide! who more than seven times
　　Security hast render'd me, and drawn
　　From peril deep, whereto I stood expos'd,
　　Desert me not," I cried, "in this extreme.
　　And if our onward going be denied,
　　Together trace we back our steps with speed."
　　
　　My liege, who thither had conducted me,
　　Replied: "Fear not: for of our passage none
　　Hath power to disappoint us, by such high
　　Authority permitted. But do thou
　　Expect me here; meanwhile thy wearied spirit
　　Comfort, and feed with kindly hope, assur'd
　　I will not leave thee in this lower world."
　　
　　This said, departs the sire benevolent,
　　And quits me. Hesitating I remain
　　At war 'twixt will and will not in my thoughts.
　　
　　I could not hear what terms he offer'd them,
　　But they conferr'd not long, for all at once
　　To trial fled within. Clos'd were the gates
　　By those our adversaries on the breast
　　Of my liege lord: excluded he return'd
　　To me with tardy steps. Upon the ground
　　His eyes were bent, and from his brow eras'd
　　All confidence, while thus with sighs he spake:
　　"Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?"
　　Then thus to me: "That I am anger'd, think
　　No ground of terror: in this trial I
　　Shall vanquish, use what arts they may within
　　For hindrance. This their insolence, not new,
　　Erewhile at gate less secret they display'd,
　　Which still is without bolt; upon its arch
　　Thou saw'st the deadly scroll: and even now
　　On this side of its entrance, down the steep,
　　Passing the circles, unescorted, comes
　　One whose strong might can open us this land."

　　THE hue, which coward dread on my pale cheeks
　　Imprinted, when I saw my guide turn back,
　　Chas'd that from his which newly they had worn,
　　And inwardly restrain'd it. He, as one
　　Who listens, stood attentive: for his eye
　　Not far could lead him through the sable air,
　　And the thick-gath'ring cloud. "It yet behooves
　　We win this fight"—thus he began—"if not—
　　Such aid to us is offer'd.—Oh, how long
　　Me seems it, ere the promis'd help arrive!"
　　
　　I noted, how the sequel of his words
　　Clok'd their beginning; for the last he spake
　　Agreed not with the first. But not the less
　　My fear was at his saying; sith I drew
　　To import worse perchance, than that he held,
　　His mutilated speech. "Doth ever any
　　Into this rueful concave's extreme depth
　　Descend, out of the first degree, whose pain
　　Is deprivation merely of sweet hope?"
　　
　　Thus I inquiring. "Rarely," he replied,
　　"It chances, that among us any makes
　　This journey, which I wend. Erewhile 'tis true
　　Once came I here beneath, conjur'd by fell
　　Erictho, sorceress, who compell'd the shades
　　Back to their bodies. No long space my flesh
　　Was naked of me, when within these walls
　　She made me enter, to draw forth a spirit
　　From out of Judas' circle. Lowest place
　　Is that of all, obscurest, and remov'd
　　Farthest from heav'n's all-circling orb. The road
　　Full well I know: thou therefore rest secure.
　　That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, round
　　The city' of grief encompasses, which now
　　We may not enter without rage." Yet more
　　He added: but I hold it not in mind,
　　For that mine eye toward the lofty tower
　　Had drawn me wholly, to its burning top.
　　Where in an instant I beheld uprisen
　　At once three hellish furies stain'd with blood:
　　In limb and motion feminine they seem'd;
　　Around them greenest hydras twisting roll'd
　　Their volumes; adders and cerastes crept
　　Instead of hair, and their fierce temples bound.
　　
　　He knowing well the miserable hags
　　Who tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake:
　　
　　
　　"Mark thou each dire Erinnys. To the left
　　This is Megaera; on the right hand she,
　　Who wails, Alecto; and Tisiphone
　　I' th' midst." This said, in silence he remain'd
　　Their breast they each one clawing tore; themselves
　　Smote with their palms, and such shrill clamour rais'd,
　　That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound.
　　"Hasten Medusa: so to adamant
　　Him shall we change;" all looking down exclaim'd.
　　"E'en when by Theseus' might assail'd, we took
　　No ill revenge." "Turn thyself round, and keep
　　Thy count'nance hid; for if the Gorgon dire
　　Be shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy return
　　Upwards would be for ever lost." This said,
　　Himself my gentle master turn'd me round,
　　Nor trusted he my hands, but with his own
　　He also hid me. Ye of intellect
　　Sound and entire, mark well the lore conceal'd
　　Under close texture of the mystic strain!
　　
　　And now there came o'er the perturbed waves
　　Loud-crashing, terrible, a sound that made
　　Either shore tremble, as if of a wind
　　Impetuous, from conflicting vapours sprung,
　　That 'gainst some forest driving all its might,
　　Plucks off the branches, beats them down and hurls
　　Afar; then onward passing proudly sweeps
　　Its whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly.
　　
　　Mine eyes he loos'd, and spake: "And now direct
　　Thy visual nerve along that ancient foam,
　　There, thickest where the smoke ascends." As frogs
　　Before their foe the serpent, through the wave
　　Ply swiftly all, till at the ground each one
　　Lies on a heap; more than a thousand spirits
　　Destroy'd, so saw I fleeing before one
　　Who pass'd with unwet feet the Stygian sound.
　　He, from his face removing the gross air,
　　Oft his left hand forth stretch'd, and seem'd alone
　　By that annoyance wearied. I perceiv'd
　　That he was sent from heav'n, and to my guide
　　Turn'd me, who signal made that I should stand
　　Quiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how full
　　Of noble anger seem'd he! To the gate
　　He came, and with his wand touch'd it, whereat
　　Open without impediment it flew.
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　"Outcasts of heav'n! O abject race and scorn'd!"
　　Began he on the horrid grunsel standing,
　　"Whence doth this wild excess of insolence
　　Lodge in you? wherefore kick you 'gainst that will
　　Ne'er frustrate of its end, and which so oft
　　Hath laid on you enforcement of your pangs?
　　What profits at the fays to but the horn?
　　Your Cerberus, if ye remember, hence
　　Bears still, peel'd of their hair, his throat and maw."
　　
　　This said, he turn'd back o'er the filthy way,
　　And syllable to us spake none, but wore
　　The semblance of a man by other care
　　Beset, and keenly press'd, than thought of him
　　Who in his presence stands. Then we our steps
　　Toward that territory mov'd, secure
　　After the hallow'd words. We unoppos'd
　　There enter'd; and my mind eager to learn
　　What state a fortress like to that might hold,
　　I soon as enter'd throw mine eye around,
　　And see on every part wide-stretching space
　　Replete with bitter pain and torment ill.
　　
　　As where Rhone stagnates on the plains of Arles,
　　Or as at Pola, near Quarnaro's gulf,
　　That closes Italy and laves her bounds,
　　The place is all thick spread with sepulchres;
　　So was it here, save what in horror here
　　Excell'd: for 'midst the graves were scattered flames,
　　Wherewith intensely all throughout they burn'd,
　　That iron for no craft there hotter needs.
　　
　　Their lids all hung suspended, and beneath
　　From them forth issu'd lamentable moans,
　　Such as the sad and tortur'd well might raise.
　　
　　I thus: "Master! say who are these, interr'd
　　Within these vaults, of whom distinct we hear
　　The dolorous sighs?" He answer thus return'd:
　　
　　
　　
　　"The arch-heretics are here, accompanied
　　By every sect their followers; and much more,
　　Than thou believest, tombs are freighted: like
　　With like is buried; and the monuments
　　Are different in degrees of heat." This said,
　　He to the right hand turning, on we pass'd
　　Betwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high.

　　NOW by a secret pathway we proceed,
　　Between the walls, that hem the region round,
　　And the tormented souls: my master first,
　　I close behind his steps. "Virtue supreme!"
　　I thus began; "who through these ample orbs
　　In circuit lead'st me, even as thou will'st,
　　Speak thou, and satisfy my wish. May those,
　　Who lie within these sepulchres, be seen?
　　Already all the lids are rais'd, and none
　　O'er them keeps watch." He thus in answer spake
　　"They shall be closed all, what-time they here
　　From Josaphat return'd shall come, and bring
　　Their bodies, which above they now have left.
　　The cemetery on this part obtain
　　With Epicurus all his followers,
　　Who with the body make the spirit die.
　　Here therefore satisfaction shall be soon
　　Both to the question ask'd, and to the wish,
　　Which thou conceal'st in silence." I replied:
　　"I keep not, guide belov'd! from thee my heart
　　Secreted, but to shun vain length of words,
　　A lesson erewhile taught me by thyself."
　　
　　"O Tuscan! thou who through the city of fire
　　Alive art passing, so discreet of speech!
　　Here please thee stay awhile. Thy utterance
　　Declares the place of thy nativity
　　To be that noble land, with which perchance
　　I too severely dealt." Sudden that sound
　　Forth issu'd from a vault, whereat in fear
　　I somewhat closer to my leader's side
　　Approaching, he thus spake: "What dost thou? Turn.
　　Lo, Farinata, there! who hath himself
　　Uplifted: from his girdle upwards all
　　Expos'd behold him." On his face was mine
　　Already fix'd; his breast and forehead there
　　Erecting, seem'd as in high scorn he held
　　E'en hell. Between the sepulchres to him
　　My guide thrust me with fearless hands and prompt,
　　This warning added: "See thy words be clear!"
　　
　　
　　He, soon as there I stood at the tomb's foot,
　　Ey'd me a space, then in disdainful mood
　　Address'd me: "Say, what ancestors were thine?"
　　
　　I, willing to obey him, straight reveal'd
　　The whole, nor kept back aught: whence he, his brow
　　Somewhat uplifting, cried: "Fiercely were they
　　Adverse to me, my party, and the blood
　　From whence I sprang: twice therefore I abroad
　　Scatter'd them." "Though driv'n out, yet they each time
　　From all parts," answer'd I, "return'd; an art
　　Which yours have shown, they are not skill'd to learn."
　　
　　Then, peering forth from the unclosed jaw,
　　Rose from his side a shade, high as the chin,
　　Leaning, methought, upon its knees uprais'd.
　　It look'd around, as eager to explore
　　If there were other with me; but perceiving
　　That fond imagination quench'd, with tears
　　Thus spake: "If thou through this blind prison go'st.
　　Led by thy lofty genius and profound,
　　Where is my son? and wherefore not with thee?"
　　
　　I straight replied: "Not of myself I come,
　　By him, who there expects me, through this clime
　　Conducted, whom perchance Guido thy son
　　Had in contempt." Already had his words
　　And mode of punishment read me his name,
　　Whence I so fully answer'd. He at once
　　Exclaim'd, up starting, "How! said'st thou he HAD?
　　No longer lives he? Strikes not on his eye
　　The blessed daylight?" Then of some delay
　　I made ere my reply aware, down fell
　　Supine, not after forth appear'd he more.
　　
　　Meanwhile the other, great of soul, near whom
　　I yet was station'd, chang'd not count'nance stern,
　　Nor mov'd the neck, nor bent his ribbed side.
　　"And if," continuing the first discourse,
　　"They in this art," he cried, "small skill have shown,
　　That doth torment me more e'en than this bed.
　　But not yet fifty times shall be relum'd
　　Her aspect, who reigns here Queen of this realm,
　　Ere thou shalt know the full weight of that art.
　　So to the pleasant world mayst thou return,
　　As thou shalt tell me, why in all their laws,
　　Against my kin this people is so fell?"
　　
　　"The slaughter and great havoc," I replied,
　　"That colour'd Arbia's flood with crimson stain—
　　To these impute, that in our hallow'd dome
　　Such orisons ascend." Sighing he shook
　　The head, then thus resum'd: "In that affray
　　I stood not singly, nor without just cause
　　Assuredly should with the rest have stirr'd;
　　But singly there I stood, when by consent
　　Of all, Florence had to the ground been raz'd,
　　The one who openly forbad the deed."
　　
　　"So may thy lineage find at last repose,"
　　I thus adjur'd him, "as thou solve this knot,
　　Which now involves my mind. If right I hear,
　　Ye seem to view beforehand, that which time
　　Leads with him, of the present uninform'd."
　　
　　"We view, as one who hath an evil sight,"
　　He answer'd, "plainly, objects far remote:
　　So much of his large spendour yet imparts
　　The' Almighty Ruler; but when they approach
　　Or actually exist, our intellect
　　Then wholly fails, nor of your human state
　　Except what others bring us know we aught.
　　Hence therefore mayst thou understand, that all
　　Our knowledge in that instant shall expire,
　　When on futurity the portals close."
　　
　　Then conscious of my fault, and by remorse
　　Smitten, I added thus: "Now shalt thou say
　　To him there fallen, that his offspring still
　　Is to the living join'd; and bid him know,
　　That if from answer silent I abstain'd,
　　'Twas that my thought was occupied intent
　　Upon that error, which thy help hath solv'd."
　　
　　But now my master summoning me back
　　I heard, and with more eager haste besought
　　The spirit to inform me, who with him
　　Partook his lot. He answer thus return'd:
　　
　　"More than a thousand with me here are laid
　　Within is Frederick, second of that name,
　　And the Lord Cardinal, and of the rest
　　I speak not." He, this said, from sight withdrew.
　　But I my steps towards the ancient bard
　　Reverting, ruminated on the words
　　Betokening me such ill. Onward he mov'd,
　　And thus in going question'd: "Whence the' amaze
　　That holds thy senses wrapt?" I satisfied
　　The' inquiry, and the sage enjoin'd me straight:
　　"Let thy safe memory store what thou hast heard
　　To thee importing harm; and note thou this,"
　　With his rais'd finger bidding me take heed,
　　
　　"When thou shalt stand before her gracious beam,
　　Whose bright eye all surveys, she of thy life
　　The future tenour will to thee unfold."
　　
　　Forthwith he to the left hand turn'd his feet:
　　We left the wall, and tow'rds the middle space
　　Went by a path, that to a valley strikes;
　　Which e'en thus high exhal'd its noisome steam.

