The Divine Comedy

Canto XVI

Now came I where the water's din was heard,As down it fell into the other round,Resounding like the hum of swarming bees:When forth together issu'd from a troop,That pass'd beneath the fierce tormenting storm,Three spirits, running swift. They towards us came,And each one cried aloud, “Oh do thou stay!Whom by the fashion of thy garb we deemTo be some inmate of our evil land.”Ah me! what wounds I mark'd upon their limbs,Recent and old, inflicted by the flames!E'en the remembrance of them grieves me yet.Attentive to their cry my teacher paus'd,And turn'd to me his visage, and then spake;“Wait now! our courtesy these merit well:And were 't not for the nature of the place,Whence glide the fiery darts, I should have said,That haste had better suited thee than them.”They, when we stopp'd, resum'd their ancient wail,And soon as they had reach'd us, all the threeWhirl'd round together in one restless wheel.As naked champions, smear'd with slippery oil,Are wont intent to watch their place of holdAnd vantage, ere in closer strife they meet;Thus each one, as he wheel'd, his countenanceAt me directed, so that oppositeThe neck mov'd ever to the twinkling feet.“If misery of this drear wilderness,”Thus one began, “added to our sad cheerAnd destitute, do call forth scorn on usAnd our entreaties, let our great renownIncline thee to inform us who thou art,That dost imprint with living feet unharm'dThe soil of Hell. He, in whose track thou see'stMy steps pursuing, naked though he beAnd reft of all, was of more high estateThan thou believest; grandchild of the chasteGualdrada, him they Guidoguerra call'd,Who in his lifetime many a noble actAchiev'd, both by his wisdom and his sword.The other, next to me that beats the sand,Is Aldobrandi, name deserving well,In the upper world, of honour; and myselfWho in this torment do partake with them,Am Rusticucci, whom, past doubt, my wifeOf savage temper, more than aught besideHath to this evil brought.” If from the fireI had been shelter'd, down amidst them straightI then had cast me, nor my guide, I deem,Would have restrain'd my going; but that fearOf the dire burning vanquish'd the desire,Which made me eager of their wish'd embrace.I then began: “Not scorn, but grief much more,Such as long time alone can cure, your doomFix'd deep within me, soon as this my lordSpake words, whose tenour taught me to expectThat such a race, as ye are, was at hand.I am a countryman of yours, who stillAffectionate have utter'd, and have heardYour deeds and names renown'd. Leaving the gallFor the sweet fruit I go, that a sure guideHath promis'd to me. But behooves, that farAs to the centre first I downward tend.”“So may long space thy spirit guide thy limbs,”He answer straight return'd; “and so thy fameShine bright, when thou art gone; as thou shalt tell,If courtesy and valour, as they wont,Dwell in our city, or have vanish'd clean?For one amidst us late condemn'd to wail,Borsiere, yonder walking with his peers,Grieves us no little by the news he brings.”“An upstart multitude and sudden gains,Pride and excess, O Florence! have in theeEngender'd, so that now in tears thou mourn'st!”Thus cried I with my face uprais'd, and theyAll three, who for an answer took my words,Look'd at each other, as men look when truthComes to their ear. “If thou at other times,”They all at once rejoin'd, “so easilySatisfy those, who question, happy thou,Gifted with words, so apt to speak thy thought!Wherefore if thou escape this darksome clime,Returning to behold the radiant stars,When thou with pleasure shalt retrace the past,See that of us thou speak among mankind.”This said, they broke the circle, and so swiftFled, that as pinions seem'd their nimble feet.Not in so short a time might one have said“Amen,” as they had vanish'd. Straight my guidePursu'd his track. I follow'd; and small spaceHad we pass'd onward, when the water's soundWas now so near at hand, that we had scarceHeard one another's speech for the loud din.E'en as the river, that holds on its courseUnmingled, from the mount of Vesulo,On the left side of Apennine, towardThe east, which Acquacheta higher upThey call, ere it descend into the vale,At Forli by that name no longer known,Rebellows o'er Saint Benedict, roll'd onFrom the Alpine summit down a precipice,Where space enough to lodge a thousand spreads;Thus downward from a craggy steep we found,That this dark wave resounded, roaring loud,So that the ear its clamour soon had stunn'd.I had a cord that brac'd my girdle round,Wherewith I erst had thought fast bound to takeThe painted leopard. This when I had allUnloosen'd from me (so my master bade)I gather'd up, and stretch'd it forth to him.Then to the right he turn'd, and from the brinkStanding few paces distant, cast it downInto the deep abyss. “And somewhat strange,”Thus to myself I spake, “signal so strangeBetokens, which my guide with earnest eyeThus follows.” Ah! what caution must men useWith those who look not at the deed alone,But spy into the thoughts with subtle skill!“Quickly shall come,” he said, “what I expect,Thine eye discover quickly, that whereofThy thought is dreaming.” Ever to that truth,Which but the semblance of a falsehood wears,A man, if possible, should bar his lip;Since, although blameless, he incurs reproach.But silence here were vain; and by these notesWhich now I sing, reader! I swear to thee,So may they favour find to latest times!That through the gross and murky air I spiedA shape come swimming up, that might have quell'dThe stoutest heart with wonder, in such guiseAs one returns, who hath been down to looseAn anchor grappled fast against some rock,Or to aught else that in the salt wave lies,Who upward springing close draws in his feet.

