| |
| HIS jaws uplifting form their fell repast, | |
| That sinner wiped them on the hairs o the head, | |
| Which he behind had mangled, then began: | |
| Thy will obeying, I call up afresh | |
| Sorrow past cure; which, but to think of, wrings | 5 |
| My heart, or ere I tell on t. But if words, | |
| That I may utter, shall prove seed to bear | |
| Fruit of eternal infamy to him, | |
| The traitor whom I gnaw at, thou at once | |
| Shalt see me speak and weep. Who thou mayst be | 10 |
| I know not, nor how here below art come: | |
| But Florentine thou seemest of a truth, | |
| When I do hear thee. Know, I was on earth | |
| Count Ugolino, 1 and the Archbishop he | |
| Ruggieri. Why I neighbor him so close, | 15 |
| Now list. That through effect of his ill thoughts | |
| In him my trust reposing, I was taen | |
| And after murderd, need is not I tell. | |
| What therefore thou canst not have heard, that is, | |
| How cruel was the murder, shalt thou hear, | 20 |
| And know if he have wrongd me. A small grate | |
| Within that mew, which for my sake the name | |
| Of Famine bears, where others yet must pine, | |
| Already through its opening several moons | |
| Had shown me, when I slept the evil sleep | 25 |
| That from the future tore the curtain off. | |
| This one, methought, as master of the sport, | |
| Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf, and his whelps, | |
| Unto the mountain 2 which forbids the sight | |
| Of Lucca to the Pisan. With lean brachs | 30 |
| Inquisitive and keen, before him ranged | |
| Lanfranchi with Sismondi and Gualandi. | |
| After short course the father and the sons | |
| Seemd tired and lagging, and methought I saw | |
| The sharp tusks gore their sides. When I awoke, | 35 |
| Before the dawn, amid their sleep I heard | |
| My sons (for they were with me) weep and ask | |
| For bread. Right cruel art thou, if no pang | |
| Thou feel at thinking what my heart foretold; | |
| And if not now, why use thy tears to flow? | 40 |
| Now had they wakend; and the hour drew near | |
| When they were wont to bring us food; the mind | |
| Of each misgave him through his dream, and I | |
| Heard, at its outlet underneath, lockd up | |
| The horrible tower: whence, uttering not a word, | 45 |
| I lookd upon the visage of my sons. | |
| I wept not: so all stone I felt within. | |
| They wept: and one, my little Anselmo, cried, | |
| Thou lookest so! Father, what ails thee? Yet | |
| I shed no tear, nor answerd all that day | 50 |
| Nor the next night, until another sun | |
| Came out upon the world. When a faint beam | |
| Had to our doleful prison made its way, | |
| And in four countenances I described | |
| The image of my own, on either hand | 55 |
| Through agony I bit; and they, who thought | |
| I did it through desire of feeding, rose | |
| O the sudden, and cried, Father, we should grieve | |
| Far less if thou wouldst eat of us: thou gavest | |
| These weeds of miserable flesh we wear; | 60 |
| And do thou strip them off from us again. | |
| Then, not to make them sadder, I kept down | |
| My spirit in stillness. That day and the next | |
| We all were silent. Ah, obdurate earth! | |
| Why opendst not upon us? When we came | 65 |
| To the fourth day, then Gaddo at my feet | |
| Outstretchd did fling him, crying, Hast no help | |
| For me, my father! There he died; and een | |
| Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three | |
| Fall one by one twixt the fifth day and sixth: | 70 |
| Whence I betook me, now grown blind, to grope | |
| Over them all, and for three days aloud | |
| Calld on them who were dead. Then, fasting got | |
| The mastery of grief. Thus having spoke, | |
| Once more upon the wretched skull his teeth | 75 |
| He fastend like a mastiffs gainst the bone, | |