　　UPON the utmost verge of a high bank,
　　By craggy rocks environ'd round, we came,
　　Where woes beneath more cruel yet were stow'd:
　　And here to shun the horrible excess
　　Of fetid exhalation, upward cast
　　From the profound abyss, behind the lid
　　Of a great monument we stood retir'd,
　　
　　
　　Whereon this scroll I mark'd: "I have in charge
　　Pope Anastasius, whom Photinus drew
　　From the right path.—Ere our descent behooves
　　We make delay, that somewhat first the sense,
　　To the dire breath accustom'd, afterward
　　Regard it not." My master thus; to whom
　　Answering I spake: "Some compensation find
　　That the time past not wholly lost." He then:
　　"Lo! how my thoughts e'en to thy wishes tend!
　　My son! within these rocks," he thus began,
　　"Are three close circles in gradation plac'd,
　　As these which now thou leav'st. Each one is full
　　Of spirits accurs'd; but that the sight alone
　　Hereafter may suffice thee, listen how
　　And for what cause in durance they abide.
　　
　　"Of all malicious act abhorr'd in heaven,
　　The end is injury; and all such end
　　Either by force or fraud works other's woe
　　But fraud, because of man peculiar evil,
　　To God is more displeasing; and beneath
　　The fraudulent are therefore doom'd to' endure
　　Severer pang. The violent occupy
　　All the first circle; and because to force
　　Three persons are obnoxious, in three rounds
　　Hach within other sep'rate is it fram'd.
　　To God, his neighbour, and himself, by man
　　Force may be offer'd; to himself I say
　　And his possessions, as thou soon shalt hear
　　At full. Death, violent death, and painful wounds
　　Upon his neighbour he inflicts; and wastes
　　By devastation, pillage, and the flames,
　　His substance. Slayers, and each one that smites
　　In malice, plund'rers, and all robbers, hence
　　The torment undergo of the first round
　　In different herds. Man can do violence
　　To himself and his own blessings: and for this
　　He in the second round must aye deplore
　　With unavailing penitence his crime,
　　Whoe'er deprives himself of life and light,
　　In reckless lavishment his talent wastes,
　　And sorrows there where he should dwell in joy.
　　To God may force be offer'd, in the heart
　　Denying and blaspheming his high power,
　　And nature with her kindly law contemning.
　　And thence the inmost round marks with its seal
　　Sodom and Cahors, and all such as speak
　　Contemptuously' of the Godhead in their hearts.
　　
　　"Fraud, that in every conscience leaves a sting,
　　May be by man employ'd on one, whose trust
　　He wins, or on another who withholds
　　Strict confidence. Seems as the latter way
　　Broke but the bond of love which Nature makes.
　　Whence in the second circle have their nest
　　Dissimulation, witchcraft, flatteries,
　　Theft, falsehood, simony, all who seduce
　　To lust, or set their honesty at pawn,
　　With such vile scum as these. The other way
　　Forgets both Nature's general love, and that
　　Which thereto added afterwards gives birth
　　To special faith. Whence in the lesser circle,
　　Point of the universe, dread seat of Dis,
　　The traitor is eternally consum'd."
　　
　　
　　
　　I thus: "Instructor, clearly thy discourse
　　Proceeds, distinguishing the hideous chasm
　　And its inhabitants with skill exact.
　　But tell me this: they of the dull, fat pool,
　　Whom the rain beats, or whom the tempest drives,
　　Or who with tongues so fierce conflicting meet,
　　Wherefore within the city fire-illum'd
　　Are not these punish'd, if God's wrath be on them?
　　And if it be not, wherefore in such guise
　　Are they condemned?" He answer thus return'd:
　　"Wherefore in dotage wanders thus thy mind,
　　Not so accustom'd? or what other thoughts
　　Possess it? Dwell not in thy memory
　　The words, wherein thy ethic page describes
　　Three dispositions adverse to Heav'n's will,
　　Incont'nence, malice, and mad brutishness,
　　And how incontinence the least offends
　　God, and least guilt incurs? If well thou note
　　This judgment, and remember who they are,
　　Without these walls to vain repentance doom'd,
　　Thou shalt discern why they apart are plac'd
　　From these fell spirits, and less wreakful pours
　　Justice divine on them its vengeance down."
　　
　　"O Sun! who healest all imperfect sight,
　　Thou so content'st me, when thou solv'st my doubt,
　　That ignorance not less than knowledge charms.
　　Yet somewhat turn thee back," I in these words
　　Continu'd, "where thou saidst, that usury
　　Offends celestial Goodness; and this knot
　　Perplex'd unravel." He thus made reply:
　　"Philosophy, to an attentive ear,
　　Clearly points out, not in one part alone,
　　How imitative nature takes her course
　　From the celestial mind and from its art:
　　And where her laws the Stagyrite unfolds,
　　Not many leaves scann'd o'er, observing well
　　Thou shalt discover, that your art on her
　　Obsequious follows, as the learner treads
　　In his instructor's step, so that your art
　　Deserves the name of second in descent
　　From God. These two, if thou recall to mind
　　Creation's holy book, from the beginning
　　Were the right source of life and excellence
　　To human kind. But in another path
　　The usurer walks; and Nature in herself
　　And in her follower thus he sets at nought,
　　Placing elsewhere his hope. But follow now
　　My steps on forward journey bent; for now
　　The Pisces play with undulating glance
　　Along the' horizon, and the Wain lies all
　　O'er the north-west; and onward there a space
　　Is our steep passage down the rocky height."

　　THE place where to descend the precipice
　　We came, was rough as Alp, and on its verge
　　Such object lay, as every eye would shun.
　　
　　As is that ruin, which Adice's stream
　　On this side Trento struck, should'ring the wave,
　　Or loos'd by earthquake or for lack of prop;
　　For from the mountain's summit, whence it mov'd
　　To the low level, so the headlong rock
　　Is shiver'd, that some passage it might give
　　To him who from above would pass; e'en such
　　Into the chasm was that descent: and there
　　At point of the disparted ridge lay stretch'd
　　The infamy of Crete, detested brood
　　Of the feign'd heifer: and at sight of us
　　It gnaw'd itself, as one with rage distract.
　　
　　
　　To him my guide exclaim'd: "Perchance thou deem'st
　　The King of Athens here, who, in the world
　　Above, thy death contriv'd. Monster! avaunt!
　　He comes not tutor'd by thy sister's art,
　　But to behold your torments is he come."
　　
　　Like to a bull, that with impetuous spring
　　Darts, at the moment when the fatal blow
　　Hath struck him, but unable to proceed
　　Plunges on either side; so saw I plunge
　　The Minotaur; whereat the sage exclaim'd:
　　"Run to the passage! while he storms, 't is well
　　That thou descend." Thus down our road we took
　　Through those dilapidated crags, that oft
　　Mov'd underneath my feet, to weight like theirs
　　Unus'd. I pond'ring went, and thus he spake:
　　
　　"Perhaps thy thoughts are of this ruin'd steep,
　　Guarded by the brute violence, which I
　　Have vanquish'd now. Know then, that when I erst
　　Hither descended to the nether hell,
　　This rock was not yet fallen. But past doubt
　　(If well I mark) not long ere He arrived,
　　Who carried off from Dis the mighty spoil
　　Of the highest circle, then through all its bounds
　　Such trembling seiz'd the deep concave and foul,
　　I thought the universe was thrill'd with love,
　　Whereby, there are who deem, the world hath oft
　　Been into chaos turn'd: and in that point,
　　Here, and elsewhere, that old rock toppled down.
　　But fix thine eyes beneath: the river of blood
　　Approaches, in the which all those are steep'd,
　　Who have by violence injur'd." O blind lust!
　　O foolish wrath! who so dost goad us on
　　In the brief life, and in the eternal then
　　Thus miserably o'erwhelm us. I beheld
　　An ample foss, that in a bow was bent,
　　As circling all the plain; for so my guide
　　Had told. Between it and the rampart's base
　　On trail ran Centaurs, with keen arrows arm'd,
　　As to the chase they on the earth were wont.
　　
　　
　　
　　At seeing us descend they each one stood;
　　And issuing from the troop, three sped with bows
　　And missile weapons chosen first; of whom
　　One cried from far: "Say to what pain ye come
　　Condemn'd, who down this steep have journied? Speak
　　From whence ye stand, or else the bow I draw."
　　
　　To whom my guide: "Our answer shall be made
　　To Chiron, there, when nearer him we come.
　　Ill was thy mind, thus ever quick and rash."
　　
　　Then me he touch'd, and spake: "Nessus is this,
　　Who for the fair Deianira died,
　　And wrought himself revenge for his own fate.
　　He in the midst, that on his breast looks down,
　　Is the great Chiron who Achilles nurs'd;
　　That other Pholus, prone to wrath." Around
　　The foss these go by thousands, aiming shafts
　　At whatsoever spirit dares emerge
　　From out the blood, more than his guilt allows.
　　
　　
　　
　　We to those beasts, that rapid strode along,
　　Drew near, when Chiron took an arrow forth,
　　And with the notch push'd back his shaggy beard
　　To the cheek-bone, then his great mouth to view
　　Exposing, to his fellows thus exclaim'd:
　　"Are ye aware, that he who comes behind
　　Moves what he touches? The feet of the dead
　　Are not so wont." My trusty guide, who now
　　Stood near his breast, where the two natures join,
　　Thus made reply: "He is indeed alive,
　　And solitary so must needs by me
　　Be shown the gloomy vale, thereto induc'd
　　By strict necessity, not by delight.
　　She left her joyful harpings in the sky,
　　Who this new office to my care consign'd.
　　He is no robber, no dark spirit I.
　　But by that virtue, which empowers my step
　　To treat so wild a path, grant us, I pray,
　　One of thy band, whom we may trust secure,
　　Who to the ford may lead us, and convey
　　Across, him mounted on his back; for he
　　Is not a spirit that may walk the air."
　　
　　Then on his right breast turning, Chiron thus
　　To Nessus spake: "Return, and be their guide.
　　And if ye chance to cross another troop,
　　Command them keep aloof." Onward we mov'd,
　　The faithful escort by our side, along
　　The border of the crimson-seething flood,
　　Whence from those steep'd within loud shrieks arose.
　　
　　Some there I mark'd, as high as to their brow
　　Immers'd, of whom the mighty Centaur thus:
　　"These are the souls of tyrants, who were given
　　To blood and rapine. Here they wail aloud
　　Their merciless wrongs. Here Alexander dwells,
　　And Dionysius fell, who many a year
　　Of woe wrought for fair Sicily. That brow
　　Whereon the hair so jetty clust'ring hangs,
　　Is Azzolino; that with flaxen locks
　　Obizzo' of Este, in the world destroy'd
　　By his foul step-son." To the bard rever'd
　　I turned me round, and thus he spake; "Let him
　　Be to thee now first leader, me but next
　　To him in rank." Then farther on a space
　　The Centaur paus'd, near some, who at the throat
　　Were extant from the wave; and showing us
　　A spirit by itself apart retir'd,
　　Exclaim'd: "He in God's bosom smote the heart,
　　Which yet is honour'd on the bank of Thames."
　　
　　A race I next espied, who held the head,
　　And even all the bust above the stream.
　　'Midst these I many a face remember'd well.
　　Thus shallow more and more the blood became,
　　So that at last it but imbru'd the feet;
　　And there our passage lay athwart the foss.
　　
　　"As ever on this side the boiling wave
　　Thou seest diminishing," the Centaur said,
　　"So on the other, be thou well assur'd,
　　It lower still and lower sinks its bed,
　　Till in that part it reuniting join,
　　Where 't is the lot of tyranny to mourn.
　　There Heav'n's stern justice lays chastising hand
　　On Attila, who was the scourge of earth,
　　On Sextus, and on Pyrrhus, and extracts
　　Tears ever by the seething flood unlock'd
　　From the Rinieri, of Corneto this,
　　Pazzo the other nam'd, who fill'd the ways
　　With violence and war." This said, he turn'd,
　　And quitting us, alone repass'd the ford.

