144 lines
		
	
	
		
			5.6 KiB
		
	
	
	
		
			Plaintext
		
	
	
	
	
	
			
		
		
	
	
			144 lines
		
	
	
		
			5.6 KiB
		
	
	
	
		
			Plaintext
		
	
	
	
	
	
CANTO I
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IN the midway of this our mortal life,
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I found me in a gloomy wood, astray
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Gone from the path direct: and e'en to tell
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It were no easy task, how savage wild
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That forest, how robust and rough its growth,
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Which to remember only, my dismay
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Renews, in bitterness not far from death.
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Yet to discourse of what there good befell,
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All else will I relate discover'd there.
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How first I enter'd it I scarce can say,
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Such sleepy dullness in that instant weigh'd
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My senses down, when the true path I left,
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But when a mountain's foot I reach'd, where clos'd
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The valley, that had pierc'd my heart with dread,
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I look'd aloft, and saw his shoulders broad
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Already vested with that planet's beam,
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Who leads all wanderers safe through every way.
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Then was a little respite to the fear,
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That in my heart's recesses deep had lain,
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All of that night, so pitifully pass'd:
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And as a man, with difficult short breath,
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Forespent with toiling, 'scap'd from sea to shore,
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Turns to the perilous wide waste, and stands
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At gaze; e'en so my spirit, that yet fail'd
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Struggling with terror, turn'd to view the straits,
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That none hath pass'd and liv'd.  My weary frame
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After short pause recomforted, again
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I journey'd on over that lonely steep,
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The hinder foot still firmer.  Scarce the ascent
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Began, when, lo! a panther, nimble, light,
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And cover'd with a speckled skin, appear'd,
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Nor, when it saw me, vanish'd, rather strove
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To check my onward going; that ofttimes
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With purpose to retrace my steps I turn'd.
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The hour was morning's prime, and on his way
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Aloft the sun ascended with those stars,
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That with him rose, when Love divine first mov'd
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Those its fair works: so that with joyous hope
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All things conspir'd to fill me, the gay skin
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Of that swift animal, the matin dawn
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And the sweet season.  Soon that joy was chas'd,
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And by new dread succeeded, when in view
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A lion came, 'gainst me, as it appear'd,
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With his head held aloft and hunger-mad,
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That e'en the air was fear-struck.  A she-wolf
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Was at his heels, who in her leanness seem'd
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Full of all wants, and many a land hath made
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Disconsolate ere now.  She with such fear
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O'erwhelmed me, at the sight of her appall'd,
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That of the height all hope I lost.  As one,
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Who with his gain elated, sees the time
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When all unwares is gone, he inwardly
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Mourns with heart-griping anguish; such was I,
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Haunted by that fell beast, never at peace,
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Who coming o'er against me, by degrees
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Impell'd me where the sun in silence rests.
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While to the lower space with backward step
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I fell, my ken discern'd the form one of one,
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Whose voice seem'd faint through long disuse of speech.
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When him in that great desert I espied,
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"Have mercy on me!" cried I out aloud,
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"Spirit! or living man! what e'er thou be!"
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He answer'd: "Now not man, man once I was,
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And born of Lombard parents, Mantuana both
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By country, when the power of Julius yet
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Was scarcely firm.  At Rome my life was past
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Beneath the mild Augustus, in the time
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Of fabled deities and false.  A bard
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Was I, and made Anchises' upright son
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The subject of my song, who came from Troy,
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When the flames prey'd on Ilium's haughty towers.
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But thou, say wherefore to such perils past
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Return'st thou?  wherefore not this pleasant mount
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Ascendest, cause and source of all delight?"
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"And art thou then that Virgil, that well-spring,
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From which such copious floods of eloquence
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Have issued?"  I with front abash'd replied.
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"Glory and light of all the tuneful train!
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May it avail me that I long with zeal
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Have sought thy volume, and with love immense
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Have conn'd it o'er.  My master thou and guide!
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Thou he from whom alone I have deriv'd
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That style, which for its beauty into fame
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Exalts me.  See the beast, from whom I fled.
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O save me from her, thou illustrious sage!"
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"For every vein and pulse throughout my frame
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She hath made tremble."  He, soon as he saw
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That I was weeping, answer'd, "Thou must needs
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Another way pursue, if thou wouldst 'scape
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From out that savage wilderness.  This beast,
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At whom thou criest, her way will suffer none
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To pass, and no less hindrance makes than death:
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So bad and so accursed in her kind,
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That never sated is her ravenous will,
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Still after food more craving than before.
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To many an animal in wedlock vile
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She fastens, and shall yet to many more,
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Until that greyhound come, who shall destroy
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Her with sharp pain.  He will not life support
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By earth nor its base metals, but by love,
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Wisdom, and virtue, and his land shall be
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The land 'twixt either Feltro.  In his might
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Shall safety to Italia's plains arise,
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For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure,
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Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell.
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He with incessant chase through every town
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Shall worry, until he to hell at length
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Restore her, thence by envy first let loose.
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I for thy profit pond'ring now devise,
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That thou mayst follow me, and I thy guide
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Will lead thee hence through an eternal space,
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Where thou shalt hear despairing shrieks, and see
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Spirits of old tormented, who invoke
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A second death; and those next view, who dwell
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Content in fire, for that they hope to come,
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Whene'er the time may be, among the blest,
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Into whose regions if thou then desire
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T' ascend, a spirit worthier then I
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Must lead thee, in whose charge, when I depart,
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Thou shalt be left: for that Almighty King,
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Who reigns above, a rebel to his law,
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Adjudges me, and therefore hath decreed,
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That to his city none through me should come.
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He in all parts hath sway; there rules, there holds
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His citadel and throne.  O happy those,
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Whom there he chooses!"  I to him in few:
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"Bard! by that God, whom thou didst not adore,
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I do beseech thee (that this ill and worse
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I may escape) to lead me, where thou saidst,
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That I Saint Peter's gate may view, and those
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Who as thou tell'st, are in such dismal plight."
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Onward he mov'd, I close his steps pursu'd.
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