And following the solitary path
Among the rocks and ridges of the crag,The foot without the hand sped not at all.
Then sorrowed I, and sorrow now again,When I direct my mind to what I saw,And more my genius curb than I am wont,
That it may run not unless virtue guide it;So that if some good star, or better thing,Have given me good, I may myself not grudge it.
As many as the hind (who on the hillRests at the time when he who lights the worldHis countenance keeps least concealed from us,
While as the fly gives place unto the gnat)Seeth the glow-worms down along the valley,Perchance there where he ploughs and makes his vintage;
With flames as manifold resplendent allWas the eighth Bolgia, as I grew awareAs soon as I was where the depth appeared.
And such as he who with the bears avenged himBeheld Elijah’s chariot at departing,What time the steeds to heaven erect uprose,
For with his eye he could not follow itSo as to see aught else than flame alone,Even as a little cloud ascending upward,
Thus each along the gorge of the intrenchmentWas moving; for not one reveals the theft,And every flame a sinner steals away.
I stood upon the bridge uprisen to see,So that, if I had seized not on a rock,Down had I fallen without being pushed.
And the Leader, who beheld me so attent,Exclaimed: “Within the fires the spirits are;Each swathes himself with that wherewith he burns.”
“My Master,” I replied, “by hearing theeI am more sure; but I surmised alreadyIt might be so, and already wished to ask thee
Who is within that fire, which comes so cleftAt top, it seems uprising from the pyreWhere was Eteocles with his brother placed.”
He answered me: “Within there are tormentedUlysses and Diomed, and thus togetherThey unto vengeance run as unto wrath.
And there within their flame do they lamentThe ambush of the horse, which made the doorWhence issued forth the Romans’ gentle seed;
Therein is wept the craft, for which being deadDeidamia still deplores Achilles,And pain for the Palladium there is borne.”
“If they within those sparks possess the powerTo speak,” I said, “thee, Master, much I pray,And re-pray, that the prayer be worth a thousand,
That thou make no denial of awaitingUntil the horned flame shall hither come;Thou seest that with desire I lean towards it.”
And he to me: “Worthy is thy entreatyOf much applause, and therefore I accept it;But take heed that thy tongue restrain itself.
Leave me to speak, because I have conceivedThat which thou wishest; for they might disdainPerchance, since they were Greeks, discourse of thine.”
When now the flame had come unto that point,Where to my Leader it seemed time and place,After this fashion did I hear him speak:
“O ye, who are twofold within one fire,If I deserved of you, while I was living,If I deserved of you or much or little
When in the world I wrote the lofty verses,Do not move on, but one of you declareWhither, being lost, he went away to die.”
Then of the antique flame the greater horn,Murmuring, began to wave itself aboutEven as a flame doth which the wind fatigues.
Thereafterward, the summit to and froMoving as if it were the tongue that spake,It uttered forth a voice, and said: “When I
From Circe had departed, who concealed meMore than a year there near unto Gaeta,Or ever yet Aeneas named it so,
Nor fondness for my son, nor reverenceFor my old father, nor the due affectionWhich joyous should have made Penelope,
Could overcome within me the desireI had to be experienced of the world,And of the vice and virtue of mankind;
But I put forth on the high open seaWith one sole ship, and that small companyBy which I never had deserted been.
Both of the shores I saw as far as Spain,Far as Morocco, and the isle of Sardes,And the others which that sea bathes round about.
I and my company were old and slowWhen at that narrow passage we arrivedWhere Hercules his landmarks set as signals,
That man no farther onward should adventure.On the right hand behind me left I Seville,And on the other already had left Ceuta.
‘O brothers, who amid a hundred thousandPerils,’ I said, ‘have come unto the West,To this so inconsiderable vigil
Which is remaining of your senses stillBe ye unwilling to deny the knowledge,Following the sun, of the unpeopled world.
Consider ye the seed from which ye sprang;Ye were not made to live like unto brutes,But for pursuit of virtue and of knowledge.’
So eager did I render my companions,With this brief exhortation, for the voyage,That then I hardly could have held them back.
And having turned our stern unto the morning,We of the oars made wings for our mad flight,Evermore gaining on the larboard side.
Already all the stars of the other poleThe night beheld, and ours so very lowIt did not rise above the ocean floor.
Five times rekindled and as many quenchedHad been the splendour underneath the moon,Since we had entered into the deep pass,
When there appeared to us a mountain, dimFrom distance, and it seemed to me so highAs I had never any one beheld.
Joyful were we, and soon it turned to weeping;For out of the new land a whirlwind rose,And smote upon the fore part of the ship.
Three times it made her whirl with all the waters,At the fourth time it made the stern uplift,And the prow downward go, as pleased Another,
Until the sea above us closed again.”
Inferno: Canto XXVII
Already was the flame erect and quiet,To speak no more, and now departed from usWith the permission of the gentle Poet;
When yet another, which behind it came,Caused us to turn our eyes upon its topBy a confused sound that issued from it.
As the Sicilian bull (that bellowed firstWith the lament of him, and that was right,Who with his file had modulated it)
Bellowed so with the voice of the afflicted,That, notwithstanding it was made of brass,Still it appeared with agony transfixed;
Thus, by not having any way or issueAt first from out the fire, to its own languageConverted were the melancholy words.
But afterwards, when they had gathered wayUp through the point, giving it that vibrationThe tongue had given them in their passage out,
We heard it said: “O thou, at whom I aimMy voice, and who but now wast speaking Lombard,Saying, ‘Now go thy way, no more I urge thee,’
Because I come perchance a little late,To stay and speak with me let it not irk thee;Thou seest it irks not me, and I am burning.
If thou but lately into this blind worldHast fallen down from that sweet Latian land,Wherefrom I bring the whole of my transgression,
Say, if the Romagnuols have peace or war,For I was from the mountains there betweenUrbino and the yoke whence Tiber bursts.”
I still was downward bent and listening,When my Conductor touched me on the side,Saying: “Speak thou: this one a Latian is.”
And I, who had beforehand my replyIn readiness, forthwith began to speak:“O soul, that down below there art concealed,
Romagna thine is not and never has beenWithout war in the bosom of its tyrants;But open war I none have left there now.
Ravenna stands as it long years has stood;The Eagle of Polenta there is brooding,So that she covers Cervia with her vans.
The city which once made the long resistance,And of the French a sanguinary heap,Beneath the Green Paws finds itself again;
Verrucchio’s ancient Mastiff and the new,Who made such bad disposal of Montagna,Where they are wont make wimbles of their teeth.