　　ERE Nessus yet had reach'd the other bank,
　　We enter'd on a forest, where no track
　　Of steps had worn a way. Not verdant there
　　The foliage, but of dusky hue; not light
　　The boughs and tapering, but with knares deform'd
　　And matted thick: fruits there were none, but thorns
　　Instead, with venom fill'd. Less sharp than these,
　　Less intricate the brakes, wherein abide
　　Those animals, that hate the cultur'd fields,
　　Betwixt Corneto and Cecina's stream.
　　
　　
　　Here the brute Harpies make their nest, the same
　　Who from the Strophades the Trojan band
　　Drove with dire boding of their future woe.
　　Broad are their pennons, of the human form
　　Their neck and count'nance, arm'd with talons keen
　　The feet, and the huge belly fledge with wings
　　These sit and wail on the drear mystic wood.
　　
　　The kind instructor in these words began:
　　"Ere farther thou proceed, know thou art now
　　I' th' second round, and shalt be, till thou come
　　Upon the horrid sand: look therefore well
　　Around thee, and such things thou shalt behold,
　　As would my speech discredit." On all sides
　　I heard sad plainings breathe, and none could see
　　From whom they might have issu'd. In amaze
　　Fast bound I stood. He, as it seem'd, believ'd,
　　That I had thought so many voices came
　　From some amid those thickets close conceal'd,
　　And thus his speech resum'd: "If thou lop off
　　A single twig from one of those ill plants,
　　The thought thou hast conceiv'd shall vanish quite."
　　
　　Thereat a little stretching forth my hand,
　　From a great wilding gather'd I a branch,
　　And straight the trunk exclaim'd: "Why pluck'st thou me?"
　　
　　
　　Then as the dark blood trickled down its side,
　　These words it added: "Wherefore tear'st me thus?
　　Is there no touch of mercy in thy breast?
　　Men once were we, that now are rooted here.
　　Thy hand might well have spar'd us, had we been
　　The souls of serpents." As a brand yet green,
　　That burning at one end from the' other sends
　　A groaning sound, and hisses with the wind
　　That forces out its way, so burst at once,
　　Forth from the broken splinter words and blood.
　　
　　I, letting fall the bough, remain'd as one
　　Assail'd by terror, and the sage replied:
　　"If he, O injur'd spirit! could have believ'd
　　What he hath seen but in my verse describ'd,
　　He never against thee had stretch'd his hand.
　　But I, because the thing surpass'd belief,
　　Prompted him to this deed, which even now
　　Myself I rue. But tell me, who thou wast;
　　That, for this wrong to do thee some amends,
　　In the upper world (for thither to return
　　Is granted him) thy fame he may revive."
　　
　　
　　"That pleasant word of thine," the trunk replied
　　"Hath so inveigled me, that I from speech
　　Cannot refrain, wherein if I indulge
　　A little longer, in the snare detain'd,
　　Count it not grievous. I it was, who held
　　Both keys to Frederick's heart, and turn'd the wards,
　　Opening and shutting, with a skill so sweet,
　　That besides me, into his inmost breast
　　Scarce any other could admittance find.
　　The faith I bore to my high charge was such,
　　It cost me the life-blood that warm'd my veins.
　　The harlot, who ne'er turn'd her gloating eyes
　　From Caesar's household, common vice and pest
　　Of courts, 'gainst me inflam'd the minds of all;
　　And to Augustus they so spread the flame,
　　That my glad honours chang'd to bitter woes.
　　My soul, disdainful and disgusted, sought
　　Refuge in death from scorn, and I became,
　　Just as I was, unjust toward myself.
　　By the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear,
　　That never faith I broke to my liege lord,
　　Who merited such honour; and of you,
　　If any to the world indeed return,
　　Clear he from wrong my memory, that lies
　　Yet prostrate under envy's cruel blow."
　　
　　First somewhat pausing, till the mournful words
　　Were ended, then to me the bard began:
　　"Lose not the time; but speak and of him ask,
　　If more thou wish to learn." Whence I replied:
　　"Question thou him again of whatsoe'er
　　Will, as thou think'st, content me; for no power
　　Have I to ask, such pity' is at my heart."
　　
　　He thus resum'd; "So may he do for thee
　　Freely what thou entreatest, as thou yet
　　Be pleas'd, imprison'd Spirit! to declare,
　　How in these gnarled joints the soul is tied;
　　And whether any ever from such frame
　　Be loosen'd, if thou canst, that also tell."
　　
　　Thereat the trunk breath'd hard, and the wind soon
　　Chang'd into sounds articulate like these;
　　
　　Briefly ye shall be answer'd. "When departs
　　The fierce soul from the body, by itself
　　Thence torn asunder, to the seventh gulf
　　By Minos doom'd, into the wood it falls,
　　No place assign'd, but wheresoever chance
　　Hurls it, there sprouting, as a grain of spelt,
　　It rises to a sapling, growing thence
　　A savage plant. The Harpies, on its leaves
　　Then feeding, cause both pain and for the pain
　　A vent to grief. We, as the rest, shall come
　　For our own spoils, yet not so that with them
　　We may again be clad; for what a man
　　Takes from himself it is not just he have.
　　Here we perforce shall drag them; and throughout
　　The dismal glade our bodies shall be hung,
　　Each on the wild thorn of his wretched shade."
　　
　　Attentive yet to listen to the trunk
　　We stood, expecting farther speech, when us
　　A noise surpris'd, as when a man perceives
　　The wild boar and the hunt approach his place
　　Of station'd watch, who of the beasts and boughs
　　Loud rustling round him hears. And lo! there came
　　Two naked, torn with briers, in headlong flight,
　　That they before them broke each fan o' th' wood.
　　"Haste now," the foremost cried, "now haste thee death!"
　　
　　
　　The' other, as seem'd, impatient of delay
　　Exclaiming, "Lano! not so bent for speed
　　Thy sinews, in the lists of Toppo's field."
　　And then, for that perchance no longer breath
　　Suffic'd him, of himself and of a bush
　　One group he made. Behind them was the wood
　　Full of black female mastiffs, gaunt and fleet,
　　As greyhounds that have newly slipp'd the leash.
　　On him, who squatted down, they stuck their fangs,
　　And having rent him piecemeal bore away
　　The tortur'd limbs. My guide then seiz'd my hand,
　　And led me to the thicket, which in vain
　　Mourn'd through its bleeding wounds: "O Giacomo
　　Of Sant' Andrea! what avails it thee,"
　　It cried, "that of me thou hast made thy screen?
　　For thy ill life what blame on me recoils?"
　　
　　When o'er it he had paus'd, my master spake:
　　"Say who wast thou, that at so many points
　　Breath'st out with blood thy lamentable speech?"
　　
　　He answer'd: "Oh, ye spirits: arriv'd in time
　　To spy the shameful havoc, that from me
　　My leaves hath sever'd thus, gather them up,
　　And at the foot of their sad parent-tree
　　Carefully lay them. In that city' I dwelt,
　　Who for the Baptist her first patron chang'd,
　　Whence he for this shall cease not with his art
　　To work her woe: and if there still remain'd not
　　On Arno's passage some faint glimpse of him,
　　Those citizens, who rear'd once more her walls
　　Upon the ashes left by Attila,
　　Had labour'd without profit of their toil.
　　I slung the fatal noose from my own roof."

　　SOON as the charity of native land
　　Wrought in my bosom, I the scatter'd leaves
　　Collected, and to him restor'd, who now
　　Was hoarse with utt'rance. To the limit thence
　　We came, which from the third the second round
　　Divides, and where of justice is display'd
　　Contrivance horrible. Things then first seen
　　Clearlier to manifest, I tell how next
　　A plain we reach'd, that from its sterile bed
　　Each plant repell'd. The mournful wood waves round
　　Its garland on all sides, as round the wood
　　Spreads the sad foss. There, on the very edge,
　　Our steps we stay'd. It was an area wide
　　Of arid sand and thick, resembling most
　　The soil that erst by Cato's foot was trod.
　　
　　Vengeance of Heav'n! Oh! how shouldst thou be fear'd
　　By all, who read what here my eyes beheld!
　　
　　Of naked spirits many a flock I saw,
　　All weeping piteously, to different laws
　　Subjected: for on the' earth some lay supine,
　　Some crouching close were seated, others pac'd
　　Incessantly around; the latter tribe,
　　More numerous, those fewer who beneath
　　The torment lay, but louder in their grief.
　　
　　O'er all the sand fell slowly wafting down
　　Dilated flakes of fire, as flakes of snow
　　On Alpine summit, when the wind is hush'd.
　　As in the torrid Indian clime, the son
　　Of Ammon saw upon his warrior band
　　Descending, solid flames, that to the ground
　　Came down: whence he bethought him with his troop
　　To trample on the soil; for easier thus
　　The vapour was extinguish'd, while alone;
　　So fell the eternal fiery flood, wherewith
　　The marble glow'd underneath, as under stove
　　The viands, doubly to augment the pain.
　　
　　
　　Unceasing was the play of wretched hands,
　　Now this, now that way glancing, to shake off
　　The heat, still falling fresh. I thus began:
　　"Instructor! thou who all things overcom'st,
　　Except the hardy demons, that rush'd forth
　　To stop our entrance at the gate, say who
　　Is yon huge spirit, that, as seems, heeds not
　　The burning, but lies writhen in proud scorn,
　　As by the sultry tempest immatur'd?"
　　
　　Straight he himself, who was aware I ask'd
　　My guide of him, exclaim'd: "Such as I was
　　When living, dead such now I am. If Jove
　　Weary his workman out, from whom in ire
　　He snatch'd the lightnings, that at my last day
　　Transfix'd me, if the rest be weary out
　　At their black smithy labouring by turns
　　In Mongibello, while he cries aloud;
　　"Help, help, good Mulciber!" as erst he cried
　　In the Phlegraean warfare, and the bolts
　　Launch he full aim'd at me with all his might,
　　He never should enjoy a sweet revenge."
　　
　　Then thus my guide, in accent higher rais'd
　　Than I before had heard him: "Capaneus!
　　Thou art more punish'd, in that this thy pride
　　Lives yet unquench'd: no torrent, save thy rage,
　　Were to thy fury pain proportion'd full."
　　
　　Next turning round to me with milder lip
　　He spake: "This of the seven kings was one,
　　Who girt the Theban walls with siege, and held,
　　As still he seems to hold, God in disdain,
　　And sets his high omnipotence at nought.
　　But, as I told him, his despiteful mood
　　Is ornament well suits the breast that wears it.
　　Follow me now; and look thou set not yet
　　Thy foot in the hot sand, but to the wood
　　Keep ever close." Silently on we pass'd
　　To where there gushes from the forest's bound
　　A little brook, whose crimson'd wave yet lifts
　　My hair with horror. As the rill, that runs
　　From Bulicame, to be portion'd out
　　Among the sinful women; so ran this
　　Down through the sand, its bottom and each bank
　　Stone-built, and either margin at its side,
　　Whereon I straight perceiv'd our passage lay.
　　
　　"Of all that I have shown thee, since that gate
　　We enter'd first, whose threshold is to none
　　Denied, nought else so worthy of regard,
　　As is this river, has thine eye discern'd,
　　O'er which the flaming volley all is quench'd."
　　
　　So spake my guide; and I him thence besought,
　　That having giv'n me appetite to know,
　　The food he too would give, that hunger crav'd.
　　
　　"In midst of ocean," forthwith he began,
　　"A desolate country lies, which Crete is nam'd,
　　Under whose monarch in old times the world
　　Liv'd pure and chaste. A mountain rises there,
　　Call'd Ida, joyous once with leaves and streams,
　　Deserted now like a forbidden thing.
　　It was the spot which Rhea, Saturn's spouse,
　　Chose for the secret cradle of her son;
　　And better to conceal him, drown'd in shouts
　　His infant cries. Within the mount, upright
　　An ancient form there stands and huge, that turns
　　His shoulders towards Damiata, and at Rome
　　As in his mirror looks. Of finest gold
　　His head is shap'd, pure silver are the breast
　　And arms; thence to the middle is of brass.
　　And downward all beneath well-temper'd steel,
　　Save the right foot of potter's clay, on which
　　Than on the other more erect he stands,
　　Each part except the gold, is rent throughout;
　　And from the fissure tears distil, which join'd
　　Penetrate to that cave. They in their course
　　Thus far precipitated down the rock
　　Form Acheron, and Styx, and Phlegethon;
　　Then by this straiten'd channel passing hence
　　Beneath, e'en to the lowest depth of all,
　　Form there Cocytus, of whose lake (thyself
　　Shall see it) I here give thee no account."
　　
　　Then I to him: "If from our world this sluice
　　Be thus deriv'd; wherefore to us but now
　　Appears it at this edge?" He straight replied:
　　"The place, thou know'st, is round; and though great part
　　Thou have already pass'd, still to the left
　　Descending to the nethermost, not yet
　　Hast thou the circuit made of the whole orb.
　　Wherefore if aught of new to us appear,
　　It needs not bring up wonder in thy looks."
　　
　　Then I again inquir'd: "Where flow the streams
　　Of Phlegethon and Lethe? for of one
　　Thou tell'st not, and the other of that shower,
　　Thou say'st, is form'd." He answer thus return'd:
　　"Doubtless thy questions all well pleas'd I hear.
　　Yet the red seething wave might have resolv'd
　　One thou proposest. Lethe thou shalt see,
　　But not within this hollow, in the place,
　　Whither to lave themselves the spirits go,
　　Whose blame hath been by penitence remov'd."
　　He added: "Time is now we quit the wood.
　　Look thou my steps pursue: the margins give
　　Safe passage, unimpeded by the flames;
　　For over them all vapour is extinct."

