The Divine Comedy. Данте Алигьери

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.

      Canto VIII

      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