The Divine Comedy | Page 6

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,?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 power are one: ask thou no more."
Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeks?Of him the boatman o'er the livid lake,?Around whose eyes glar'd wheeling flames. Meanwhile?Those spirits, faint and naked, color chang'd,?And gnash'd their teeth, soon as the cruel words?They heard. God and their parents they blasphem'd,?The human kind, the place, the time, and seed?That did engender them and give them birth.
Then all together sorely wailing drew?To the curs'd strand, that every man must pass?Who fears not God. Charon, demoniac form,?With eyes of burning coal, collects them all,?Beck'ning, and each, that lingers, with his oar?Strikes. As fall off the light autumnal leaves,?One still another following, till the bough?Strews all its honours on the earth beneath;?E'en in like manner Adam's evil brood?Cast themselves one by one down from the shore,?Each at a beck, as falcon at his call.
Thus go they over through the umber'd wave,?And ever they on the opposing bank?Be landed, on this side another throng?Still gathers. "Son," thus spake the courteous guide,?"Those, who die subject to the wrath of God,?All here together come from every clime,?And to o'erpass the river are not loth:?For so heaven's justice goads them on, that fear?Is turn'd into desire. Hence ne'er hath past?Good spirit. If of thee Charon complain,?Now mayst thou know the import of his words."
This said, the gloomy region trembling shook?So terribly, that yet with clammy dews?Fear chills my brow. The sad earth gave a blast,?That, lightening, shot forth a vermilion flame,?Which all my senses conquer'd quite, and I?Down dropp'd, as one with sudden slumber seiz'd.
CANTO IV
BROKE the deep slumber in my brain a crash?Of heavy thunder, that I shook myself,?As one by main force rous'd. Risen upright,?My rested eyes I mov'd around, and search'd?With fixed ken to know what place it was,?Wherein I stood. For certain on the brink?I found me of the lamentable vale,?The dread abyss, that joins a thund'rous sound?Of plaints innumerable. Dark and deep,?And thick with clouds o'erspread, mine eye in vain?Explor'd its bottom, nor could aught discern.
"Now let us to the blind world there beneath?Descend;" the bard began all pale of look:?"I go the first, and thou shalt follow next."
Then I his alter'd hue perceiving, thus:?"How may I speed, if thou yieldest to dread,?Who still art wont to comfort me in doubt?"
He then: "The anguish of that race below?With pity stains my cheek, which thou for fear?Mistakest. Let us on. Our length of way?Urges to haste." Onward, this said, he mov'd;?And ent'ring led me with him on the bounds?Of the first circle, that surrounds th' abyss.?Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heard?Except of sighs, that made th' eternal air?Tremble, not caus'd by tortures, but from grief?Felt by those multitudes, many and vast,?Of men, women, and infants. Then to me?The gentle guide: "Inquir'st thou not what spirits?Are these, which thou beholdest? Ere thou pass?Farther, I would thou know, that these of sin?Were blameless; and if aught they merited,?It profits not, since baptism was not theirs,?The portal to thy faith. If they before?The Gospel liv'd, they serv'd not God aright;?And among such am I. For these defects,?And for no other evil, we are lost;?Only so far afflicted, that we live?Desiring without hope." So grief assail'd?My heart at hearing this, for well I knew?Suspended in that Limbo many a soul?Of mighty worth. "O tell me, sire rever'd!?Tell me, my master!" I began through wish?Of full assurance in that holy faith,?Which vanquishes all error; "say, did e'er?Any, or through his own or other's merit,?Come