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