The Divine Comedy (Complete Annotated Edition). Dante Alighieri

       Canto XVI

       Canto XVII

       Canto XVIII

       Canto XIX

       Canto XX

       Canto XXI

       Canto XXII

       Canto XXIII

       Canto XXIV

       Canto XXV

       Canto XXVI

       Canto XXVII

       Canto XXVIII

       Canto XXIX

       Canto XXX

       Canto XXXI

       Canto XXXII

       Canto XXXIII

       Canto XXXIV

      Canto I

       Table of Contents

      ARGUMENT.—The writer, having lost his way in a gloomy forest, and being hindered by certain wild beasts from ascending a mountain, is met by Virgil, who promises to show him the punishments of Hell, and afterward of Purgatory; and that he shall then be conducted by Beatrice into Paradise. He follows the Roman poet.

IN the midway1 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,2

      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 foot3 still firmer. Scarce the ascent

Began, when, lo! a panther,4 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,5

      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!”