The Divine Comedy. Данте Алигьери

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.

      Of 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.

      Canto VI

      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,