The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri (good e books to read txt) š
- Author: Dante Alighieri
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She left her joyful harpings in the sky, Who this new office to my care consignād.
He is no robber, no dark spirit I.
But by that virtue, which empowers my step To treat so wild a path, grant us, I pray, One of thy band, whom we may trust secure, Who to the ford may lead us, and convey Across, him mounted on his back; for he Is not a spirit that may walk the air.ā
Then on his right breast turning, Chiron thus To Nessus spake: āReturn, and be their guide.
And if ye chance to cross another troop, Command them keep aloof.ā Onward we movād, The faithful escort by our side, along The border of the crimson-seething flood, Whence from those steepād within loud shrieks arose.
Some there I markād, as high as to their brow Immersād, of whom the mighty Centaur thus: āThese are the souls of tyrants, who were given To blood and rapine. Here they wail aloud Their merciless wrongs. Here Alexander dwells, And Dionysius fell, who many a year Of woe wrought for fair Sicily. That brow Whereon the hair so jetty clustāring hangs, Is Azzolino; that with flaxen locks Obizzoā of Este, in the world destroyād By his foul step-son.ā To the bard reverād I turned me round, and thus he spake; āLet him Be to thee now first leader, me but next To him in rank.ā Then farther on a space The Centaur pausād, near some, who at the throat Were extant from the wave; and showing us A spirit by itself apart retirād,
Exclaimād: āHe in Godās bosom smote the heart, Which yet is honourād on the bank of Thames.ā
A race I next espied, who held the head, And even all the bust above the stream.
āMidst these I many a face rememberād well.
Thus shallow more and more the blood became, So that at last it but imbruād the feet; And there our passage lay athwart the foss.
āAs ever on this side the boiling wave Thou seest diminishing,ā the Centaur said, āSo on the other, be thou well assurād, It lower still and lower sinks its bed, Till in that part it reuniting join, Where āt is the lot of tyranny to mourn.
There Heavānās stern justice lays chastising hand On Attila, who was the scourge of earth, On Sextus, and on Pyrrhus, and extracts Tears ever by the seething flood unlockād From the Rinieri, of Corneto this, Pazzo the other namād, who fillād the ways With violence and war.ā This said, he turnād, And quitting us, alone repassād the ford.
CANTO XIII
ERE Nessus yet had reachād the other bank, We enterād on a forest, where no track Of steps had worn a way. Not verdant there The foliage, but of dusky hue; not light The boughs and tapering, but with knares deformād And matted thick: fruits there were none, but thorns Instead, with venom fillād. Less sharp than these, Less intricate the brakes, wherein abide Those animals, that hate the culturād fields, Betwixt Corneto and Cecinaās stream.
Here the brute Harpies make their nest, the same Who from the Strophades the Trojan band Drove with dire boding of their future woe.
Broad are their pennons, of the human form Their neck and countānance, armād with talons keen The feet, and the huge belly fledge with wings These sit and wail on the drear mystic wood.
The kind instructor in these words began: āEre farther thou proceed, know thou art now Iā thā second round, and shalt be, till thou come Upon the horrid sand: look therefore well Around thee, and such things thou shalt behold, As would my speech discredit.ā On all sides I heard sad plainings breathe, and none could see From whom they might have issuād. In amaze Fast bound I stood. He, as it seemād, believād, That I had thought so many voices came From some amid those thickets close concealād, And thus his speech resumād: āIf thou lop off A single twig from one of those ill plants, The thought thou hast conceivād shall vanish quite.ā
Thereat a little stretching forth my hand, From a great wilding gatherād I a branch, And straight the trunk exclaimād: āWhy pluckāst thou me?ā
Then as the dark blood trickled down its side, These words it added: āWherefore tearāst me thus?
Is there no touch of mercy in thy breast?
Men once were we, that now are rooted here.
Thy hand might well have sparād us, had we been The souls of serpents.ā As a brand yet green, That burning at one end from theā other sends A groaning sound, and hisses with the wind That forces out its way, so burst at once, Forth from the broken splinter words and blood.
I, letting fall the bough, remainād as one Assailād by terror, and the sage replied: āIf he, O injurād spirit! could have believād What he hath seen but in my verse describād, He never against thee had stretchād his hand.
But I, because the thing surpassād belief, Prompted him to this deed, which even now Myself I rue. But tell me, who thou wast; That, for this wrong to do thee some amends, In the upper world (for thither to return Is granted him) thy fame he may revive.ā
āThat pleasant word of thine,ā the trunk replied āHath so inveigled me, that I from speech Cannot refrain, wherein if I indulge A little longer, in the snare detainād, Count it not grievous. I it was, who held Both keys to Frederickās heart, and turnād the wards, Opening and shutting, with a skill so sweet, That besides me, into his inmost breast Scarce any other could admittance find.
The faith I bore to my high charge was such, It cost me the life-blood that warmād my veins.
The harlot, who neāer turnād her gloating eyes From Caesarās household, common vice and pest Of courts, āgainst me inflamād the minds of all; And to Augustus they so spread the flame, That my glad honours changād to bitter woes.
