The vision of hell. Dante Alighieri

Rise all unfolded on their spiry stems;

       So was my fainting vigour new restor'd,

       And to my heart such kindly courage ran,

       That I as one undaunted soon replied:

       "O full of pity she, who undertook

       My succour! and thou kind who didst perform

       So soon her true behest! With such desire

       Thou hast dispos'd me to renew my voyage,

       That my first purpose fully is resum'd.

       Lead on: one only will is in us both.

       Thou art my guide, my master thou, and lord."

       So spake I; and when he had onward mov'd,

       I enter'd on the deep and woody way.

CANTO III

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       "THROUGH me you pass into the city of woe:

       Through me you pass into eternal pain:

       Through me among the people lost for aye.

       Justice the founder of my fabric mov'd:

       To rear me was the task of power divine,

       Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.

       Before me things create were none, save things

       Eternal, and eternal I endure.

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       "All hope abandon ye who enter here."

       Such characters in colour dim I mark'd

       Over a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd:

       Whereat I thus: "Master, these words import

       Hard meaning." He as one prepar'd replied:

       "Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave;

       Here be vile fear extinguish'd. We are come

       Where I have told thee we shall see the souls

       To misery doom'd, who intellectual good

       Have lost." And when his hand he had stretch'd forth

       To mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheer'd,

       Into that secret place he led me on.

       Here sighs with lamentations and loud moans

       Resounded through the air pierc'd by no star,

       That e'en I wept at entering. Various tongues,

       Horrible languages, outcries of woe,

       Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse,

       With hands together smote that swell'd the sounds,

       Made up a tumult, that for ever whirls

       Round through that air with solid darkness stain'd,

       Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.

       I then, with error yet encompass'd, cried:

       "O master! What is this I hear? What race

       Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?"

       He thus to me: "This miserable fate

       Suffer the wretched souls of those, who liv'd

       Without or praise or blame, with that ill band

       Of angels mix'd, who nor rebellious prov'd

       Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves

       Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth,

       Not to impair his lustre, nor the depth

       Of Hell receives them, lest th' accursed tribe

       Should glory thence with exultation vain."

       I then: "Master! what doth aggrieve them thus,

       That they lament so loud?" He straight replied:

       "That will I tell thee briefly. These of death

       No hope may entertain: and their blind life

       So meanly passes, that all other lots

       They envy. Fame of them the world hath none,

       Nor suffers; mercy and justice scorn them both.

       Speak not of them, but look, and pass them by."

       And I, who straightway look'd, beheld a flag,

       Which whirling ran around so rapidly,

       That it no pause obtain'd: and following came

       Such a long train of spirits, I should ne'er

       Have thought, that death so many had despoil'd.

       When some of these I recogniz'd, I saw

       And knew the shade of him, who to base fear

       Yielding, abjur'd his high estate. Forthwith

       I understood for certain this the tribe

       Of those ill spirits both to God displeasing

       And to his foes. These wretches, who ne'er lived,

       Went on in nakedness, and sorely stung

       By wasps and hornets, which bedew'd their cheeks

       With blood, that mix'd with tears dropp'd to their feet,

       And by disgustful worms was gather'd there.

       Then looking farther onwards I beheld

       A throng upon the shore of a great stream:

       Whereat I thus: "Sir! grant me now to know

       Whom here we view, and whence impell'd they seem

       So eager to pass o'er, as I discern

       Through the blear light?" He thus to me in few:

       "This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arrive

       Beside the woeful tide of Acheron."

       Then with eyes downward cast and fill'd with shame,

       Fearing my words offensive to his ear,

       Till we had reach'd the river, I from speech

       Abstain'd. And lo! toward us in a bark

       Comes on an old man hoary white with eld,

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       Crying, "Woe to you wicked spirits! hope not

       Ever to see the sky again. I come

       To take you to the other shore across,

       Into eternal darkness, there to dwell

       In fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who there

       Standest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leave

       These who are dead." But soon as he beheld

       I left them not, "By other way," said he,

       "By other haven shalt thou come to shore,

       Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boat

       Must carry." Then to him thus spake my guide:

       "Charon! thyself torment not: so 't is will'd,

       Where will and