The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (10 best books of all time txt) đ
- Author: Dante Alighieri
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As florets, by the frosty air of night Bent down and closâd, when day has blanchâd their leaves, Rise all unfolded on their spiry stems; So was my fainting vigour new restorâd, And to my heart such kindly courage ran, That I as one undaunted soon replied: âO full of pity she, who undertook My succour! and thou kind who didst perform So soon her true behest! With such desire Thou hast disposâd me to renew my voyage, That my first purpose fully is resumâd.
Lead on: one only will is in us both.
Thou art my guide, my master thou, and lord.â
So spake I; and when he had onward movâd, I enterâd on the deep and woody way.
CANTO III
âTHROUGH me you pass into the city of woe: Through me you pass into eternal pain: Through me among the people lost for aye.
Justice the founder of my fabric movâd: To rear me was the task of power divine, Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.
Before me things create were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon ye who enter here.â
Such characters in colour dim I markâd Over a portalâs lofty arch inscribâd: Whereat I thus: âMaster, these words import Hard meaning.â He as one preparâd replied: âHere thou must all distrust behind thee leave; Here be vile fear extinguishâd. We are come Where I have told thee we shall see the souls To misery doomâd, who intellectual good Have lost.â And when his hand he had stretchâd forth To mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheerâd, Into that secret place he led me on.
Here sighs with lamentations and loud moans Resounded through the air piercâd by no star, That eâen I wept at entering. Various tongues, Horrible languages, outcries of woe, Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse, With hands together smote that swellâd the sounds, Made up a tumult, that for ever whirls Round through that air with solid darkness stainâd, Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.
I then, with error yet encompassâd, cried: âO master! What is this I hear? What race Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?â
He thus to me: âThis miserable fate Suffer the wretched souls of those, who livâd Without or praise or blame, with that ill band Of angels mixâd, who nor rebellious provâd Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth, Not to impair his lustre, nor the depth Of Hell receives them, lest thâ accursed tribe Should glory thence with exultation vain.â
I then: âMaster! what doth aggrieve them thus, That they lament so loud?â He straight replied: âThat will I tell thee briefly. These of death No hope may entertain: and their blind life So meanly passes, that all other lots They envy. Fame of them the world hath none, Nor suffers; mercy and justice scorn them both.
Speak not of them, but look, and pass them by.â
And I, who straightway lookâd, beheld a flag, Which whirling ran around so rapidly, That it no pause obtainâd: and following came Such a long train of spirits, I should neâer Have thought, that death so many had despoilâd.
When some of these I recognizâd, I saw And knew the shade of him, who to base fear Yielding, abjurâd his high estate. Forthwith I understood for certain this the tribe Of those ill spirits both to God displeasing And to his foes. These wretches, who neâer lived, Went on in nakedness, and sorely stung By wasps and hornets, which bedewâd their cheeks With blood, that mixâd with tears droppâd to their feet, And by disgustful worms was gatherâd there.
Then looking farther onwards I beheld A throng upon the shore of a great stream: Whereat I thus: âSir! grant me now to know Whom here we view, and whence impellâd they seem So eager to pass oâer, as I discern Through the blear light?â He thus to me in few: âThis shalt thou know, soon as our steps arrive Beside the woeful tide of Acheron.â
Then with eyes downward cast and fillâd with shame, Fearing my words offensive to his ear, Till we had reachâd the river, I from speech Abstainâd. And lo! toward us in a bark Comes on an old man hoary white with eld, Crying, âWoe 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.â But soon as he beheld I left them not, âBy other way,â said he, âBy other haven shalt thou come to shore, Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boat Must carry.â Then to him thus spake my guide: âCharon! thyself torment not: so ât is willâd, Where will and power are one: ask thou no more.â
Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeks Of him the boatman oâer the livid lake, Around whose eyes glarâd wheeling flames. Meanwhile Those spirits, faint and naked, color changâd, And gnashâd their teeth, soon as the cruel words They heard. God and their parents they blasphemâd, 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 cursâd strand, that every man must pass Who fears not God. Charon, demoniac form, With eyes of burning coal, collects them all, Beckâning, 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; Eâen in like manner Adamâs 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 umberâd wave, And ever they on the opposing bank Be landed, on this side another throng Still gathers. âSon,â thus spake the courteous guide, âThose, who die subject to the wrath of God, All here together come from every clime, And to oâerpass the river are not loth: For so heavenâs justice goads them on, that fear Is turnâd into desire. Hence neâer hath past Good spirit. If of thee Charon complain, Now mayst thou know the import of his words.â
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 conquerâd quite, and I Down droppâd, as one with sudden slumber seizâd.