　　One of the solid margins bears us now
　　Envelop'd in the mist, that from the stream
　　Arising, hovers o'er, and saves from fire
　　Both piers and water. As the Flemings rear
　　Their mound, 'twixt Ghent and Bruges, to chase back
　　The ocean, fearing his tumultuous tide
　　That drives toward them, or the Paduans theirs
　　Along the Brenta, to defend their towns
　　And castles, ere the genial warmth be felt
　　On Chiarentana's top; such were the mounds,
　　So fram'd, though not in height or bulk to these
　　Made equal, by the master, whosoe'er
　　He was, that rais'd them here. We from the wood
　　Were not so far remov'd, that turning round
　　I might not have discern'd it, when we met
　　A troop of spirits, who came beside the pier.
　　
　　They each one ey'd us, as at eventide
　　One eyes another under a new moon,
　　And toward us sharpen'd their sight as keen,
　　As an old tailor at his needle's eye.
　　
　　Thus narrowly explor'd by all the tribe,
　　I was agniz'd of one, who by the skirt
　　Caught me, and cried, "What wonder have we here!"
　　
　　And I, when he to me outstretch'd his arm,
　　Intently fix'd my ken on his parch'd looks,
　　That although smirch'd with fire, they hinder'd not
　　But I remember'd him; and towards his face
　　My hand inclining, answer'd: "Sir! Brunetto!
　　
　　
　　"And art thou here?" He thus to me: "My son!
　　Oh let it not displease thee, if Brunetto
　　Latini but a little space with thee
　　Turn back, and leave his fellows to proceed."
　　
　　I thus to him replied: "Much as I can,
　　I thereto pray thee; and if thou be willing,
　　That I here seat me with thee, I consent;
　　His leave, with whom I journey, first obtain'd."
　　
　　"O son!" said he, "whoever of this throng
　　One instant stops, lies then a hundred years,
　　No fan to ventilate him, when the fire
　　Smites sorest. Pass thou therefore on. I close
　　Will at thy garments walk, and then rejoin
　　My troop, who go mourning their endless doom."
　　
　　I dar'd not from the path descend to tread
　　On equal ground with him, but held my head
　　Bent down, as one who walks in reverent guise.
　　
　　"What chance or destiny," thus he began,
　　"Ere the last day conducts thee here below?
　　And who is this, that shows to thee the way?"
　　
　　"There up aloft," I answer'd, "in the life
　　Serene, I wander'd in a valley lost,
　　Before mine age had to its fullness reach'd.
　　But yester-morn I left it: then once more
　　Into that vale returning, him I met;
　　And by this path homeward he leads me back."
　　
　　"If thou," he answer'd, "follow but thy star,
　　Thou canst not miss at last a glorious haven:
　　Unless in fairer days my judgment err'd.
　　And if my fate so early had not chanc'd,
　　Seeing the heav'ns thus bounteous to thee, I
　　Had gladly giv'n thee comfort in thy work.
　　But that ungrateful and malignant race,
　　Who in old times came down from Fesole,
　　Ay and still smack of their rough mountain-flint,
　　Will for thy good deeds shew thee enmity.
　　Nor wonder; for amongst ill-savour'd crabs
　　It suits not the sweet fig-tree lay her fruit.
　　Old fame reports them in the world for blind,
　　Covetous, envious, proud. Look to it well:
　　Take heed thou cleanse thee of their ways. For thee
　　Thy fortune hath such honour in reserve,
　　That thou by either party shalt be crav'd
　　With hunger keen: but be the fresh herb far
　　From the goat's tooth. The herd of Fesole
　　May of themselves make litter, not touch the plant,
　　If any such yet spring on their rank bed,
　　In which the holy seed revives, transmitted
　　From those true Romans, who still there remain'd,
　　When it was made the nest of so much ill."
　　
　　"Were all my wish fulfill'd," I straight replied,
　　"Thou from the confines of man's nature yet
　　Hadst not been driven forth; for in my mind
　　Is fix'd, and now strikes full upon my heart
　　The dear, benign, paternal image, such
　　As thine was, when so lately thou didst teach me
　　The way for man to win eternity;
　　And how I priz'd the lesson, it behooves,
　　That, long as life endures, my tongue should speak,
　　What of my fate thou tell'st, that write I down:
　　And with another text to comment on
　　For her I keep it, the celestial dame,
　　Who will know all, if I to her arrive.
　　This only would I have thee clearly note:
　　That so my conscience have no plea against me;
　　Do fortune as she list, I stand prepar'd.
　　Not new or strange such earnest to mine ear.
　　Speed fortune then her wheel, as likes her best,
　　The clown his mattock; all things have their course."
　　
　　Thereat my sapient guide upon his right
　　Turn'd himself back, then look'd at me and spake:
　　"He listens to good purpose who takes note."
　　
　　I not the less still on my way proceed,
　　Discoursing with Brunetto, and inquire
　　Who are most known and chief among his tribe.
　　
　　"To know of some is well;" thus he replied,
　　"But of the rest silence may best beseem.
　　Time would not serve us for report so long.
　　In brief I tell thee, that all these were clerks,
　　Men of great learning and no less renown,
　　By one same sin polluted in the world.
　　With them is Priscian, and Accorso's son
　　Francesco herds among that wretched throng:
　　And, if the wish of so impure a blotch
　　Possess'd thee, him thou also might'st have seen,
　　Who by the servants' servant was transferr'd
　　From Arno's seat to Bacchiglione, where
　　His ill-strain'd nerves he left. I more would add,
　　But must from farther speech and onward way
　　Alike desist, for yonder I behold
　　A mist new-risen on the sandy plain.
　　A company, with whom I may not sort,
　　Approaches. I commend my TREASURE to thee,
　　Wherein I yet survive; my sole request."
　　
　　This said he turn'd, and seem'd as one of those,
　　Who o'er Verona's champain try their speed
　　For the green mantle, and of them he seem'd,
　　Not he who loses but who gains the prize.

　　NOW came I where the water's din was heard,
　　As down it fell into the other round,
　　Resounding like the hum of swarming bees:
　　When forth together issu'd from a troop,
　　That pass'd beneath the fierce tormenting storm,
　　Three spirits, running swift. They towards us came,
　　And each one cried aloud, "Oh do thou stay!
　　Whom by the fashion of thy garb we deem
　　To be some inmate of our evil land."
　　
　　Ah me! what wounds I mark'd upon their limbs,
　　Recent and old, inflicted by the flames!
　　E'en the remembrance of them grieves me yet.
　　
　　Attentive to their cry my teacher paus'd,
　　And turn'd to me his visage, and then spake;
　　"Wait now! our courtesy these merit well:
　　And were 't not for the nature of the place,
　　Whence glide the fiery darts, I should have said,
　　That haste had better suited thee than them."
　　
　　They, when we stopp'd, resum'd their ancient wail,
　　And soon as they had reach'd us, all the three
　　Whirl'd round together in one restless wheel.
　　As naked champions, smear'd with slippery oil,
　　Are wont intent to watch their place of hold
　　And vantage, ere in closer strife they meet;
　　Thus each one, as he wheel'd, his countenance
　　At me directed, so that opposite
　　The neck mov'd ever to the twinkling feet.
　　
　　"If misery of this drear wilderness,"
　　Thus one began, "added to our sad cheer
　　And destitute, do call forth scorn on us
　　And our entreaties, let our great renown
　　Incline thee to inform us who thou art,
　　That dost imprint with living feet unharm'd
　　The soil of Hell. He, in whose track thou see'st
　　My steps pursuing, naked though he be
　　And reft of all, was of more high estate
　　Than thou believest; grandchild of the chaste
　　Gualdrada, him they Guidoguerra call'd,
　　Who in his lifetime many a noble act
　　Achiev'd, both by his wisdom and his sword.
　　The other, next to me that beats the sand,
　　Is Aldobrandi, name deserving well,
　　In the' upper world, of honour; and myself
　　Who in this torment do partake with them,
　　Am Rusticucci, whom, past doubt, my wife
　　Of savage temper, more than aught beside
　　Hath to this evil brought." If from the fire
　　I had been shelter'd, down amidst them straight
　　I then had cast me, nor my guide, I deem,
　　Would have restrain'd my going; but that fear
　　Of the dire burning vanquish'd the desire,
　　Which made me eager of their wish'd embrace.
　　
　　I then began: "Not scorn, but grief much more,
　　Such as long time alone can cure, your doom
　　Fix'd deep within me, soon as this my lord
　　Spake words, whose tenour taught me to expect
　　That such a race, as ye are, was at hand.
　　I am a countryman of yours, who still
　　Affectionate have utter'd, and have heard
　　Your deeds and names renown'd. Leaving the gall
　　For the sweet fruit I go, that a sure guide
　　Hath promis'd to me. But behooves, that far
　　As to the centre first I downward tend."
　　
　　"So may long space thy spirit guide thy limbs,"
　　He answer straight return'd; "and so thy fame
　　Shine bright, when thou art gone; as thou shalt tell,
　　If courtesy and valour, as they wont,
　　Dwell in our city, or have vanish'd clean?
　　For one amidst us late condemn'd to wail,
　　Borsiere, yonder walking with his peers,
　　Grieves us no little by the news he brings."
　　
　　"An upstart multitude and sudden gains,
　　Pride and excess, O Florence! have in thee
　　Engender'd, so that now in tears thou mourn'st!"
　　Thus cried I with my face uprais'd, and they
　　All three, who for an answer took my words,
　　Look'd at each other, as men look when truth
　　Comes to their ear. "If thou at other times,"
　　They all at once rejoin'd, "so easily
　　Satisfy those, who question, happy thou,
　　Gifted with words, so apt to speak thy thought!
　　Wherefore if thou escape this darksome clime,
　　Returning to behold the radiant stars,
　　When thou with pleasure shalt retrace the past,
　　See that of us thou speak among mankind."
　　
　　This said, they broke the circle, and so swift
　　Fled, that as pinions seem'd their nimble feet.
　　
　　Not in so short a time might one have said
　　"Amen," as they had vanish'd. Straight my guide
　　Pursu'd his track. I follow'd; and small space
　　Had we pass'd onward, when the water's sound
　　Was now so near at hand, that we had scarce
　　Heard one another's speech for the loud din.
　　
　　E'en as the river, that holds on its course
　　Unmingled, from the mount of Vesulo,
　　On the left side of Apennine, toward
　　The east, which Acquacheta higher up
　　They call, ere it descend into the vale,
　　At Forli by that name no longer known,
　　Rebellows o'er Saint Benedict, roll'd on
　　From the' Alpine summit down a precipice,
　　Where space enough to lodge a thousand spreads;
　　Thus downward from a craggy steep we found,
　　That this dark wave resounded, roaring loud,
　　So that the ear its clamour soon had stunn'd.
　　
　　I had a cord that brac'd my girdle round,
　　Wherewith I erst had thought fast bound to take
　　The painted leopard. This when I had all
　　Unloosen'd from me (so my master bade)
　　I gather'd up, and stretch'd it forth to him.
　　Then to the right he turn'd, and from the brink
　　Standing few paces distant, cast it down
　　Into the deep abyss. "And somewhat strange,"
　　Thus to myself I spake, "signal so strange
　　Betokens, which my guide with earnest eye
　　Thus follows." Ah! what caution must men use
　　With those who look not at the deed alone,
　　But spy into the thoughts with subtle skill!
　　
　　"Quickly shall come," he said, "what I expect,
　　Thine eye discover quickly, that whereof
　　Thy thought is dreaming." Ever to that truth,
　　Which but the semblance of a falsehood wears,
　　A man, if possible, should bar his lip;
　　Since, although blameless, he incurs reproach.
　　But silence here were vain; and by these notes
　　Which now I sing, reader! I swear to thee,
　　So may they favour find to latest times!
　　That through the gross and murky air I spied
　　A shape come swimming up, that might have quell'd
　　The stoutest heart with wonder, in such guise
　　As one returns, who hath been down to loose
　　An anchor grappled fast against some rock,
　　Or to aught else that in the salt wave lies,
　　Who upward springing close draws in his feet.

