Divine Comedy, Longfellow's Translation, Hell. Dante Alighieri

people triumphs, and another

       Languishes, in pursuance of her judgment,

       Which hidden is, as in the grass a serpent.

      Your knowledge has no counterstand against her;

       She makes provision, judges, and pursues

       Her governance, as theirs the other gods.

      Her permutations have not any truce;

       Necessity makes her precipitate,

       So often cometh who his turn obtains.

      And this is she who is so crucified

       Even by those who ought to give her praise,

       Giving her blame amiss, and bad repute.

      But she is blissful, and she hears it not;

       Among the other primal creatures gladsome

       She turns her sphere, and blissful she rejoices.

      Let us descend now unto greater woe;

       Already sinks each star that was ascending

       When I set out, and loitering is forbidden."

      We crossed the circle to the other bank,

       Near to a fount that boils, and pours itself

       Along a gully that runs out of it.

      The water was more sombre far than perse;

       And we, in company with the dusky waves,

       Made entrance downward by a path uncouth.

      A marsh it makes, which has the name of Styx,

       This tristful brooklet, when it has descended

       Down to the foot of the malign gray shores.

      And I, who stood intent upon beholding,

       Saw people mud-besprent in that lagoon,

       All of them naked and with angry look.

      They smote each other not alone with hands,

       But with the head and with the breast and feet,

       Tearing each other piecemeal with their teeth.

      Said the good Master: "Son, thou now beholdest

       The souls of those whom anger overcame;

       And likewise I would have thee know for certain

      Beneath the water people are who sigh

       And make this water bubble at the surface,

       As the eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turns.

      Fixed in the mire they say, 'We sullen were

       In the sweet air, which by the sun is gladdened,

       Bearing within ourselves the sluggish reek;

      Now we are sullen in this sable mire.'

       This hymn do they keep gurgling in their throats,

       For with unbroken words they cannot say it."

      Thus we went circling round the filthy fen

       A great arc 'twixt the dry bank and the swamp,

       With eyes turned unto those who gorge the mire;

      Unto the foot of a tower we came at last.

      Inferno: Canto VIII

      I say, continuing, that long before

       We to the foot of that high tower had come,

       Our eyes went upward to the summit of it,

      By reason of two flamelets we saw placed there,

       And from afar another answer them,

       So far, that hardly could the eye attain it.

      And, to the sea of all discernment turned,

       I said: "What sayeth this, and what respondeth

       That other fire? and who are they that made it?"

      And he to me: "Across the turbid waves

       What is expected thou canst now discern,

       If reek of the morass conceal it not."

      Cord never shot an arrow from itself

       That sped away athwart the air so swift,

       As I beheld a very little boat

      Come o'er the water tow'rds us at that moment,

       Under the guidance of a single pilot,

       Who shouted, "Now art thou arrived, fell soul?"

      "Phlegyas, Phlegyas, thou criest out in vain