The vision of hell. Dante Alighieri

Both what and who from him should issue forth,

       It seems in reason's judgment well deserv'd:

       Sith he of Rome, and of Rome's empire wide,

       In heaven's empyreal height was chosen sire:

       Both which, if truth be spoken, were ordain'd

       And 'stablish'd for the holy place, where sits

       Who to great Peter's sacred chair succeeds.

       He from this journey, in thy song renown'd,

       Learn'd things, that to his victory gave rise

       And to the papal robe. In after-times

       The chosen vessel also travel'd there,

       To bring us back assurance in that faith,

       Which is the entrance to salvation's way.

       But I, why should I there presume? or who

       Permits it? not Aeneas I nor Paul.

       Myself I deem not worthy, and none else

       Will deem me. I, if on this voyage then

       I venture, fear it will in folly end.

       Thou, who art wise, better my meaning know'st,

       Than I can speak." As one, who unresolves

       What he hath late resolv'd, and with new thoughts

       Changes his purpose, from his first intent

       Remov'd; e'en such was I on that dun coast,

       Wasting in thought my enterprise, at first

       So eagerly embrac'd. "If right thy words

       I scan," replied that shade magnanimous,

       "Thy soul is by vile fear assail'd, which oft

       So overcasts a man, that he recoils

       From noblest resolution, like a beast

       At some false semblance in the twilight gloom.

       That from this terror thou mayst free thyself,

       I will instruct thee why I came, and what

       I heard in that same instant, when for thee

       Grief touch'd me first. I was among the tribe,

       Who rest suspended, when a dame, so blest

       And lovely, I besought her to command,

       Call'd me; her eyes were brighter than the star

       Of day; and she with gentle voice and soft

       Angelically tun'd her speech address'd:

       "O courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fame

       Yet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts!

       A friend, not of my fortune but myself,

       On the wide desert in his road has met

       Hindrance so great, that he through fear has turn'd.

       Now much I dread lest he past help have stray'd,

       And I be ris'n too late for his relief,

       From what in heaven of him I heard. Speed now,

       And by thy eloquent persuasive tongue,

       And by all means for his deliverance meet,

       Assist him. So to me will comfort spring.

       I who now bid thee on this errand forth

       Am Beatrice; from a place I come.

       ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE

       (Note: Beatrice. I use this word, as it is

       pronounced in the Italian, as consisting of four

       syllables, of which the third is a long one.) Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence,

       Who prompts my speech. When in my Master's sight

       I stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell."

       She then was silent, and I thus began:

       "O Lady! by whose influence alone,

       Mankind excels whatever is contain'd

       Within that heaven which hath the smallest orb,

       So thy command delights me, that to obey,

       If it were done already, would seem late.

       No need hast thou farther to speak thy will;

       Yet tell the reason, why thou art not loth

       To leave that ample space, where to return

       Thou burnest, for this centre here beneath."

       She then: "Since thou so deeply wouldst inquire,

       I will instruct thee briefly, why no dread

       Hinders my entrance here. Those things alone

       Are to be fear'd, whence evil may proceed,

       None else, for none are terrible beside.

       I am so fram'd by God, thanks to his grace!

       That any suff'rance of your misery

       Touches me not, nor flame of that fierce fire

       Assails me. In high heaven a blessed dame

       Besides, who mourns with such effectual grief

       That hindrance, which I send thee to remove,

       That God's stern judgment to her will inclines."

       To Lucia calling, her she thus bespake:

       "Now doth thy faithful servant need thy aid

       And I commend him to thee." At her word

       Sped Lucia, of all cruelty the foe,

       And coming to the place, where I abode

       Seated with Rachel, her of ancient days,

       She thus address'd me: "Thou true praise of God!

       Beatrice! why is not thy succour lent

       To him, who so much lov'd thee, as to leave

       For thy sake all the multitude admires?

       Dost thou not hear how pitiful his wail,

       Nor mark the death, which in the torrent flood,

       Swoln mightier than a sea, him struggling holds?"

       Ne'er among men did any with such speed

       Haste to their profit, flee from their annoy,

       As when these words were spoken, I came here,

       Down from my blessed seat, trusting the force

       Of thy pure eloquence, which thee, and all

       Who well have mark'd it, into honour brings."

       "When she had ended, her bright beaming eyes

       Tearful she turn'd aside; whereat I felt

       Redoubled zeal to serve thee. As she will'd,

       Thus am I come: I sav'd thee from the beast,

       Who thy near way across the goodly mount

       Prevented. What is this comes o'er thee then?

       Why, why dost thou hang back? why in thy breast

       Harbour vile fear? why hast not courage there

       And noble daring? Since three maids so blest

       Thy safety plan, e'en in the court of heaven;

       And so much certain good my words forebode."

       As florets, by the frosty air of night

       Bent down and clos'd, when day has blanch'd their leaves,