　　"LO! the fell monster with the deadly sting!
　　Who passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls
　　And firm embattled spears, and with his filth
　　Taints all the world!" Thus me my guide address'd,
　　And beckon'd him, that he should come to shore,
　　Near to the stony causeway's utmost edge.
　　
　　
　　Forthwith that image vile of fraud appear'd,
　　His head and upper part expos'd on land,
　　But laid not on the shore his bestial train.
　　His face the semblance of a just man's wore,
　　So kind and gracious was its outward cheer;
　　The rest was serpent all: two shaggy claws
　　Reach'd to the armpits, and the back and breast,
　　And either side, were painted o'er with nodes
　　And orbits. Colours variegated more
　　Nor Turks nor Tartars e'er on cloth of state
　　With interchangeable embroidery wove,
　　Nor spread Arachne o'er her curious loom.
　　As ofttimes a light skiff, moor'd to the shore,
　　Stands part in water, part upon the land;
　　Or, as where dwells the greedy German boor,
　　The beaver settles watching for his prey;
　　So on the rim, that fenc'd the sand with rock,
　　Sat perch'd the fiend of evil. In the void
　　Glancing, his tail upturn'd its venomous fork,
　　With sting like scorpion's arm'd. Then thus my guide:
　　"Now need our way must turn few steps apart,
　　Far as to that ill beast, who couches there."
　　
　　Thereat toward the right our downward course
　　We shap'd, and, better to escape the flame
　　And burning marle, ten paces on the verge
　　Proceeded. Soon as we to him arrive,
　　A little further on mine eye beholds
　　A tribe of spirits, seated on the sand
　　Near the wide chasm. Forthwith my master spake:
　　"That to the full thy knowledge may extend
　　Of all this round contains, go now, and mark
　　The mien these wear: but hold not long discourse.
　　Till thou returnest, I with him meantime
　　Will parley, that to us he may vouchsafe
　　The aid of his strong shoulders." Thus alone
　　Yet forward on the' extremity I pac'd
　　Of that seventh circle, where the mournful tribe
　　Were seated. At the eyes forth gush'd their pangs.
　　Against the vapours and the torrid soil
　　Alternately their shifting hands they plied.
　　Thus use the dogs in summer still to ply
　　Their jaws and feet by turns, when bitten sore
　　By gnats, or flies, or gadflies swarming round.
　　
　　Noting the visages of some, who lay
　　Beneath the pelting of that dolorous fire,
　　One of them all I knew not; but perceiv'd,
　　That pendent from his neck each bore a pouch
　　With colours and with emblems various mark'd,
　　On which it seem'd as if their eye did feed.
　　
　　And when amongst them looking round I came,
　　A yellow purse I saw with azure wrought,
　　That wore a lion's countenance and port.
　　Then still my sight pursuing its career,
　　Another I beheld, than blood more red.
　　A goose display of whiter wing than curd.
　　And one, who bore a fat and azure swine
　　Pictur'd on his white scrip, addressed me thus:
　　"What dost thou in this deep? Go now and know,
　　Since yet thou livest, that my neighbour here
　　Vitaliano on my left shall sit.
　　A Paduan with these Florentines am I.
　　Ofttimes they thunder in mine ears, exclaiming
　　'O haste that noble knight! he who the pouch
　　With the three beaks will bring!'" This said, he writh'd
　　The mouth, and loll'd the tongue out, like an ox
　　That licks his nostrils. I, lest longer stay
　　He ill might brook, who bade me stay not long,
　　Backward my steps from those sad spirits turn'd.
　　
　　My guide already seated on the haunch
　　Of the fierce animal I found; and thus
　　He me encourag'd. "Be thou stout; be bold.
　　Down such a steep flight must we now descend!
　　Mount thou before: for that no power the tail
　　May have to harm thee, I will be i' th' midst."
　　
　　As one, who hath an ague fit so near,
　　His nails already are turn'd blue, and he
　　Quivers all o'er, if he but eye the shade;
　　Such was my cheer at hearing of his words.
　　But shame soon interpos'd her threat, who makes
　　The servant bold in presence of his lord.
　　
　　I settled me upon those shoulders huge,
　　And would have said, but that the words to aid
　　My purpose came not, "Look thou clasp me firm!"
　　
　　But he whose succour then not first I prov'd,
　　Soon as I mounted, in his arms aloft,
　　Embracing, held me up, and thus he spake:
　　"Geryon! now move thee! be thy wheeling gyres
　　Of ample circuit, easy thy descent.
　　Think on th' unusual burden thou sustain'st."
　　
　　
　　As a small vessel, back'ning out from land,
　　Her station quits; so thence the monster loos'd,
　　And when he felt himself at large, turn'd round
　　There where the breast had been, his forked tail.
　　Thus, like an eel, outstretch'd at length he steer'd,
　　Gath'ring the air up with retractile claws.
　　
　　Not greater was the dread when Phaeton
　　The reins let drop at random, whence high heaven,
　　Whereof signs yet appear, was wrapt in flames;
　　Nor when ill-fated Icarus perceiv'd,
　　By liquefaction of the scalded wax,
　　The trusted pennons loosen'd from his loins,
　　His sire exclaiming loud, "Ill way thou keep'st!"
　　Than was my dread, when round me on each part
　　The air I view'd, and other object none
　　Save the fell beast. He slowly sailing, wheels
　　His downward motion, unobserv'd of me,
　　But that the wind, arising to my face,
　　Breathes on me from below. Now on our right
　　I heard the cataract beneath us leap
　　With hideous crash; whence bending down to' explore,
　　New terror I conceiv'd at the steep plunge:
　　For flames I saw, and wailings smote mine ear:
　　So that all trembling close I crouch'd my limbs,
　　And then distinguish'd, unperceiv'd before,
　　By the dread torments that on every side
　　Drew nearer, how our downward course we wound.
　　
　　As falcon, that hath long been on the wing,
　　But lure nor bird hath seen, while in despair
　　The falconer cries, "Ah me! thou stoop'st to earth!"
　　Wearied descends, and swiftly down the sky
　　In many an orbit wheels, then lighting sits
　　At distance from his lord in angry mood;
　　So Geryon lighting places us on foot
　　Low down at base of the deep-furrow'd rock,
　　And, of his burden there discharg'd, forthwith
　　Sprang forward, like an arrow from the string.

　　THERE is a place within the depths of hell
　　Call'd Malebolge, all of rock dark-stain'd
　　With hue ferruginous, e'en as the steep
　　That round it circling winds. ?Right in the midst
　　Of that abominable region, yawns
　　A spacious gulf profound, whereof the frame
　　Due time shall tell. ?The circle, that remains,
　　Throughout its round, between the gulf and base
　　Of the high craggy banks, successive forms
　　Ten trenches, in its hollow bottom sunk.
　　
　　As where to guard the walls, full many a foss
　　Begirds some stately castle, sure defence
　　Affording to the space within, so here
　　Were model'd these; and as like fortresses
　　E'en from their threshold to the brink without,
　　Are flank'd with bridges; from the rock's low base
　　Thus flinty paths advanc'd, that 'cross the moles
　　And dikes, struck onward far as to the gulf,
　　That in one bound collected cuts them off.
　　Such was the place, wherein we found ourselves
　　From Geryon's back dislodg'd. The bard to left
　　Held on his way, and I behind him mov'd.
　　
　　On our right hand new misery I saw,
　　New pains, new executioners of wrath,
　　That swarming peopled the first chasm. ?Below
　　Were naked sinners. ?Hitherward they came,
　　Meeting our faces from the middle point,
　　With us beyond but with a larger stride.
　　E'en thus the Romans, when the year returns
　　Of Jubilee, with better speed to rid
　　The thronging multitudes, their means devise
　　For such as pass the bridge; that on one side
　　All front toward the castle, and approach
　　Saint Peter's fane, on th' other towards the mount.
　　
　　Each divers way along the grisly rock,
　　Horn'd demons I beheld, with lashes huge,
　　That on their back unmercifully smote.
　　Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe!
　　
　　
　　None for the second waited nor the third.
　　
　　Meantime as on I pass'd, one met my sight
　　Whom soon as view'd; "Of him," cried I, "not yet
　　Mine eye hath had his fill." ?With fixed gaze
　　I therefore scann'd him. ?Straight the teacher kind
　　Paus'd with me, and consented I should walk
　　Backward a space, and the tormented spirit,
　　Who thought to hide him, bent his visage down.
　　But it avail'd him nought; for I exclaim'd:
　　"Thou who dost cast thy eye upon the ground,
　　Unless thy features do belie thee much,
　　Venedico art thou. ?But what brings thee
　　Into this bitter seas'ning?" ?He replied:
　　"Unwillingly I answer to thy words.
　　But thy clear speech, that to my mind recalls
　　The world I once inhabited, constrains me.
　　Know then 'twas I who led fair Ghisola
　　To do the Marquis' will, however fame
　　The shameful tale have bruited. ?Nor alone
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　Bologna hither sendeth me to mourn
　　Rather with us the place is so o'erthrong'd
　　That not so many tongues this day are taught,
　　Betwixt the Reno and Savena's stream,
　　To answer SIPA in their country's phrase.
　　And if of that securer proof thou need,
　　Remember but our craving thirst for gold."
　　
　　Him speaking thus, a demon with his thong
　　Struck, and exclaim'd, "Away! corrupter! here
　　Women are none for sale." ?Forthwith I join'd
　　My escort, and few paces thence we came
　　To where a rock forth issued from the bank.
　　That easily ascended, to the right
　　Upon its splinter turning, we depart
　　From those eternal barriers. When arriv'd,
　　Where underneath the gaping arch lets pass
　　The scourged souls: "Pause here," the teacher said,
　　"And let these others miserable, now
　　Strike on thy ken, faces not yet beheld,
　　For that together they with us have walk'd."
　　
　　From the old bridge we ey'd the pack, who came
　　From th' other side towards us, like the rest,
　　Excoriate from the lash. ?My gentle guide,
　　By me unquestion'd, thus his speech resum'd:
　　"Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends,
　　And seems too woe-begone to drop a tear.
　　How yet the regal aspect he retains!
　　Jason is he, whose skill and prowess won
　　The ram from Colchos. To the Lemnian isle
　　His passage thither led him, when those bold
　　And pitiless women had slain all their males.
　　There he with tokens and fair witching words
　　Hypsipyle beguil'd, a virgin young,
　　Who first had all the rest herself beguil'd.
　　Impregnated he left her there forlorn.
　　Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain.
　　Here too Medea's inj'ries are avenged.
　　All bear him company, who like deceit
　　To his have practis'd. ?And thus much to know
　　Of the first vale suffice thee, and of those
　　Whom its keen torments urge." ?Now had we come
　　Where, crossing the next pier, the straighten'd path
　　Bestrides its shoulders to another arch.
　　
　　Hence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts,
　　Who jibber in low melancholy sounds,
　　With wide-stretch'd nostrils snort, and on themselves
　　Smite with their palms. ?Upon the banks a scurf
　　From the foul steam condens'd, encrusting hung,
　　That held sharp combat with the sight and smell.
　　
　　So hollow is the depth, that from no part,
　　Save on the summit of the rocky span,
　　Could I distinguish aught. ?Thus far we came;
　　And thence I saw, within the foss below,
　　A crowd immers'd in ordure, that appear'd
　　Draff of the human body. ?There beneath
　　Searching with eye inquisitive, I mark'd
　　One with his head so grim'd, 't were hard to deem,
　　If he were clerk or layman. ?Loud he cried:
　　"Why greedily thus bendest more on me,
　　Than on these other filthy ones, thy ken?"
　　
　　
　　
　　"Because if true my mem'ry," I replied,
　　"I heretofore have seen thee with dry locks,
　　And thou Alessio art of Lucca sprung.
　　Therefore than all the rest I scan thee more."
　　
　　Then beating on his brain these words he spake:
　　"Me thus low down my flatteries have sunk,
　　Wherewith I ne'er enough could glut my tongue."
　　
　　My leader thus: "A little further stretch
　　Thy face, that thou the visage well mayst note
　　Of that besotted, sluttish courtezan,
　　Who there doth rend her with defiled nails,
　　Now crouching down, now risen on her feet.
　　
　　
　　"Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lip
　　Answer'd her doting paramour that ask'd,
　　'Thankest me much!'—'Say rather wondrously,'
　　And seeing this here satiate be our view."