Canto XVII

“Lo! the fell monster with the deadly sting!Who passes mountains, breaks through fenced wallsAnd firm embattled spears, and with his filthTaints all the world!” Thus me my guide address'd,And beckon'd him, that he should come to shore,Near to the stony causeway's utmost edge.Forthwith that image vile of fraud appear'd,His head and upper part expos'd on land,But laid not on the shore his bestial train.His face the semblance of a just man's wore,So kind and gracious was its outward cheer;The rest was serpent all: two shaggy clawsReach'd to the armpits, and the back and breast,And either side, were painted o'er with nodesAnd orbits. Colours variegated moreNor Turks nor Tartars e'er on cloth of stateWith interchangeable embroidery wove,Nor spread Arachne o'er her curious loom.As ofttimes a light skiff, moor'd to the shore,Stands part in water, part upon the land;Or, as where dwells the greedy German boor,The beaver settles watching for his prey;So on the rim, that fenc'd the sand with rock,Sat perch'd the fiend of evil. In the voidGlancing, his tail upturn'd its venomous fork,With sting like scorpion's arm'd. Then thus my guide:“Now need our way must turn few steps apart,Far as to that ill beast, who couches there.”Thereat toward the right our downward courseWe shap'd, and, better to escape the flameAnd burning marle, ten paces on the vergeProceeded. Soon as we to him arrive,A little further on mine eye beholdsA tribe of spirits, seated on the sandNear the wide chasm. Forthwith my master spake:“That to the full thy knowledge may extendOf all this round contains, go now, and markThe mien these wear: but hold not long discourse.Till thou returnest, I with him meantimeWill parley, that to us he may vouchsafeThe aid of his strong shoulders.” Thus aloneYet forward on the extremity I pac'dOf that seventh circle, where the mournful tribeWere seated. At the eyes forth gush'd their pangs.Against the vapours and the torrid soilAlternately their shifting hands they plied.Thus use the dogs in summer still to plyTheir jaws and feet by turns, when bitten soreBy gnats, or flies, or gadflies swarming round.Noting the visages of some, who layBeneath the pelting of that dolorous fire,One of them all I knew not; but perceiv'd,That pendent from his neck each bore a pouchWith colours and with emblems various mark'd,On which it seem'd as if their eye did feed.And when amongst them looking round I came,A yellow purse I saw with azure wrought,That wore a lion's countenance and port.Then still my sight pursuing its career,Another I beheld, than blood more red.A goose display of whiter wing than curd.And one, who bore a fat and azure swinePictur'd on his white scrip, addressed me thus:“What dost thou in this deep? Go now and know,Since yet thou livest, that my neighbour hereVitaliano on my left shall sit.A Paduan with these Florentines am I.Ofttimes they thunder in mine ears, exclaiming'O haste that noble knight! he who the pouchWith the three beaks will bring!'” This said, he writh'dThe mouth, and loll'd the tongue out, like an oxThat licks his nostrils. I, lest longer stayHe ill might brook, who bade me stay not long,Backward my steps from those sad spirits turn'd.My guide already seated on the haunchOf the fierce animal I found; and thusHe me encourag'd. “Be thou stout; be bold.Down such a steep flight must we now descend!Mount thou before: for that no power the tailMay have to harm thee, I will be i' th' midst.”As one, who hath an ague fit so near,His nails already are turn'd blue, and heQuivers all o'er, if he but eye the shade;Such was my cheer at hearing of his words.But shame soon interpos'd her threat, who makesThe servant bold in presence of his lord.I settled me upon those shoulders huge,And would have said, but that the words to aidMy purpose came not, “Look thou clasp me firm!”But he whose succour then not first I prov'd,Soon as I mounted, in his arms aloft,Embracing, held me up, and thus he spake:“Geryon! now move thee! be thy wheeling gyresOf ample circuit, easy thy descent.Think on th' unusual burden thou sustain'st.”As a small vessel, back'ning out from land,Her station quits; so thence the monster loos'd,And when he felt himself at large, turn'd roundThere where the breast had been, his forked tail.Thus, like an eel, outstretch'd at length he steer'd,Gath'ring the air up with retractile claws.Not greater was the dread when PhaetonThe reins let drop at random, whence high heaven,Whereof signs yet