The Divine Comedy by Dante: The Vision of Hell, Or The Inferno: Canto XIV

Soon as the charity of native land     Wrought in my bosom, I the scatter'd leaves     Collected, and to him restor'd, who now     Was hoarse with utt'rance. To the limit thence     We came, which from the third the second round     Divides, and where of justice is display'd     Contrivance horrible. Things then first seen     Clearlier to manifest, I tell how next     A plain we reach'd, that from its sterile bed     Each plant repell'd. The mournful wood waves round     Its garland on all sides, as round the wood     Spreads the sad foss. There, on the very edge,     Our steps we stay'd. It was an area wide     Of arid sand and thick, resembling most     The soil that erst by Cato's foot was trod.     Vengeance of Heav'n! Oh! how shouldst thou be fear'd     By all, who read what here my eyes beheld!     Of naked spirits many a flock I saw,     All weeping piteously, to different laws     Subjected: for on the' earth some lay supine,     Some crouching close were seated, others pac'd     Incessantly around; the latter tribe,     More numerous, those fewer who beneath     The torment lay, but louder in their grief.     O'er all the sand fell slowly wafting down     Dilated flakes of fire, as flakes of snow     On Alpine summit, when the wind is hush'd.     As in the torrid Indian clime, the son     Of Ammon saw upon his warrior band     Descending, solid flames, that to the ground     Came down: whence he bethought him with his troop     To trample on the soil; for easier thus     The vapour was extinguish'd, while alone;     So fell the eternal fiery flood, wherewith     The marble glow'd underneath, as under stove     The viands, doubly to augment the pain.     Unceasing was the play of wretched hands,     Now this, now that way glancing, to shake off     The heat, still falling fresh. I thus began:     "Instructor! thou who all things overcom'st,     Except the hardy demons, that rush'd forth     To stop our entrance at the gate, say who     Is yon huge spirit, that, as seems, heeds not     The burning, but lies writhen in proud scorn,     As by the sultry tempest immatur'd?"     Straight he himself, who was aware I ask'd     My guide of him, exclaim'd: "Such as I was     When living, dead such now I am. If Jove     Weary his workman out, from whom in ire     He snatch'd the lightnings, that at my last day     Transfix'd me, if the rest be weary out     At their black smithy labouring by turns     In Mongibello, while he cries aloud;     "Help, help, good Mulciber!" as erst he cried     In the Phlegraean warfare, and the bolts     Launch he full aim'd at me with all his might,     He never should enjoy a sweet revenge."     Then thus my guide, in accent higher rais'd     Than I before had heard him: "Capaneus!     Thou art more punish'd, in that this thy pride     Lives yet unquench'd: no torrent, save thy rage,     Were to thy fury pain proportion'd full."     Next turning round to me with milder lip     He spake: "This of the seven kings was one,     Who girt the Theban walls with siege, and held,     As still he seems to hold, God in disdain,     And sets his high omnipotence at nought.     But, as I told him, his despiteful mood     Is ornament well suits the breast that wears it.     Follow me now; and look thou set not yet     Thy foot in the hot sand, but to the wood     Keep ever close." Silently on we pass'd     To where there gushes from the forest's bound     A little brook, whose crimson'd wave yet lifts     My hair with horror. As the rill, that runs     From Bulicame, to be portion'd out     Among the sinful women; so ran this     Down through the sand, its bottom and each bank     Stone-built, and either margin at its side,     Whereon I straight perceiv'd our passage lay.     "Of all that I have shown thee, since that gate     We enter'd first, whose threshold is to none     Denied, nought else so worthy of regard,     As is this river, has thine eye discern'd,     O'er which the flaming volley all is quench'd."     So spake my guide; and I him thence besought,     That having giv'n me appetite to know,     The food he too would give, that hunger crav'd.     "In midst of ocean," forthwith he began,     "A desolate country lies, which Crete is nam'd,     Under whose monarch in old times the world     Liv'd pure and chaste. A mountain rises there,     Call'd Ida, joyous once with leaves and streams,     Deserted now like a forbidden thing.     It was the spot which Rhea, Saturn's spouse,     Chose for the secret cradle of her son;     And better to conceal him, drown'd in shouts     His infant cries. Within the mount, upright     An ancient form there stands and huge, that turns     His shoulders towards Damiata, and at Rome     As in his mirror looks. Of finest gold     His head is shap'd, pure silver are the breast     And arms; thence to the middle is of brass.     And downward all beneath well-temper'd steel,     Save the right foot of potter's clay, on which     Than on the other more erect he stands,     Each part except the gold, is rent throughout;     And from the fissure tears distil, which join'd     Penetrate to that cave. They in their course     Thus far precipitated down the rock     Form Acheron, and Styx, and Phlegethon;     Then by this straiten'd channel passing hence     Beneath, e'en to the lowest depth of all,     Form there Cocytus, of whose lake (thyself     Shall see it) I here give thee no account."     Then I to him: "If from our world this sluice     Be thus deriv'd; wherefore to us but now     Appears it at this edge?" He straight replied:     "The place, thou know'st, is round; and though great part     Thou have already pass'd, still to the left     Descending to the nethermost, not yet     Hast thou the circuit made of the whole orb.     Wherefore if aught of new to us appear,     It needs not bring up wonder in thy looks."     Then I again inquir'd: "Where flow the streams     Of Phlegethon and Lethe? for of one     Thou tell'st not, and the other of that shower,     Thou say'st, is form'd." He answer thus return'd:     "Doubtless thy questions all well pleas'd I hear.     Yet the red seething wave might have resolv'd     One thou proposest. Lethe thou shalt see,     But not within this hollow, in the place,     Whither to lave themselves the spirits go,     Whose blame hath been by penitence remov'd."     He added: "Time is now we quit the wood.     Look thou my steps pursue: the margins give     Safe passage, unimpeded by the flames;     For over them all vapour is extinct."