　　WOE to thee, Simon Magus! woe to you,
　　His wretched followers! who the things of God,
　　Which should be wedded unto goodness, them,
　　Rapacious as ye are, do prostitute
　　For gold and silver in adultery!
　　Now must the trumpet sound for you, since yours
　　Is the third chasm. ?Upon the following vault
　　We now had mounted, where the rock impends
　　Directly o'er the centre of the foss.
　　
　　Wisdom Supreme! how wonderful the art,
　　Which thou dost manifest in heaven, in earth,
　　And in the evil world, how just a meed
　　Allotting by thy virtue unto all!
　　
　　I saw the livid stone, throughout the sides
　　And in its bottom full of apertures,
　　All equal in their width, and circular each,
　　Nor ample less nor larger they appear'd
　　Than in Saint John's fair dome of me belov'd
　　Those fram'd to hold the pure baptismal streams,
　　One of the which I brake, some few years past,
　　To save a whelming infant; and be this
　　A seal to undeceive whoever doubts
　　The motive of my deed. ?From out the mouth
　　Of every one, emerg'd a sinner's feet
　　And of the legs high upward as the calf
　　The rest beneath was hid. ?On either foot
　　The soles were burning, whence the flexile joints
　　Glanc'd with such violent motion, as had snapt
　　Asunder cords or twisted withs. ?As flame,
　　Feeding on unctuous matter, glides along
　　The surface, scarcely touching where it moves;
　　So here, from heel to point, glided the flames.
　　
　　"Master! say who is he, than all the rest
　　Glancing in fiercer agony, on whom
　　A ruddier flame doth prey?" ?I thus inquir'd.
　　
　　"If thou be willing," he replied, "that I
　　Carry thee down, where least the slope bank falls,
　　He of himself shall tell thee and his wrongs."
　　
　　I then: "As pleases thee to me is best.
　　Thou art my lord; and know'st that ne'er I quit
　　Thy will: what silence hides that knowest thou."
　　Thereat on the fourth pier we came, we turn'd,
　　And on our left descended to the depth,
　　A narrow strait and perforated close.
　　Nor from his side my leader set me down,
　　Till to his orifice he brought, whose limb
　　Quiv'ring express'd his pang. ?"Whoe'er thou art,
　　Sad spirit! thus revers'd, and as a stake
　　Driv'n in the soil!" ?I in these words began,
　　"If thou be able, utter forth thy voice."
　　
　　
　　
　　There stood I like the friar, that doth shrive
　　A wretch for murder doom'd, who e'en when fix'd,
　　Calleth him back, whence death awhile delays.
　　
　　He shouted: "Ha! already standest there?
　　Already standest there, O Boniface!
　　By many a year the writing play'd me false.
　　So early dost thou surfeit with the wealth,
　　For which thou fearedst not in guile to take
　　The lovely lady, and then mangle her?"
　　
　　I felt as those who, piercing not the drift
　　Of answer made them, stand as if expos'd
　　In mockery, nor know what to reply,
　　When Virgil thus admonish'd: "Tell him quick,
　　I am not he, not he, whom thou believ'st."
　　
　　And I, as was enjoin'd me, straight replied.
　　
　　That heard, the spirit all did wrench his feet,
　　And sighing next in woeful accent spake:
　　"What then of me requirest?" ?"If to know
　　So much imports thee, who I am, that thou
　　Hast therefore down the bank descended, learn
　　That in the mighty mantle I was rob'd,
　　And of a she-bear was indeed the son,
　　So eager to advance my whelps, that there
　　My having in my purse above I stow'd,
　　And here myself. ?Under my head are dragg'd
　　The rest, my predecessors in the guilt
　　Of simony. ?Stretch'd at their length they lie
　　Along an opening in the rock. ?'Midst them
　　I also low shall fall, soon as he comes,
　　For whom I took thee, when so hastily
　　I question'd. ?But already longer time
　　Hath pass'd, since my souls kindled, and I thus
　　Upturn'd have stood, than is his doom to stand
　　Planted with fiery feet. ?For after him,
　　One yet of deeds more ugly shall arrive,
　　From forth the west, a shepherd without law,
　　Fated to cover both his form and mine.
　　He a new Jason shall be call'd, of whom
　　In Maccabees we read; and favour such
　　As to that priest his king indulgent show'd,
　　Shall be of France's monarch shown to him."
　　
　　I know not if I here too far presum'd,
　　But in this strain I answer'd: "Tell me now,
　　What treasures from St. Peter at the first
　　Our Lord demanded, when he put the keys
　　Into his charge? ?Surely he ask'd no more
　　But, Follow me! Nor Peter nor the rest
　　Or gold or silver of Matthias took,
　　When lots were cast upon the forfeit place
　　Of the condemned soul. ?Abide thou then;
　　Thy punishment of right is merited:
　　And look thou well to that ill-gotten coin,
　　Which against Charles thy hardihood inspir'd.
　　If reverence of the keys restrain'd me not,
　　Which thou in happier time didst hold, I yet
　　Severer speech might use. ?Your avarice
　　O'ercasts the world with mourning, under foot
　　Treading the good, and raising bad men up.
　　Of shepherds, like to you, th' Evangelist
　　Was ware, when her, who sits upon the waves,
　　With kings in filthy whoredom he beheld,
　　She who with seven heads tower'd at her birth,
　　And from ten horns her proof of glory drew,
　　Long as her spouse in virtue took delight.
　　Of gold and silver ye have made your god,
　　Diff'ring wherein from the idolater,
　　But he that worships one, a hundred ye?
　　Ah, Constantine! to how much ill gave birth,
　　Not thy conversion, but that plenteous dower,
　　Which the first wealthy Father gain'd from thee!"
　　
　　Meanwhile, as thus I sung, he, whether wrath
　　Or conscience smote him, violent upsprang
　　Spinning on either sole. ?I do believe
　　My teacher well was pleas'd, with so compos'd
　　A lip, he listen'd ever to the sound
　　Of the true words I utter'd. ?In both arms
　　He caught, and to his bosom lifting me
　　Upward retrac'd the way of his descent.
　　
　　Nor weary of his weight he press'd me close,
　　Till to the summit of the rock we came,
　　Our passage from the fourth to the fifth pier.
　　His cherish'd burden there gently he plac'd
　　Upon the rugged rock and steep, a path
　　Not easy for the clamb'ring goat to mount.
　　
　　Thence to my view another vale appear'd

　　AND now the verse proceeds to torments new,
　　Fit argument of this the twentieth strain
　　Of the first song, whose awful theme records
　　The spirits whelm'd in woe. ?Earnest I look'd
　　Into the depth, that open'd to my view,
　　Moisten'd with tears of anguish, and beheld
　　A tribe, that came along the hollow vale,
　　In silence weeping: such their step as walk
　　Quires chanting solemn litanies on earth.
　　
　　As on them more direct mine eye descends,
　　Each wondrously seem'd to be revers'd
　　At the neck-bone, so that the countenance
　　Was from the reins averted: and because
　　None might before him look, they were compell'd
　　To' advance with backward gait. ?Thus one perhaps
　　Hath been by force of palsy clean transpos'd,
　　But I ne'er saw it nor believe it so.
　　
　　Now, reader! think within thyself, so God
　　Fruit of thy reading give thee! how I long
　　Could keep my visage dry, when I beheld
　　Near me our form distorted in such guise,
　　That on the hinder parts fall'n from the face
　　The tears down-streaming roll'd. ?Against a rock
　　I leant and wept, so that my guide exclaim'd:
　　"What, and art thou too witless as the rest?
　　Here pity most doth show herself alive,
　　When she is dead. ?What guilt exceedeth his,
　　Who with Heaven's judgment in his passion strives?
　　Raise up thy head, raise up, and see the man,
　　Before whose eyes earth gap'd in Thebes, when all
　　Cried out, 'Amphiaraus, whither rushest?
　　'Why leavest thou the war?' ?He not the less
　　Fell ruining far as to Minos down,
　　Whose grapple none eludes. ?Lo! how he makes
　　The breast his shoulders, and who once too far
　　Before him wish'd to see, now backward looks,
　　And treads reverse his path. ?Tiresias note,
　　Who semblance chang'd, when woman he became
　　Of male, through every limb transform'd, and then
　　Once more behov'd him with his rod to strike
　　The two entwining serpents, ere the plumes,
　　That mark'd the better sex, might shoot again.
　　
　　"Aruns, with more his belly facing, comes.
　　On Luni's mountains 'midst the marbles white,
　　Where delves Carrara's hind, who wons beneath,
　　A cavern was his dwelling, whence the stars
　　And main-sea wide in boundless view he held.
　　
　　"The next, whose loosen'd tresses overspread
　　Her bosom, which thou seest not (for each hair
　　On that side grows) was Manto, she who search'd
　　Through many regions, and at length her seat
　　Fix'd in my native land, whence a short space
　　My words detain thy audience. ?When her sire
　　From life departed, and in servitude
　　The city dedicate to Bacchus mourn'd,
　　Long time she went a wand'rer through the world.
　　Aloft in Italy's delightful land
　　A lake there lies, at foot of that proud Alp,
　　That o'er the Tyrol locks Germania in,
　　Its name Benacus, which a thousand rills,
　　Methinks, and more, water between the vale
　　Camonica and Garda and the height
　　Of Apennine remote. ?There is a spot
　　At midway of that lake, where he who bears
　　Of Trento's flock the past'ral staff, with him
　　Of Brescia, and the Veronese, might each
　　Passing that way his benediction give.
　　A garrison of goodly site and strong
　　Peschiera stands, to awe with front oppos'd
　　The Bergamese and Brescian, whence the shore
　　More slope each way descends. ?There, whatsoev'er
　　Benacus' bosom holds not, tumbling o'er
　　Down falls, and winds a river flood beneath
　　Through the green pastures. ?Soon as in his course
　　The steam makes head, Benacus then no more
　　They call the name, but Mincius, till at last
　　Reaching Governo into Po he falls.
　　Not far his course hath run, when a wide flat
　　It finds, which overstretchmg as a marsh
　　It covers, pestilent in summer oft.
　　Hence journeying, the savage maiden saw
　　'Midst of the fen a territory waste
　　And naked of inhabitants. ?To shun
　　All human converse, here she with her slaves
　　Plying her arts remain'd, and liv'd, and left
　　Her body tenantless. ?Thenceforth the tribes,
　　Who round were scatter'd, gath'ring to that place
　　Assembled; for its strength was great, enclos'd
　　On all parts by the fen. ?On those dead bones
　　They rear'd themselves a city, for her sake,
　　Calling it Mantua, who first chose the spot,
　　Nor ask'd another omen for the name,
　　Wherein more numerous the people dwelt,
　　Ere Casalodi's madness by deceit
　　Was wrong'd of Pinamonte. ?If thou hear
　　Henceforth another origin assign'd
　　Of that my country, I forewarn thee now,
　　That falsehood none beguile thee of the truth."
　　
　　I answer'd: "Teacher, I conclude thy words
　　So certain, that all else shall be to me
　　As embers lacking life. ?But now of these,
　　Who here proceed, instruct me, if thou see
　　Any that merit more especial note.
　　For thereon is my mind alone intent."
　　
　　He straight replied: "That spirit, from whose cheek
　　The beard sweeps o'er his shoulders brown, what time
　　Graecia was emptied of her males, that scarce
　　The cradles were supplied, the seer was he
　　In Aulis, who with Calchas gave the sign
　　When first to cut the cable. ?Him they nam'd
　　Eurypilus: so sings my tragic strain,
　　In which majestic measure well thou know'st,
　　Who know'st it all. ?That other, round the loins
　　So slender of his shape, was Michael Scot,
　　Practis'd in ev'ry slight of magic wile.
　　
　　"Guido Bonatti see: ?Asdente mark,
　　Who now were willing, he had tended still
　　The thread and cordwain; and too late repents.
　　
　　"See next the wretches, who the needle left,
　　The shuttle and the spindle, and became
　　Diviners: baneful witcheries they wrought
　　With images and herbs. ?But onward now:
　　For now doth Cain with fork of thorns confine
　　On either hemisphere, touching the wave
　　Beneath the towers of Seville. ?Yesternight
　　The moon was round. ?Thou mayst remember well:
　　For she good service did thee in the gloom
　　Of the deep wood." ?This said, both onward mov'd.