appear, was wrapt in flames;Nor when ill-fated Icarus perceiv'd,By liquefaction of the scalded wax,The trusted pennons loosen'd from his loins,His sire exclaiming loud, “Ill way thou keep'st!”Than was my dread, when round me on each partThe air I view'd, and other object noneSave the fell beast. He slowly sailing, wheelsHis downward motion, unobserv'd of me,But that the wind, arising to my face,Breathes on me from below. Now on our rightI heard the cataract beneath us leapWith hideous crash; whence bending down to' explore,New terror I conceiv'd at the steep plunge:For flames I saw, and wailings smote mine ear:So that all trembling close I crouch'd my limbs,And then distinguish'd, unperceiv'd before,By the dread torments that on every sideDrew nearer, how our downward course we wound.As falcon, that hath long been on the wing,But lure nor bird hath seen, while in despairThe falconer cries, “Ah me! thou stoop'st to earth!”Wearied descends, and swiftly down the skyIn many an orbit wheels, then lighting sitsAt distance from his lord in angry mood;So Geryon lighting places us on footLow down at base of the deep-furrow'd rock,And, of his burden there discharg'd, forthwithSprang forward, like an arrow from the string.

Canto XVIII

There is a place within the depths of hellCall'd Malebolge, all of rock dark-stain'dWith hue ferruginous, e'en as the steepThat round it circling winds. Right in the midstOf that abominable region, yawnsA spacious gulf profound, whereof the frameDue time shall tell. The circle, that remains,Throughout its round, between the gulf and baseOf the high craggy banks, successive formsTen trenches, in its hollow bottom sunk.As where to guard the walls, full many a fossBegirds some stately castle, sure defenceAffording to the space within, so hereWere model'd these; and as like fortressesE'en from their threshold to the brink without,Are flank'd with bridges; from the rock's low baseThus flinty paths advanc'd, that 'cross the molesAnd dikes, struck onward far as to the gulf,That in one bound collected cuts them off.Such was the place, wherein we found ourselvesFrom Geryon's back dislodg'd. The bard to leftHeld on his way, and I behind him mov'd.On our right hand new misery I saw,New pains, new executioners of wrath,That swarming peopled the first chasm. BelowWere naked sinners. Hitherward they came,Meeting our faces from the middle point,With us beyond but with a larger stride.E'en thus the Romans, when the year returnsOf Jubilee, with better speed to ridThe thronging multitudes, their means deviseFor such as pass the bridge; that on one sideAll front toward the castle, and approachSaint Peter's fane, on th' other towards the mount.Each divers way along the grisly rock,Horn'd demons I beheld, with lashes huge,That on their back unmercifully smote.Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe!None for the second waited nor the third.Meantime as on I pass'd, one met my sightWhom soon as view'd; “Of him,” cried I, “not yetMine eye hath had his fill.” With fixed gazeI therefore scann'd him. Straight the teacher kindPaus'd with me, and consented I should walkBackward a space, and the tormented spirit,Who thought to hide him, bent his visage down.But it avail'd him nought; for I exclaim'd:“Thou who dost cast thy eye upon the ground,Unless thy features do belie thee much,Venedico art thou. But what brings theeInto this bitter seas'ning?” He replied:“Unwillingly I answer to thy words.But thy clear speech, that to my mind recallsThe world I once inhabited, constrains me.Know then 'twas I who led fair GhisolaTo do the Marquis' will, however fameThe shameful tale have bruited. Nor aloneBologna hither sendeth me to mournRather with us the place is so o'erthrong'dThat not so many tongues this day are taught,Betwixt the Reno and Savena's stream,To answer SIPA in their country's phrase.And if of that securer proof thou need,Remember but our craving thirst for gold.”Him speaking thus, a demon with his thongStruck, and exclaim'd, “Away! corrupter! hereWomen are none for sale.” Forthwith I join'dMy escort, and few paces thence we cameTo where a rock forth issued from the bank.That easily ascended, to the rightUpon its splinter turning, we departFrom those eternal barriers. When arriv'd,Where underneath the gaping arch lets passThe scourged souls: “Pause here,” the teacher said,“And let these others miserable, nowStrike on thy ken, faces not yet beheld,For that together they with us have walk'd.”From the old bridge we ey'd the pack, who cameFrom th' other side towards us, like the rest,Excoriate from the lash. My gentle guide,By me unquestion'd, thus his speech resum'd:“Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends,And seems too woe-begone to drop a tear.How yet the regal aspect he retains!Jason is he, whose skill and prowess wonThe ram from Colchos. To the Lemnian isleHis passage thither led him, when those boldAnd pitiless women had slain all their males.There he with tokens and fair witching wordsHypsipyle beguil'd, a virgin young,Who first had all the rest herself beguil'd.Impregnated he left her there forlorn.Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain.Here too Medea's inj'ries are avenged.All bear him company, who like deceitTo his have practis'd. And thus much to knowOf the first vale suffice thee, and of thoseWhom its keen torments urge.” Now had we comeWhere, crossing the next pier, the straighten'd pathBestrides its shoulders to another arch.Hence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts,Who jibber in low melancholy sounds,With wide-stretch'd nostrils snort, and on themselvesSmite with their palms. Upon the banks a scurfFrom the foul steam condens'd, encrusting hung,That held sharp combat with the sight and smell.So hollow is the depth, that from no part,Save on the summit of the rocky span,Could I distinguish aught. Thus far we came;And thence I saw, within the foss below,A crowd immers'd in ordure, that appear'dDraff of the human body. There beneathSearching with eye inquisitive, I mark'dOne with his head so grim'd, 'twere hard to deem,If he were clerk or layman. Loud he cried:“Why greedily thus bendest more on me,Than on these other filthy ones, thy ken?”“Because if true my mem'ry,” I replied,“I heretofore have seen thee with dry locks,And thou Alessio art of Lucca sprung.Therefore than all the rest I scan thee more.”Then beating on his brain these words he spake:“Me thus low down my flatteries have sunk,Wherewith I ne'er enough could glut my tongue.”My leader thus: “A little further stretchThy face, that thou the visage well mayst noteOf that besotted, sluttish courtezan,Who there doth rend her with defiled nails,Now crouching down, now risen on her feet.“Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lipAnswer'd her doting paramour that ask'd,'Thankest me much!' – 'Say rather wondrously,'And seeing this here satiate be our view.”

Canto XIX

Woe to thee, Simon Magus! woe to you,His wretched followers! who the things of God,Which should be wedded unto goodness, them,Rapacious as ye are, do prostituteFor gold and silver in adultery!Now must the trumpet sound for you, since yoursIs the third chasm. Upon the following vaultWe now had mounted, where the rock impendsDirectly o'er the centre of the foss.Wisdom Supreme! how wonderful the art,Which thou dost manifest in heaven, in earth,And in the evil world, how just a meedAllotting by thy virtue unto all!I saw the livid stone, throughout the sidesAnd in its bottom full of apertures,All equal in their width, and circular each,Nor ample less nor larger they appear'dThan in Saint John's fair dome of me belov'dThose fram'd to hold the pure baptismal streams,One of the which I brake, some few years past,To save a whelming infant; and be thisA seal to undeceive whoever doubtsThe motive of my deed. From out the mouthOf every one, emerg'd a sinner's feetAnd of the legs high upward as the calfThe rest beneath was hid. On either footThe soles were burning, whence the flexile jointsGlanc'd with such violent motion, as had snaptAsunder cords or twisted withs. As flame,Feeding on unctuous matter, glides alongThe surface, scarcely touching where it moves;So here, from heel to point, glided the flames.“Master! say who is he, than all the restGlancing in fiercer agony, on whomA ruddier flame doth prey?” I thus inquir'd.