The Divine Comedy. Данте Алигьери

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.

      Canto IV

      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