My soul, disdainful and disgusted, sought Refuge in death from scorn, and I became, Just as I was, unjust toward myself.
By the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear, That never faith I broke to my liege lord, Who merited such honour; and of you, If any to the world indeed return, Clear he from wrong my memory, that lies Yet prostrate under envyās cruel blow.ā
First somewhat pausing, till the mournful words Were ended, then to me the bard began: āLose not the time; but speak and of him ask, If more thou wish to learn.ā Whence I replied: āQuestion thou him again of whatsoeāer Will, as thou thinkāst, content me; for no power Have I to ask, such pityā is at my heart.ā
He thus resumād; āSo may he do for thee Freely what thou entreatest, as thou yet Be pleasād, imprisonād Spirit! to declare, How in these gnarled joints the soul is tied; And whether any ever from such frame Be loosenād, if thou canst, that also tell.ā
Thereat the trunk breathād hard, and the wind soon Changād into sounds articulate like these; Briefly ye shall be answerād. When departs The fierce soul from the body, by itself Thence torn asunder, to the seventh gulf By Minos doomād, into the wood it falls, No place assignād, but wheresoever chance Hurls it, there sprouting, as a grain of spelt, It rises to a sapling, growing thence A savage plant. The Harpies, on its leaves Then feeding, cause both pain and for the pain A vent to grief. We, as the rest, shall come For our own spoils, yet not so that with them We may again be clad; for what a man Takes from himself it is not just he have.
Here we perforce shall drag them; and throughout The dismal glade our bodies shall be hung, Each on the wild thorn of his wretched shade.ā
Attentive yet to listen to the trunk We stood, expecting farther speech, when us A noise surprisād, as when a man perceives The wild boar and the hunt approach his place Of stationād watch, who of the beasts and boughs Loud rustling round him hears. And lo! there came Two naked, torn with briers, in headlong flight, That they before them broke each fan oā thā wood.
āHaste now,ā the foremost cried, ānow haste thee death!ā
Theā other, as seemād, impatient of delay Exclaiming, āLano! not so bent for speed Thy sinews, in the lists of Toppoās field.ā
And then, for that perchance no longer breath Sufficād him, of himself and of a bush One group he made. Behind them was the wood Full of black female mastiffs, gaunt and fleet, As greyhounds that have newly slippād the leash.
On him, who squatted down, they stuck their fangs, And having rent him piecemeal bore away The torturād limbs. My guide then seizād my hand, And led me to the thicket, which in vain Mournād through its bleeding wounds: āO Giacomo Of Santā Andrea! what avails it thee,ā
It cried, āthat of me thou hast made thy screen?
For thy ill life what blame on me recoils?ā
When oāer it he had pausād, my master spake: āSay who wast thou, that at so many points Breathāst out with blood thy lamentable speech?ā
He answerād: āOh, ye spirits: arrivād in time To spy the shameful havoc, that from me My leaves hath severād thus, gather them up, And at the foot of their sad parent-tree Carefully lay them. In that cityā I dwelt, Who for the Baptist her first patron changād, Whence he for this shall cease not with his art To work her woe: and if there still remainād not On Arnoās passage some faint glimpse of him, Those citizens, who rearād once more her walls Upon the ashes left by Attila,
Had labourād without profit of their toil.
I slung the fatal noose from my own roof.ā
CANTO XIV
SOON as the charity of native land Wrought in my bosom, I the scatterād leaves Collected, and to him restorād, who now Was hoarse with uttārance. To the limit thence We came, which from the third the second round Divides, and where of justice is displayād Contrivance horrible. Things then first seen Clearlier to manifest, I tell how next A plain we reachād, that from its sterile bed Each plant repellād. The mournful wood waves round Its garland on all sides, as round the wood Spreads the sad foss. There, on the very edge, Our steps we stayād. It was an area wide Of arid sand and thick, resembling most The soil that erst by Catoās foot was trod.
Vengeance of Heavān! Oh ! how shouldst thou be fearād By all, who read what here my eyes beheld!
Of naked spirits many a flock I saw, All weeping piteously, to different laws Subjected: for on theā earth some lay supine, Some crouching close were seated, others pacād Incessantly around; the latter tribe, More numerous, those fewer who beneath The torment lay, but louder in their grief.
Oāer all the sand fell slowly wafting down Dilated flakes of fire, as flakes of snow On Alpine summit, when the wind is hushād.
As in the torrid Indian clime, the son Of Ammon saw upon his warrior band Descending, solid flames, that to the ground Came down: whence he bethought him with his troop To trample on the soil; for easier thus The vapour was extinguishād, while alone; So fell the eternal fiery flood, wherewith The marble glowād underneath, as under stove The viands, doubly to augment the pain.
Unceasing was the play of wretched hands, Now this, now that way glancing, to shake off The heat, still falling fresh. I thus began: āInstructor! thou who all things overcomāst, Except the hardy demons, that rushād forth To stop our
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