“If thou be willing,” he replied, “that ICarry thee down, where least the slope bank falls,He of himself shall tell thee and his wrongs.”I then: “As pleases thee to me is best.Thou art my lord; and know'st that ne'er I quitThy will: what silence hides that knowest thou.”Thereat on the fourth pier we came, we turn'd,And on our left descended to the depth,A narrow strait and perforated close.Nor from his side my leader set me down,Till to his orifice he brought, whose limbQuiv'ring express'd his pang. “Whoe'er thou art,Sad spirit! thus revers'd, and as a stakeDriv'n in the soil!” I in these words began,“If thou be able, utter forth thy voice.”There stood I like the friar, that doth shriveA wretch for murder doom'd, who e'en when fix'd,Calleth him back, whence death awhile delays.He shouted: “Ha! already standest there?Already standest there, O Boniface!By many a year the writing play'd me false.So early dost thou surfeit with the wealth,For which thou fearedst not in guile to takeThe lovely lady, and then mangle her?”I felt as those who, piercing not the driftOf answer made them, stand as if expos'dIn mockery, nor know what to reply,When Virgil thus admonish'd: “Tell him quick,I am not he, not he, whom thou believ'st.”And I, as was enjoin'd me, straight replied.That heard, the spirit all did wrench his feet,And sighing next in woeful accent spake:“What then of me requirest?” “If to knowSo much imports thee, who I am, that thouHast therefore down the bank descended, learnThat in the mighty mantle I was rob'd,And of a she-bear was indeed the son,So eager to advance my whelps, that thereMy having in my purse above I stow'd,And here myself. Under my head are dragg'dThe rest, my predecessors in the guiltOf simony. Stretch'd at their length they lieAlong an opening in the rock. 'Midst themI also low shall fall, soon as he comes,For whom I took thee, when so hastilyI question'd. But already longer timeHath pass'd, since my souls kindled, and I thusUpturn'd have stood, than is his doom to standPlanted with fiery feet. For after him,One yet of deeds more ugly shall arrive,From forth the west, a shepherd without law,Fated to cover both his form and mine.He a new Jason shall be call'd, of whomIn Maccabees we read; and favour suchAs to that priest his king indulgent show'd,Shall be of France's monarch shown to him.”I know not if I here too far presum'd,But in this strain I answer'd: “Tell me now,What treasures from St. Peter at the firstOur Lord demanded, when he put the keysInto his charge? Surely he ask'd no moreBut, Follow me! Nor Peter nor the restOr gold or silver of Matthias took,When lots were cast upon the forfeit placeOf the condemned soul. Abide thou then;Thy punishment of right is merited:And look thou well to that ill-gotten coin,Which against Charles thy hardihood inspir'd.If reverence of the keys restrain'd me not,Which thou in happier time didst hold, I yetSeverer speech might use. Your avariceO'ercasts the world with mourning, under footTreading the good, and raising bad men up.Of shepherds, like to you, th' EvangelistWas ware, when her, who sits upon the waves,With kings in filthy whoredom he beheld,She who with seven heads tower'd at her birth,And from ten horns her proof of glory drew,Long as her spouse in virtue took delight.Of gold and silver ye have made your god,Diff'ring wherein from the idolater,But he that worships one, a hundred ye?Ah, Constantine! to how much ill gave birth,Not thy conversion, but that plenteous dower,Which the first wealthy Father gain'd from thee!”Meanwhile, as thus I sung, he, whether wrathOr conscience smote him, violent upsprangSpinning on either sole. I do believeMy teacher well was pleas'd, with so compos'dA lip, he listen'd ever to the soundOf the true words I utter'd. In both armsHe caught, and to his bosom lifting meUpward retrac'd the way of his descent.Nor weary of his weight he press'd me close,Till to the summit of the rock we came,Our passage from the fourth to the fifth pier.His cherish'd burden there gently he plac'dUpon the rugged rock and steep, a pathNot easy for the clamb'ring goat to mount.Thence to my view another vale appear'd

Canto XX

And now the verse proceeds to torments new,Fit argument of this the twentieth strainOf the first song, whose awful theme recordsThe spirits whelm'd in woe. Earnest I look'dInto the depth, that open'd to my view,Moisten'd with tears of anguish, and beheldA tribe, that came along the hollow vale,In silence weeping: such their step as walkQuires chanting solemn litanies on earth.As on them more direct mine eye descends,Each wondrously seem'd to be revers'dAt the neck-bone, so that the countenanceWas from the reins averted: and becauseNone might before him look, they were compell'dTo' advance with backward gait. Thus one perhapsHath been by force of palsy clean transpos'd,But I ne'er saw it nor believe it so.Now, reader! think within thyself, so GodFruit of thy reading give thee! how I longCould keep my visage dry, when I beheldNear me our form distorted in such guise,That on the hinder parts