　　THUS we from bridge to bridge, with other talk,
　　The which my drama cares not to rehearse,
　　Pass'd on; and to the summit reaching, stood
　　To view another gap, within the round
　　Of Malebolge, other bootless pangs.
　　
　　Marvelous darkness shadow'd o'er the place.
　　
　　In the Venetians' arsenal as boils
　　Through wintry months tenacious pitch, to smear
　　Their unsound vessels; for th' inclement time
　　Sea-faring men restrains, and in that while
　　His bark one builds anew, another stops
　　The ribs of his, that hath made many a voyage;
　　One hammers at the prow, one at the poop;
　　This shapeth oars, that other cables twirls,
　　The mizen one repairs and main-sail rent
　　So not by force of fire but art divine
　　Boil'd here a glutinous thick mass, that round
　　Lim'd all the shore beneath. ?I that beheld,
　　But therein nought distinguish'd, save the surge,
　　Rais'd by the boiling, in one mighty swell
　　Heave, and by turns subsiding and fall. ?While there
　　I fix'd my ken below, "Mark! mark!" my guide
　　Exclaiming, drew me towards him from the place,
　　Wherein I stood. ?I turn'd myself as one,
　　Impatient to behold that which beheld
　　He needs must shun, whom sudden fear unmans,
　　That he his flight delays not for the view.
　　Behind me I discern'd a devil black,
　　That running, up advanc'd along the rock.
　　Ah! what fierce cruelty his look bespake!
　　In act how bitter did he seem, with wings
　　Buoyant outstretch'd and feet of nimblest tread!
　　His shoulder proudly eminent and sharp
　　Was with a sinner charg'd; by either haunch
　　He held him, the foot's sinew griping fast.
　　
　　"Ye of our bridge!" he cried, "keen-talon'd fiends!
　　Lo! one of Santa Zita's elders! Him
　　Whelm ye beneath, while I return for more.
　　That land hath store of such. ?All men are there,
　　Except Bonturo, barterers: of 'no'
　　For lucre there an 'aye' is quickly made."
　　
　　Him dashing down, o'er the rough rock he turn'd,
　　Nor ever after thief a mastiff loos'd
　　Sped with like eager haste. ?That other sank
　　And forthwith writing to the surface rose.
　　But those dark demons, shrouded by the bridge,
　　Cried "Here the hallow'd visage saves not: here
　　Is other swimming than in Serchio's wave.
　　Wherefore if thou desire we rend thee not,
　　Take heed thou mount not o'er the pitch." ?This said,
　　They grappled him with more than hundred hooks,
　　And shouted: "Cover'd thou must sport thee here;
　　So, if thou canst, in secret mayst thou filch."
　　
　　
　　E'en thus the cook bestirs him, with his grooms,
　　To thrust the flesh into the caldron down
　　With flesh-hooks, that it float not on the top.
　　
　　Me then my guide bespake: "Lest they descry,
　　That thou art here, behind a craggy rock
　　Bend low and screen thee; and whate'er of force
　　Be offer'd me, or insult, fear thou not:
　　For I am well advis'd, who have been erst
　　In the like fray." ?Beyond the bridge's head
　　Therewith he pass'd, and reaching the sixth pier,
　　Behov'd him then a forehead terror-proof.
　　
　　With storm and fury, as when dogs rush forth
　　Upon the poor man's back, who suddenly
　　From whence he standeth makes his suit; so rush'd
　　Those from beneath the arch, and against him
　　Their weapons all they pointed. ?He aloud:
　　"Be none of you outrageous: ere your time
　　Dare seize me, come forth from amongst you one,
　　
　　
　　"Who having heard my words, decide he then
　　If he shall tear these limbs." ?They shouted loud,
　　"Go, Malacoda!" ?Whereat one advanc'd,
　　The others standing firm, and as he came,
　　"What may this turn avail him?" he exclaim'd.
　　
　　"Believ'st thou, Malacoda! I had come
　　Thus far from all your skirmishing secure,"
　　My teacher answered, "without will divine
　　And destiny propitious? ?Pass we then
　　For so Heaven's pleasure is, that I should lead
　　Another through this savage wilderness."
　　
　　Forthwith so fell his pride, that he let drop
　　The instrument of torture at his feet,
　　And to the rest exclaim'd: "We have no power
　　To strike him." ?Then to me my guide: "O thou!
　　Who on the bridge among the crags dost sit
　　Low crouching, safely now to me return."
　　
　　I rose, and towards him moved with speed: the fiends
　　Meantime all forward drew: me terror seiz'd
　　Lest they should break the compact they had made.
　　Thus issuing from Caprona, once I saw
　　Th' infantry dreading, lest his covenant
　　The foe should break; so close he hemm'd them round.
　　
　　I to my leader's side adher'd, mine eyes
　　With fixt and motionless observance bent
　　On their unkindly visage. ?They their hooks
　　Protruding, one the other thus bespake:
　　"Wilt thou I touch him on the hip?" ?To whom
　　Was answer'd: "Even so; nor miss thy aim."
　　
　　But he, who was in conf'rence with my guide,
　　Turn'd rapid round, and thus the demon spake:
　　"Stay, stay thee, Scarmiglione!" ?Then to us
　　He added: "Further footing to your step
　　This rock affords not, shiver'd to the base
　　Of the sixth arch. ?But would you still proceed,
　　Up by this cavern go: not distant far,
　　Another rock will yield you passage safe.
　　Yesterday, later by five hours than now,
　　Twelve hundred threescore years and six had fill'd
　　The circuit of their course, since here the way
　　Was broken. ?Thitherward I straight dispatch
　　Certain of these my scouts, who shall espy
　　If any on the surface bask. ?With them
　　Go ye: for ye shall find them nothing fell.
　　Come Alichino forth," with that he cried,
　　"And Calcabrina, and Cagnazzo thou!
　　The troop of ten let Barbariccia lead.
　　With Libicocco Draghinazzo haste,
　　Fang'd Ciriatto, Grafflacane fierce,
　　And Farfarello, and mad Rubicant.
　　Search ye around the bubbling tar. ?For these,
　　In safety lead them, where the other crag
　　Uninterrupted traverses the dens."
　　
　　I then: "O master! what a sight is there!
　　Ah! without escort, journey we alone,
　　Which, if thou know the way, I covet not.
　　Unless thy prudence fail thee, dost not mark
　　How they do gnarl upon us, and their scowl
　　Threatens us present tortures?" ?He replied:
　　"I charge thee fear not: let them, as they will,
　　Gnarl on: 't is but in token of their spite
　　Against the souls, who mourn in torment steep'd."
　　
　　To leftward o'er the pier they turn'd; but each
　　Had first between his teeth prest close the tongue,
　　Toward their leader for a signal looking,
　　Which he with sound obscene triumphant gave.

　　IT hath been heretofore my chance to see
　　Horsemen with martial order shifting camp,
　　To onset sallying, or in muster rang'd,
　　Or in retreat sometimes outstretch'd for flight;
　　Light-armed squadrons and fleet foragers
　　Scouring thy plains, Arezzo! have I seen,
　　And clashing tournaments, and tilting jousts,
　　Now with the sound of trumpets, now of bells,
　　Tabors, or signals made from castled heights,
　　And with inventions multiform, our own,
　　Or introduc'd from foreign land; but ne'er
　　To such a strange recorder I beheld,
　　In evolution moving, horse nor foot,
　　Nor ship, that tack'd by sign from land or star.
　　
　　With the ten demons on our way we went;
　　Ah fearful company! but in the church
　　With saints, with gluttons at the tavern's mess.
　　
　　Still earnest on the pitch I gaz'd, to mark
　　All things whate'er the chasm contain'd, and those
　　Who burn'd within. ?As dolphins, that, in sign
　　To mariners, heave high their arched backs,
　　That thence forewarn'd they may advise to save
　　Their threaten'd vessels; so, at intervals,
　　To ease the pain his back some sinner show'd,
　　Then hid more nimbly than the lightning glance.
　　
　　
　　E'en as the frogs, that of a wat'ry moat
　　Stand at the brink, with the jaws only out,
　　Their feet and of the trunk all else concealed,
　　Thus on each part the sinners stood, but soon
　　As Barbariccia was at hand, so they
　　Drew back under the wave. ?I saw, and yet
　　My heart doth stagger, one, that waited thus,
　　As it befalls that oft one frog remains,
　　While the next springs away: and Graffiacan,
　　Who of the fiends was nearest, grappling seiz'd
　　His clotted locks, and dragg'd him sprawling up,
　　That he appear'd to me an otter. ?Each
　　Already by their names I knew, so well
　　When they were chosen, I observ'd, and mark'd
　　How one the other call'd. "O Rubicant!
　　See that his hide thou with thy talons flay,"
　　Shouted together all the cursed crew.
　　
　　Then I: "Inform thee, master! if thou may,
　　What wretched soul is this, on whom their hand
　　His foes have laid." ?My leader to his side
　　Approach'd, and whence he came inquir'd, to whom
　　Was answer'd thus: "Born in Navarre's domain
　　My mother plac'd me in a lord's retinue,
　　For she had borne me to a losel vile,
　　A spendthrift of his substance and himself.
　　The good king Thibault after that I serv'd,
　　To peculating here my thoughts were turn'd,
　　Whereof I give account in this dire heat."
　　
　　Straight Ciriatto, from whose mouth a tusk
　　Issued on either side, as from a boar,
　　Ript him with one of these. ?'Twixt evil claws
　　The mouse had fall'n: but Barbariccia cried,
　　Seizing him with both arms: "Stand thou apart,
　　While I do fix him on my prong transpierc'd."
　　Then added, turning to my guide his face,
　　"Inquire of him, if more thou wish to learn,
　　Ere he again be rent." ?My leader thus:
　　"Then tell us of the partners in thy guilt;
　　Knowest thou any sprung of Latian land
　　Under the tar?"—"I parted," he replied,
　　"But now from one, who sojourn'd not far thence;
　　So were I under shelter now with him!
　　Nor hook nor talon then should scare me more."—.
　　
　　"Too long we suffer," Libicocco cried,
　　Then, darting forth a prong, seiz'd on his arm,
　　And mangled bore away the sinewy part.
　　Him Draghinazzo by his thighs beneath
　　Would next have caught, whence angrily their chief,
　　Turning on all sides round, with threat'ning brow
　　Restrain'd them. ?When their strife a little ceas'd,
　　Of him, who yet was gazing on his wound,
　　My teacher thus without delay inquir'd:
　　"Who was the spirit, from whom by evil hap
　　Parting, as thou has told, thou cam'st to shore?"—
　　
　　"It was the friar Gomita," he rejoin'd,
　　"He of Gallura, vessel of all guile,
　　Who had his master's enemies in hand,
　　And us'd them so that they commend him well.
　　Money he took, and them at large dismiss'd.
　　So he reports: and in each other charge
　　Committed to his keeping, play'd the part
　　Of barterer to the height: ?with him doth herd
　　The chief of Logodoro, Michel Zanche.
　　Sardinia is a theme, whereof their tongue
　　Is never weary. ?Out! alas! behold
　　That other, how he grins! More would I say,
　　But tremble lest he mean to maul me sore."
　　
　　Their captain then to Farfarello turning,
　　Who roll'd his moony eyes in act to strike,
　　Rebuk'd him thus: "Off! cursed bird! Avaunt!"—
　　
　　"If ye desire to see or hear," he thus
　　Quaking with dread resum'd, "or Tuscan spirits
　　Or Lombard, I will cause them to appear.
　　Meantime let these ill talons bate their fury,
　　So that no vengeance they may fear from them,
　　And I, remaining in this self-same place,
　　Will for myself but one, make sev'n appear,
　　When my shrill whistle shall be heard; for so
　　Our custom is to call each other up."
　　
　　Cagnazzo at that word deriding grinn'd,
　　Then wagg'd the head and spake: "Hear his device,
　　Mischievous as he is, to plunge him down."
　　
　　Whereto he thus, who fail'd not in rich store
　　Of nice-wove toils; "Mischief forsooth extreme,
　　Meant only to procure myself more woe!"
　　
　　No longer Alichino then refrain'd,
　　But thus, the rest gainsaying, him bespake:
　　"If thou do cast thee down, I not on foot
　　Will chase thee, but above the pitch will beat
　　My plumes. ?Quit we the vantage ground, and let
　　The bank be as a shield, that we may see
　　If singly thou prevail against us all."
　　
　　Now, reader, of new sport expect to hear!
　　
　　They each one turn'd his eyes to the' other shore,
　　He first, who was the hardest to persuade.
　　The spirit of Navarre chose well his time,
　　Planted his feet on land, and at one leap
　　Escaping disappointed their resolve.
　　
　　Them quick resentment stung, but him the most,
　　Who was the cause of failure; in pursuit
　　He therefore sped, exclaiming: "Thou art caught."
　　
　　
　　
　　But little it avail'd: terror outstripp'd
　　His following flight: the other plung'd beneath,
　　And he with upward pinion rais'd his breast:
　　E'en thus the water-fowl, when she perceives
　　The falcon near, dives instant down, while he
　　Enrag'd and spent retires. ?That mockery
　　In Calcabrina fury stirr'd, who flew
　　After him, with desire of strife inflam'd;
　　And, for the barterer had 'scap'd, so turn'd
　　His talons on his comrade. O'er the dyke
　　In grapple close they join'd; but the' other prov'd
　　A goshawk able to rend well his foe;
　　
　　
　　And in the boiling lake both fell. ?The heat
　　Was umpire soon between them, but in vain
　　To lift themselves they strove, so fast were glued
　　Their pennons. ?Barbariccia, as the rest,
　　That chance lamenting, four in flight dispatch'd
　　From the' other coast, with all their weapons arm'd.
　　They, to their post on each side speedily
　　Descending, stretch'd their hooks toward the fiends,
　　Who flounder'd, inly burning from their scars:
　　And we departing left them to that broil.

