Translations Dante. Inferno, Canto XXVI

Florence, rejoice! For thou o'er land and sea     So spread'st thy pinions that the fame of thee     Hath reached no less into the depths of Hell.     So noble were the five I found to dwell     Therein - thy sons - whence shame accrues to me     And no great praise is thine; but if it be     That truth unveil in dreamings before dawn,     Then is the vengeful hour not far withdrawn     When Prato shall exult within her walls     To see thy suffering. Whate'er befalls,     Let it come soon, since come it must, for later,     Each year would see my grief for thee the greater.      We left; and once more up the craggy side     By the blind steps of our descent, my guide,     Remounting, drew me on. So we pursued     The rugged path through that steep solitude,     Where rocks and splintered fragments strewed the land     So thick, that foot availed not without hand.     Grief filled me then, and still great sorrow stirs     My heart as oft as memory recurs     To what I saw; that more and more I rein     My natural powers, and curb them lest they strain     Where Virtue guide not, - that if some good star,     Or better thing, have made them what they are,     That good I may not grudge, nor turn to ill.      As when, reclining on some verdant hill -     What season the hot sun least veils his power     That lightens all, and in that gloaming hour     The fly resigns to the shrill gnat - even then,     As rustic, looking down, sees, o'er the glen,     Vineyard, or tilth where lies his husbandry,     Fireflies innumerable sparkle: so to me,     Come where its mighty depth unfolded, straight     With flames no fewer seemed to scintillate     The shades of the eighth pit. And as to him     Whose wrongs the bears avenged, dim and more dim     Elijah's chariot seemed, when to the skies     Uprose the heavenly steeds; and still his eyes     Strained, following them, till naught remained in view     But flame, like a thin cloud against the blue:     So here, the melancholy gulf within,     Wandered these flames, concealing each its sin,     Yet each, a fiery integument,     Wrapped round a sinner.                              On the bridge intent,     Gazing I stood, and grasped its flinty side,     Or else, unpushed, had fallen. And my guide,     Observing me so moved, spake, saying: "Behold     Where swathed each in his unconsuming fold,     The spirits lie confined." Whom answering,     "Master," I said, "thy words assurance bring     To that which I already had supposed;     And I was fain to ask who lies enclosed     In the embrace of that dividing fire,     Which seems to curl above the fabled pyre,     Where with his twin-born brother, fiercely hated,     Eteocles was laid." He answered, "Mated     In punishment as once in wrath they were,     Ulysses there and Diomed incur     The eternal pains; there groaning they deplore     The ambush of the horse, which made the door     For Rome's imperial seed to issue: there     In anguish too they wail the fatal snare     Whence dead Deidamia still must grieve,     Reft of Achilles; likewise they receive     Due penalty for the Palladium."     "Master," I said, "if in that martyrdom     The power of human speech may still be theirs,     I pray - and think it worth a thousand prayers -     That, till this horned flame be come more nigh,     We may abide here; for thou seest that I     With great desire incline to it." And he:     "Thy prayer deserves great praise; which willingly     I grant; but thou refrain from speaking; leave     That task to me; for fully I conceive     What thing thou wouldst, and it might fall perchance     That these, being Greeks, would scorn thine utterance."      So when the flame had come where time and place     Seemed not unfitting to my guide with grace     To question, thus he spoke at my desire:     "O ye that are two souls within one fire,     If in your eyes some merit I have won -     Merit, or more or less - for tribute done     When in the world I framed my lofty verse:     Move not; but fain were we that one rehearse     By what strange fortunes to his death he came."     The elder crescent of the antique flame     Began to wave, as in the upper air     A flame is tempest-tortured, here and there     Tossing its angry height, and in its sound     As human speech it suddenly had found,     Rolled forth a voice of thunder, saying: "When,     The twelvemonth past in Circe's halls, again     I left Gaeta's strand (ere thither came     Aeneas, and had given it that name)     Not love of son, nor filial reverence,     Nor that affection that might recompense     The weary vigil of Penelope,     Could so far quench the hot desire in me     To prove more wonders of the teeming earth, -     Of human frailty and of manly worth.     In one small bark, and with the faithful band     That all awards had shared of Fortune's hand,     I launched once more upon the open main.     Both shores I visited as far as Spain, -     Sardinia, and Morocco, and what more     The midland sea upon its bosom wore.     The hour of our lives was growing late     When we arrived before that narrow strait     Where Hercules had set his bounds to show     That there Man's foot shall pause, and further none shall go.     Borne with the gale past Seville on the right,     And on the left now swept by Ceuta's site,     'Brothers,' I cried, 'that into the far West     Through perils numberless are now addressed,     In this brief respite that our mortal sense     Yet hath, shrink not from new experience;     But sailing still against the setting sun,     Seek we new worlds where Man has never won     Before us. Ponder your proud destinies:     Born were ye not like brutes for swinish ease,     But virtue and high knowledge to pursue.'     My comrades with such zeal did I imbue     By these brief words, that scarcely could I then     Have turned them from their purpose; so again     We set out poop against the morning sky,     And made our oars as wings wherewith to fly     Into the Unknown. And ever from the right     Our course deflecting, in the balmy night     All southern stars we saw, and ours so low,     That scarce above the sea-marge it might show.     So five revolving periods the soft,     Pale light had robbed of Cynthia, and as oft     Replenished since our start, when far and dim     Over the misty ocean's utmost rim,     Rose a great mountain, that for very height     Passed any I had seen. Boundless delight     Filled us - alas, and quickly turned to dole:     For, springing from our scarce-discovered goal,     A whirlwind struck the ship; in circles three     It whirled us helpless in the eddying sea;     High on the fourth the fragile stern uprose,     The bow drove down, and, as Another chose,     Over our heads we heard the surging billows close."