fall'n from the faceThe tears down-streaming roll'd. Against a rockI leant and wept, so that my guide exclaim'd:“What, and art thou too witless as the rest?Here pity most doth show herself alive,When she is dead. What guilt exceedeth his,Who with Heaven's judgment in his passion strives?Raise up thy head, raise up, and see the man,Before whose eyes earth gap'd in Thebes, when allCried out, 'Amphiaraus, whither rushest?'Why leavest thou the war?' He not the lessFell ruining far as to Minos down,Whose grapple none eludes. Lo! how he makesThe breast his shoulders, and who once too farBefore him wish'd to see, now backward looks,And treads reverse his path. Tiresias note,Who semblance chang'd, when woman he becameOf male, through every limb transform'd, and thenOnce more behov'd him with his rod to strikeThe two entwining serpents, ere the plumes,That mark'd the better sex, might shoot again.“Aruns, with more his belly facing, comes.On Luni's mountains 'midst the marbles white,Where delves Carrara's hind, who wons beneath,A cavern was his dwelling, whence the starsAnd main-sea wide in boundless view he held.“The next, whose loosen'd tresses overspreadHer bosom, which thou seest not (for each hairOn that side grows) was Manto, she who search'dThrough many regions, and at length her seatFix'd in my native land, whence a short spaceMy words detain thy audience. When her sireFrom life departed, and in servitudeThe city dedicate to Bacchus mourn'd,Long time she went a wand'rer through the world.Aloft in Italy's delightful landA lake there lies, at foot of that proud Alp,That o'er the Tyrol locks Germania in,Its name Benacus, which a thousand rills,Methinks, and more, water between the valeCamonica and Garda and the heightOf Apennine remote. There is a spotAt midway of that lake, where he who bearsOf Trento's flock the past'ral staff, with himOf Brescia, and the Veronese, might eachPassing that way his benediction give.A garrison of goodly site and strongPeschiera stands, to awe with front oppos'dThe Bergamese and Brescian, whence the shoreMore slope each way descends. There, whatsoev'erBenacus' bosom holds not, tumbling o'erDown falls, and winds a river flood beneathThrough the green pastures. Soon as in his courseThe steam makes head, Benacus then no moreThey call the name, but Mincius, till at lastReaching Governo into Po he falls.Not far his course hath run, when a wide flatIt finds, which overstretchmg as a marshIt covers, pestilent in summer oft.Hence journeying, the savage maiden saw'Midst of the fen a territory wasteAnd naked of inhabitants. To shunAll human converse, here she with her slavesPlying her arts remain'd, and liv'd, and leftHer body tenantless. Thenceforth the tribes,Who round were scatter'd, gath'ring to that placeAssembled; for its strength was great, enclos'dOn all parts by the fen. On those dead bonesThey rear'd themselves a city, for her sake,Calling it Mantua, who first chose the spot,Nor ask'd another omen for the name,Wherein more numerous the people dwelt,Ere Casalodi's madness by deceitWas wrong'd of Pinamonte. If thou hearHenceforth another origin assign'dOf that my country, I forewarn thee now,That falsehood none beguile thee of the truth.”I answer'd: “Teacher, I conclude thy wordsSo certain, that all else shall be to meAs embers lacking life. But now of these,Who here proceed, instruct me, if thou seeAny that merit more especial note.For thereon is my mind alone intent.”He straight replied: “That spirit, from whose cheekThe beard sweeps o'er his shoulders brown, what timeGraecia was emptied of her males, that scarceThe cradles were supplied, the seer was heIn Aulis, who with Calchas gave the signWhen first to cut the cable. Him they nam'dEurypilus: so sings my tragic strain,In which majestic measure well thou know'st,Who know'st it all. That other, round the loinsSo slender of his shape, was Michael Scot,Practis'd in ev'ry slight of magic wile.“Guido Bonatti see: Asdente mark,Who now were willing, he had tended stillThe thread and cordwain; and too late repents.“See next the wretches, who the needle left,The shuttle and the spindle, and becameDiviners: baneful witcheries they wroughtWith images and herbs. But onward now:For now doth Cain with fork of thorns confineOn either hemisphere, touching the waveBeneath the towers of Seville. YesternightThe moon was round. Thou mayst remember well:For she good service did thee in the gloomOf the deep wood.” This said, both onward mov'd.