Dante's Inferno: The Divine Comedy, Book One. Данте Алигьери

nor any hurt in Hell,

      Except that it be powerful. God in me

      Is gracious, that the piteous sights I see

      I share not, nor myself can shrink to feel

      The flame of all this burning. One there is

      In height among the Holiest placed, and she

      —Mercy her name—among God’s mysteries

      Dwells in the midst, and hath the power to see

      His judgments, and to break them. This sharp woe

      I tell thee, when she saw, she called, that so

      Leaned Lucia toward her while she spake—and said,

      “One that is faithful to thy name is sped,

      Except that now ye aid him.” She thereat,

      —Lucia, to all men’s wrongs inimical—

      Left her High Place, and crossed to where I sat

      In speech with Rachel (of the first of all

      God saved). “O Beatrice, Praise of God,”

      —So said she to me—“sitt’st thou here so slow

      To aid him, once on earth that loved thee so

      That all he left to serve thee? Hear’st thou not

      The anguish of his plaint? and dost not see,

      By that dark stream that never seeks a sea,

      The death that threats him?”

      None, as thus she said,

      None ever was swift on earth his good to chase,

      None ever on earth was swift to leave his dread,

      As came I downward from that sacred place

      To find thee and invoke thee, confident

      Not vainly for his need the gold were spent

      Of thy word-wisdom.’ Here she turned away,

      Her bright eyes clouded with their tears, and I,

      Who saw them, therefore made more haste to reach

      The place she told, and found thee. Canst thou say

      I failed thy rescue? Is the beast anigh

      From which ye quailed? When such dear saints beseech

      —Three from the Highest—that Heaven thy course allow

      Why halt ye fearful? In such guards as thou

      The faintest-hearted might be bold.”

      As flowers,

      Close-folded through the cold and lightless hours,

      Their bended stems erect, and opening fair

      Accept the white light and the warmer air

      Of morning, so my fainting heart anew

      Lifted, that heard his comfort. Swift I spake,

      “O courteous thou, and she compassionate!

      Thy haste that saved me, and her warning true,

      Beyond my worth exalt me. Thine I make

      My will. In concord of one mind from now,

      O Master and my Guide, where leadest thou

      I follow.”

      And we, with no more words’ delay,

      Went forward on that hard and dreadful way.

      CANTO III

      THE gateway to the city of Doom. Through me

      The entrance to the Everlasting Pain.

      The Gateway of the Lost. The Eternal Three

      Justice impelled to build me. Here ye see

      Wisdom Supreme at work, and Primal Power,

      And Love Supernal in their dawnless day.

      Ere from their thought creation rose in flower

      Eternal first were all things fixed as they.

      Of Increate Power infinite formed am I

      That deathless as themselves I do not die.

      Justice divine has weighed: the doom is clear.

      All hope renounce, ye lost, who enter here.

      This scroll in gloom above the gate I read,

      And found it fearful. “Master, hard,” I said,

      “This saying to me.” And he, as one that long

      Was customed, answered, “No distrust must wrong

      Its Maker, nor thy cowarder mood resume

      If here ye enter. This the place of doom

      I told thee, where the lost in darkness dwell.

      Here, by themselves divorced from light, they fell,

      And are as ye shall see them.” Here he lent

      A hand to draw me through the gate, and bent

      A glance upon my fear so confident

      That I, too nearly to my former dread

      Returned, through all my heart was comforted,

      And downward to the secret things we went.

      Downward to night, but not of moon and cloud,

      Not night with all its stars, as night we know,

      But burdened with an ocean-weight of woe

      The darkness closed us.

      Sighs, and wailings loud,

      Outcries perpetual of recruited pain,

      Sounds of strange tongues, and angers that remain

      Vengeless for ever, the thick and clamorous crowd

      Of discords pressed, that needs I wept to hear,

      First hearing. There, with reach of hands anear,

      And voices passion-hoarse, or shrilled with fright,

      The tumult of the everlasting night,

      As sand that dances in continual wind,

      Turns on itself for ever.

      And I, my head

      Begirt with movements, and my ears bedinned

      With outcries round me, to my leader said,

      “Master, what hear I? Who so overborne

      With woes are these?”

      He answered, “These be they

      That praiseless lived and blameless. Now the scorn

      Of Height and Depth alike, abortions drear;

      Cast with those abject angels whose delay

      To join rebellion, or their Lord defend,

      Waiting their proved advantage, flung them here.—

      Chased forth from Heaven, lest else its beauties end

      The pure perfection of their stainless claim,

      Out-herded from the shining gate they came,

      Where the deep hells refused them, lest the lost

      Boast something baser than themselves.”

      And I,

      “Master, what grievance hath their failure cost,

      That through the lamentable dark they