The Divine Comedy. Dante Alighieri

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 than 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.

      CANTO II

      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,