　　IN silence and in solitude we went,
　　One first, the other following his steps,
　　As minor friars journeying on their road.
　　
　　The present fray had turn'd my thoughts to muse
　　Upon old Aesop's fable, where he told
　　What fate unto the mouse and frog befell.
　　For language hath not sounds more like in sense,
　　Than are these chances, if the origin
　　And end of each be heedfully compar'd.
　　And as one thought bursts from another forth,
　　So afterward from that another sprang,
　　Which added doubly to my former fear.
　　For thus I reason'd: "These through us have been
　　So foil'd, with loss and mock'ry so complete,
　　As needs must sting them sore. If anger then
　　Be to their evil will conjoin'd, more fell
　　They shall pursue us, than the savage hound
　　Snatches the leveret, panting 'twixt his jaws."
　　
　　Already I perceiv'd my hair stand all
　　On end with terror, and look'd eager back.
　　
　　"Teacher," I thus began, "if speedily
　　Thyself and me thou hide not, much I dread
　　Those evil talons. Even now behind
　　They urge us: quick imagination works
　　So forcibly, that I already feel them."
　　
　　He answer'd: "Were I form'd of leaded glass,
　　I should not sooner draw unto myself
　　Thy outward image, than I now imprint
　　That from within. This moment came thy thoughts
　　Presented before mine, with similar act
　　And count'nance similar, so that from both
　　I one design have fram'd. If the right coast
　　Incline so much, that we may thence descend
　　Into the other chasm, we shall escape
　　Secure from this imagined pursuit."
　　
　　He had not spoke his purpose to the end,
　　When I from far beheld them with spread wings
　　Approach to take us. Suddenly my guide
　　Caught me, ev'n as a mother that from sleep
　　Is by the noise arous'd, and near her sees
　　The climbing fires, who snatches up her babe
　　And flies ne'er pausing, careful more of him
　　Than of herself, that but a single vest
　　Clings round her limbs. Down from the jutting beach
　　Supine he cast him, to that pendent rock,
　　Which closes on one part the other chasm.
　　
　　Never ran water with such hurrying pace
　　Adown the tube to turn a landmill's wheel,
　　When nearest it approaches to the spokes,
　　As then along that edge my master ran,
　　Carrying me in his bosom, as a child,
　　Not a companion. Scarcely had his feet
　　Reach'd to the lowest of the bed beneath,
　　
　　
　　When over us the steep they reach'd; but fear
　　In him was none; for that high Providence,
　　Which plac'd them ministers of the fifth foss,
　　Power of departing thence took from them all.
　　
　　There in the depth we saw a painted tribe,
　　Who pac'd with tardy steps around, and wept,
　　Faint in appearance and o'ercome with toil.
　　Caps had they on, with hoods, that fell low down
　　Before their eyes, in fashion like to those
　　Worn by the monks in Cologne. Their outside
　　Was overlaid with gold, dazzling to view,
　　But leaden all within, and of such weight,
　　That Frederick's compar'd to these were straw.
　　Oh, everlasting wearisome attire!
　　
　　We yet once more with them together turn'd
　　To leftward, on their dismal moan intent.
　　But by the weight oppress'd, so slowly came
　　The fainting people, that our company
　　Was chang'd at every movement of the step.
　　
　　Whence I my guide address'd: "See that thou find
　　Some spirit, whose name may by his deeds be known,
　　And to that end look round thee as thou go'st."
　　
　　Then one, who understood the Tuscan voice,
　　Cried after us aloud: "Hold in your feet,
　　Ye who so swiftly speed through the dusk air.
　　Perchance from me thou shalt obtain thy wish."
　　
　　Whereat my leader, turning, me bespake:
　　"Pause, and then onward at their pace proceed."
　　
　　I staid, and saw two Spirits in whose look
　　Impatient eagerness of mind was mark'd
　　To overtake me; but the load they bare
　　And narrow path retarded their approach.
　　
　　Soon as arriv'd, they with an eye askance
　　Perus'd me, but spake not: then turning each
　　To other thus conferring said: "This one
　　Seems, by the action of his throat, alive.
　　And, be they dead, what privilege allows
　　They walk unmantled by the cumbrous stole?"
　　
　　
　　Then thus to me: "Tuscan, who visitest
　　The college of the mourning hypocrites,
　　Disdain not to instruct us who thou art."
　　
　　"By Arno's pleasant stream," I thus replied,
　　"In the great city I was bred and grew,
　　And wear the body I have ever worn.
　　but who are ye, from whom such mighty grief,
　　As now I witness, courseth down your cheeks?
　　What torment breaks forth in this bitter woe?"
　　"Our bonnets gleaming bright with orange hue,"
　　One of them answer'd, "are so leaden gross,
　　That with their weight they make the balances
　　To crack beneath them. Joyous friars we were,
　　Bologna's natives, Catalano I,
　　He Loderingo nam'd, and by thy land
　　Together taken, as men used to take
　　A single and indifferent arbiter,
　　To reconcile their strifes. How there we sped,
　　Gardingo's vicinage can best declare."
　　
　　"O friars!" I began, "your miseries—"
　　But there brake off, for one had caught my eye,
　　Fix'd to a cross with three stakes on the ground:
　　He, when he saw me, writh'd himself, throughout
　　Distorted, ruffling with deep sighs his beard.
　　And Catalano, who thereof was 'ware,
　　
　　
　　Thus spake: "That pierced spirit, whom intent
　　Thou view'st, was he who gave the Pharisees
　　Counsel, that it were fitting for one man
　　To suffer for the people. He doth lie
　　Transverse; nor any passes, but him first
　　Behoves make feeling trial how each weighs.
　　In straits like this along the foss are plac'd
　　The father of his consort, and the rest
　　Partakers in that council, seed of ill
　　And sorrow to the Jews." I noted then,
　　How Virgil gaz'd with wonder upon him,
　　Thus abjectly extended on the cross
　　In banishment eternal. To the friar
　　He next his words address'd: "We pray ye tell,
　　If so be lawful, whether on our right
　　Lies any opening in the rock, whereby
　　We both may issue hence, without constraint
　　On the dark angels, that compell'd they come
　　To lead us from this depth." He thus replied:
　　"Nearer than thou dost hope, there is a rock
　　From the next circle moving, which o'ersteps
　　Each vale of horror, save that here his cope
　　Is shatter'd. By the ruin ye may mount:
　　For on the side it slants, and most the height
　　Rises below." With head bent down awhile
　　My leader stood, then spake: "He warn'd us ill,
　　Who yonder hangs the sinners on his hook."
　　
　　To whom the friar: "At Bologna erst
　　I many vices of the devil heard,
　　Among the rest was said, 'He is a liar,
　　And the father of lies!'" When he had spoke,
　　My leader with large strides proceeded on,
　　Somewhat disturb'd with anger in his look.
　　
　　I therefore left the spirits heavy laden,
　　And following, his beloved footsteps mark'd.

　　IN the year's early nonage, when the sun
　　Tempers his tresses in Aquarius' urn,
　　And now towards equal day the nights recede,
　　When as the rime upon the earth puts on
　　Her dazzling sister's image, but not long
　　Her milder sway endures, then riseth up
　　The village hind, whom fails his wintry store,
　　And looking out beholds the plain around
　　All whiten'd, whence impatiently he smites
　　His thighs, and to his hut returning in,
　　There paces to and fro, wailing his lot,
　　As a discomfited and helpless man;
　　Then comes he forth again, and feels new hope
　　Spring in his bosom, finding e'en thus soon
　　The world hath chang'd its count'nance, grasps his crook,
　　And forth to pasture drives his little flock:
　　So me my guide dishearten'd when I saw
　　His troubled forehead, and so speedily
　　That ill was cur'd; for at the fallen bridge
　　Arriving, towards me with a look as sweet,
　　He turn'd him back, as that I first beheld
　　At the steep mountain's foot. Regarding well
　　The ruin, and some counsel first maintain'd
　　With his own thought, he open'd wide his arm
　　And took me up. As one, who, while he works,
　　Computes his labour's issue, that he seems
　　Still to foresee the' effect, so lifting me
　　Up to the summit of one peak, he fix'd
　　His eye upon another. "Grapple that,"
　　Said he, "but first make proof, if it be such
　　As will sustain thee." For one capp'd with lead
　　This were no journey. Scarcely he, though light,
　　And I, though onward push'd from crag to crag,
　　Could mount. And if the precinct of this coast
　　Were not less ample than the last, for him
　　I know not, but my strength had surely fail'd.
　　But Malebolge all toward the mouth
　　Inclining of the nethermost abyss,
　　The site of every valley hence requires,
　　That one side upward slope, the other fall.
　　
　　At length the point of our descent we reach'd
　　From the last flag: soon as to that arriv'd,
　　So was the breath exhausted from my lungs,
　　I could no further, but did seat me there.
　　
　　"Now needs thy best of man;" so spake my guide:
　　"For not on downy plumes, nor under shade
　　Of canopy reposing, fame is won,
　　Without which whosoe'er consumes his days
　　Leaveth such vestige of himself on earth,
　　As smoke in air or foam upon the wave.
　　Thou therefore rise: vanish thy weariness
　　By the mind's effort, in each struggle form'd
　　To vanquish, if she suffer not the weight
　　Of her corporeal frame to crush her down.
　　A longer ladder yet remains to scale.
　　From these to have escap'd sufficeth not.
　　If well thou note me, profit by my words."
　　
　　I straightway rose, and show'd myself less spent
　　Than I in truth did feel me. "On," I cried,
　　"For I am stout and fearless." Up the rock
　　Our way we held, more rugged than before,
　　Narrower and steeper far to climb. From talk
　　I ceas'd not, as we journey'd, so to seem
　　Least faint; whereat a voice from the other foss
　　Did issue forth, for utt'rance suited ill.
　　Though on the arch that crosses there I stood,
　　What were the words I knew not, but who spake
　　Seem'd mov'd in anger. Down I stoop'd to look,
　　But my quick eye might reach not to the depth
　　For shrouding darkness; wherefore thus I spake:
　　"To the next circle, Teacher, bend thy steps,
　　And from the wall dismount we; for as hence
　　I hear and understand not, so I see
　　Beneath, and naught discern."—"I answer not,"
　　Said he, "but by the deed. To fair request
　　Silent performance maketh best return."
　　
　　We from the bridge's head descended, where
　　To the eighth mound it joins, and then the chasm
　　Opening to view, I saw a crowd within
　　Of serpents terrible, so strange of shape
　　And hideous, that remembrance in my veins
　　Yet shrinks the vital current. Of her sands
　　Let Lybia vaunt no more: if Jaculus,
　　Pareas and Chelyder be her brood,
　　Cenchris and Amphisboena, plagues so dire
　　Or in such numbers swarming ne'er she shew'd,
　　Not with all Ethiopia, and whate'er
　　Above the Erythraean sea is spawn'd.
　　
　　
　　Amid this dread exuberance of woe
　　Ran naked spirits wing'd with horrid fear,
　　Nor hope had they of crevice where to hide,
　　Or heliotrope to charm them out of view.
　　With serpents were their hands behind them bound,
　　Which through their reins infix'd the tail and head
　　Twisted in folds before. And lo! on one
　　Near to our side, darted an adder up,
　　And, where the neck is on the shoulders tied,
　　Transpierc'd him. Far more quickly than e'er pen
　　Wrote O or I, he kindled, burn'd, and chang'd
　　To ashes, all pour'd out upon the earth.
　　When there dissolv'd he lay, the dust again
　　Uproll'd spontaneous, and the self-same form
　　Instant resumed. So mighty sages tell,
　　The' Arabian Phoenix, when five hundred years
　　Have well nigh circled, dies, and springs forthwith
　　Renascent. Blade nor herb throughout his life
　　He tastes, but tears of frankincense alone
　　And odorous amomum: swaths of nard
　　And myrrh his funeral shroud. As one that falls,
　　He knows not how, by force demoniac dragg'd
　　To earth, or through obstruction fettering up
　　In chains invisible the powers of man,
　　Who, risen from his trance, gazeth around,
　　Bewilder'd with the monstrous agony
　　He hath endur'd, and wildly staring sighs;
　　So stood aghast the sinner when he rose.
　　
　　Oh! how severe God's judgment, that deals out
　　Such blows in stormy vengeance! Who he was
　　My teacher next inquir'd, and thus in few
　　He answer'd: "Vanni Fucci am I call'd,
　　Not long since rained down from Tuscany
　　To this dire gullet. Me the beastial life
　　And not the human pleas'd, mule that I was,
　　Who in Pistoia found my worthy den."
　　
　　I then to Virgil: "Bid him stir not hence,
　　And ask what crime did thrust him hither: once
　　A man I knew him choleric and bloody."
　　
　　The sinner heard and feign'd not, but towards me
　　His mind directing and his face, wherein
　　Was dismal shame depictur'd, thus he spake:
　　"It grieves me more to have been caught by thee
　　In this sad plight, which thou beholdest, than
　　When I was taken from the other life.
　　I have no power permitted to deny
　　What thou inquirest." I am doom'd thus low
　　To dwell, for that the sacristy by me
　　Was rifled of its goodly ornaments,
　　And with the guilt another falsely charged.
　　But that thou mayst not joy to see me thus,
　　So as thou e'er shalt 'scape this darksome realm
　　Open thine ears and hear what I forebode.
　　Reft of the Neri first Pistoia pines,
　　Then Florence changeth citizens and laws.
　　From Valdimagra, drawn by wrathful Mars,
　　A vapour rises, wrapt in turbid mists,
　　And sharp and eager driveth on the storm
　　With arrowy hurtling o'er Piceno's field,
　　Whence suddenly the cloud shall burst, and strike
　　Each helpless Bianco prostrate to the ground.
　　This have I told, that grief may rend thy heart."