Dante Alighieri - Dante's Inferno

Eternal, and eternal I endure.

"All hope abandon ye who enter here."

Such characters in colour dim I mark'd

Over a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd:

Whereat I thus: "Master, these words import

Hard meaning." He as one prepar'd replied:

"Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave;

Here be vile fear extinguish'd. We are come

Where I have told thee we shall see the souls

To misery doom'd, who intellectual good

Have lost." And when his hand he had stretch'd forth

To mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheer'd,

Into that secret place he led me on.

Here sighs with lamentations and loud moans

Resounded through the air pierc'd by no star,

That e'en I wept at entering. Various tongues,

Horrible languages, outcries of woe,

Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse,

With hands together smote that swell'd the sounds,

Made up a tumult, that for ever whirls

Round through that air with solid darkness stain'd,

Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.

I then, with error yet encompass'd, cried:

"O master! What is this I hear? What race

Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?"

He thus to me: "This miserable fate

Suffer the wretched souls of those, who liv'd

Without or praise or blame, with that ill band

Of angels mix'd, who nor rebellious prov'd

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 th' accursed tribe

Should glory thence with exultation vain."

I then: "Master! what doth aggrieve them thus,

That they lament so loud?" He straight replied:

"That 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."

And I, who straightway look'd, beheld a flag,

Which whirling ran around so rapidly,

That it no pause obtain'd: and following came

Such a long train of spirits, I should ne'er

Have thought, that death so many had despoil'd.

When some of these I recogniz'd, I saw

And knew the shade of him, who to base fear

Yielding, abjur'd 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 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.

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