| Firm and unyielding. O thou Pisa! shame | |
| Of all the people, who their dwelling make | |
| In that fair region, where the Italian voice | |
| Is heard; since that thy neighbors are so slack | 80 |
| To punish, from their deep foundations rise | |
| Capraia and Gorgona, 3 and dam up | |
| The mouth of Arno; that each soul in thee | |
| May perish in the waters. What if fame | |
| Reported that thy castles were betrayd | 85 |
| By Ugolino, yet no right hadst thou | |
| To stretch his children on the rack. For them, | |
| Brigata, Uguccione, and the pair | |
| Of gentle ones, of whom my song hath told, | |
| Their tender years, thou modern Thebes, did make | 90 |
| Uncapable of guilt. Onward we passd, | |
| Where others, skarfd in rugged folds of ice, | |
| Not on their feet were turnd, but each reversed. | |
| There, very weeping suffers not to weep; | |
| For, at their eyes, grief, seeking passage, finds | 95 |
| Impediment, and rolling inward turns | |
| For increase of sharp anguish: the first tears | |
| Hang clusterd, and like crystal vizors show, | |
| Under the socket brimming all the cup. | |
| Now though the cold had from my face dislodged | 100 |
| each feeling, as t were callous, yet me seemd | |
| Some breath of wind I felt. Whence cometh this, | |
| Said I, my Master? Is not here below | |
| All vapor quenchd?Thou shalt be speedily, | |
| He answerd, where thine eyes shall tell thee whence, | 105 |
| The cause descrying of this airy shower. | |
| Then cried out one, in the chill crust who mournd: | |
| O souls! so cruel, that the farthest post | |
| Hath been assignd you, from this face remove | |
| The hardend veil; that I may vent the grief | 110 |
| Impregnate at my heart, some little space, | |
| Ere it congeal again. I thus replied: | |
| Say who thou wast, if thou wouldst have mine aid; | |
| And if I extricate thee not, far down | |
| As to the lowest ice may I descend. | 115 |
| The friar Alberigo, 4 answerd he, | |
| Am I, who from the evil garden pluckd | |
| Its fruitage, and am here repaid, the date | |
| More luscious for my fig.Hah! I exclaimd, | |
| Art thou, too, dead? How in the world aloft | 120 |
| It fareth with my body, answerd he, | |
| I am right ignorant. Such privilege | |
| Hath Ptolomea, 5 that oft-times the soul | |
| Drops hither, ere by Atropos divorced. | |
| And that thou mayst wipe out more willingly | 125 |
| The glazed tear-drops that oerlay mine eyes, | |
| Know that the soul, that moment she betrays, | |
| As I did, yields her body to a fiend | |
| Who after moves and governs it at will, | |
| Till all its time be rounded: headlong she | 130 |
| Falls to this cistern. And perchance above | |
| Doth yet appear the body of a ghost, | |
| Who here behind me winters. Him thou knowst, | |
| If thou but newly art arrived below. | |
| The years are many that have passed away, | 135 |
| Since to this fastness Branca Doria 66 came. | |
| Now, answerd I, methinks thou mockest me; | |
| For Branca Doria never yet hath died, | |
| But doth all natural functions of a man, | |
| Eats, drinks, and sleeps, and putteth raiment on. | 140 |
| He thus: Not yet unto that upper foss | |
| By th evil talons guarded, where the pitch | |
| Tenacious boils, had Michel Zanche reachd, | |
| When this one left a demon in his stead | |
| In his own body, and of one his kin, | 145 |
| Who with him treachery wrought. But now put forth | |
| Thy hand, and ope mine eyes. I oped them not. | |
| Ill manners were best courtesy to him. | |
| Ah Genoese! men perverse in every way | |
| With every foulness staind why from the earth | 150 |
| Are ye not canceld? Such an one of yours | |
| I with Romagnas darkest spirit 7 found, | |
| As, for his doings, even now in soul | |
| Is in Cocytus plunged, and yet doth seem | |
| In body still alive upon the earth. | 155 |