CANTO IV
BROKE the deep slumber in my brain a crash Of heavy thunder, that I shook myself, As one by main force rousâd. Risen upright, My rested eyes I movâd around, and searchâd 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 thundârous sound Of plaints innumerable. Dark and deep, And thick with clouds oâerspread, mine eye in vain Explorâd its bottom, nor could aught discern.
âNow let us to the blind world there beneath Descend;â the bard began all pale of look: âI go the first, and thou shalt follow next.â
Then I his alterâd hue perceiving, thus: âHow may I speed, if thou yieldest to dread, Who still art wont to comfort me in doubt?â
He then: âThe 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.â Onward, this said, he movâd; And entâring led me with him on the bounds Of the first circle, that surrounds thâ abyss.
Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heard Except of sighs, that made thâ eternal air Tremble, not causâd by tortures, but from grief Felt by those multitudes, many and vast, Of men, women, and infants. Then to me The gentle guide: âInquirâst 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 livâd, they servâd 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.â So grief assailâd My heart at hearing this, for well I knew Suspended in that Limbo many a soul Of mighty worth. âO tell me, sire reverâd!
Tell me, my master!â I began through wish Of full assurance in that holy faith, Which vanquishes all error; âsay, did eâer Any, or through his own or otherâs merit, Come forth from thence, whom afterward was blest?â
Piercing the secret purport of my speech, He answerâd: âI was new to that estate, When I beheld a puissant one arrive Amongst us, with victorious trophy crownâd.
He forth the shade of our first parent drew, Abel his child, and Noah righteous man, Of Moses lawgiver for faith approvâd, Of patriarch Abraham, and David king, Israel with his sire and with his sons, Nor without Rachel whom so hard he won, And others many more, whom he to bliss Exalted. Before these, be thou assurâd, No spirit of human kind was ever savâd.â
We, while he spake, ceasâd not our onward road, Still passing through the wood; for so I name Those spirits thick beset. We were not far On this side from the summit, when I kennâd A flame, that oâer the darkenâd hemisphere Prevailing shinâd. Yet we a little space Were distant, not so far but I in part Discoverâd, that a tribe in honour high That place possessâd. âO thou, who every art And science valuâst! who are these, that boast Such honour, separate from all the rest?â
He answerâd: âThe renown of their great names That echoes through your world above, acquires Favour in heaven, which holds them thus advancâd.â
Meantime a voice I heard: âHonour the bard Sublime! his shade returns that left us late!â
No sooner ceasâd the sound, than I beheld Four mighty spirits toward us bend their steps, Of semblance neither sorrowful nor glad.
When thus my master kind began: âMark him, Who in his right hand bears that falchion keen, The other three preceding, as their lord.
This is that Homer, of all bards supreme: Flaccus the next in satireâs vein excelling; The third is Naso; Lucan is the last.
Because they all that appellation own, With which the voice singly accosted me, Honouring they greet me thus, and well they judge.â
So I beheld united the bright school Of him the monarch of sublimest song, That oâer the others like an eagle soars.
When they together short discourse had held, They turnâd to me, with salutation kind Beckâning me; at the which my master smilâd: Nor was this all; but greater honour still They gave me, for they made me of their tribe; And I was sixth amid so learnâd a band.
Far as the luminous beacon on we passâd Speaking of matters, then befitting well To speak, now fitter left untold. At foot Of a magnificent castle we arrivâd, Seven times with lofty walls begirt, and round Defended by a pleasant stream. Oâer this As oâer dry land we passâd. Next through seven gates I with those sages enterâd, and we came Into a mead with lively verdure fresh.
There dwelt a race, who slow their eyes around Majestically movâd, and in their port
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