The Divine Comedy | Page 8

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.?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.?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.?()f 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.?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?Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue?Fled from our alter'd cheek. But at one point?Alone we fell. When of that smile we read,?The wished smile, rapturously kiss'd?By one so deep in love, then he, who ne'er?From me shall separate, at once my lips?All trembling kiss'd. The book and writer both?Were love's purveyors. In its leaves that day?We read no more." While thus one spirit spake,?The other wail'd so sorely, that heartstruck?I through compassion fainting, seem'd not far?From death, and like a corpse fell to the ground.
CANTO VI
MY sense reviving, that erewhile had droop'd?With pity for