The vision of hell. Dante Alighieri

"Wherefore exclaimest? Hinder not his way

       By destiny appointed; so 'tis will'd

       Where will and power are one. Ask thou no more."

       Now 'gin the rueful wailings to be heard.

       Now am I come where many a plaining voice

       Smites on mine ear. Into a place I came

       Where light was silent all. Bellowing there groan'd

       A noise as of a sea in tempest torn

       By warring winds. The stormy blast of hell

       With restless fury drives the spirits on

       Whirl'd round and dash'd amain with sore annoy.

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       When they arrive before the ruinous sweep,

       There shrieks are heard, there lamentations, moans,

       And blasphemies 'gainst the good Power in heaven.

       I understood that to this torment sad

       The carnal sinners are condemn'd, in whom

       Reason by lust is sway'd. As in large troops

       And multitudinous, when winter reigns,

       The starlings on their wings are borne abroad;

       So bears the tyrannous gust those evil souls.

       On this side and on that, above, below,

       It drives them: hope of rest to solace them

       Is none, nor e'en of milder pang. As cranes,

       Chanting their dol'rous notes, traverse the sky,

       Stretch'd out in long array: so I beheld

       Spirits, who came loud wailing, hurried on

       By their dire doom. Then I: "Instructor! who

       Are these, by the black air so scourg'd?"—"The first

       'Mong those, of whom thou question'st," he replied,

       "O'er many tongues was empress. She in vice

       Of luxury was so shameless, that she made

       Liking be lawful by promulg'd decree,

       To clear the blame she had herself incurr'd.

       This is Semiramis, of whom 'tis writ,

       That she succeeded Ninus her espous'd;

       And held the land, which now the Soldan rules.

       The next in amorous fury slew herself,

       And to Sicheus' ashes broke her faith:

       Then follows Cleopatra, lustful queen."

       There mark'd I Helen, for whose sake so long

       The time was fraught with evil; there the great

       Achilles, who with love fought to the end.

       Paris I saw, and Tristan; and beside

       A thousand more he show'd me, and by name

       Pointed them out, whom love bereav'd of life.

       When I had heard my sage instructor name

       Those dames and knights of antique days, o'erpower'd

       By pity, well-nigh in amaze my mind

       Was lost; and I began: "Bard! willingly

       I would address those two together coming,

       Which seem so light before the wind." He thus:

       "Note thou, when nearer they to us approach.

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       "Then by that love which carries them along,

       Entreat; and they will come." Soon as the wind

       Sway'd them toward us, I thus fram'd my speech:

       "O wearied spirits! come, and hold discourse

       With us, if by none else restrain'd." As doves

       By fond desire invited, on wide wings

       And firm, to their sweet nest returning home,

       Cleave the air, wafted by their will along;

       Thus issu'd from that troop, where Dido ranks,

       They through the ill air speeding; with such force

       My cry prevail'd by strong affection urg'd.

       "O gracious creature and benign! who go'st

       Visiting, through this element obscure,

       Us, who the world with bloody stain imbru'd;

       If for a friend the King of all we own'd,

       Our pray'r to him should for thy peace arise,

       Since thou hast pity on our evil plight.

       Of whatsoe'er to hear or to discourse

       It pleases thee, that will we hear, of that

       Freely with thee discourse, while e'er the wind,

       As now, is mute. The land, that gave me birth,

       Is situate on the coast, where Po descends

       To rest in ocean with his sequent streams.

       "Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt,

       Entangled him by that fair form, from me

       Ta'en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still:

       Love, that denial takes from none belov'd,

       Caught me with pleasing him so passing well,

       That, as thou see'st, he yet deserts me not.

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       "Love brought us to one death: Caina waits

       The soul, who spilt our life." Such were their words;

       At hearing which downward I bent my looks,

       And held them there so long, that the bard cried:

       "What art thou pond'ring?" I in answer thus:

       "Alas! by what sweet thoughts, what fond desire

       Must they at length to that ill pass have reach'd!"

       Then turning, I to them my speech address'd.

       And thus began: "Francesca! your sad fate

       Even to tears my grief and pity moves.

       But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs,

       By what, and how love granted, that ye knew

       Your yet uncertain wishes?" She replied:

       "No greater grief than to remember days

       Of joy, when mis'ry is at hand! That kens

       Thy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerly

       If thou art bent to know the primal root,

       From whence our love gat being, I will do,

       As one, who weeps and tells his tale. One day

       For our delight we read of Lancelot,

       How him love thrall'd. Alone we were, and no

       Suspicion near us. Ofttimes by that reading