The Divine Comedy - 08

Though at my head thou pluck a thousand times.”
Now I had grasp’d his tresses, and stript off
More than one tuft, he barking, with his eyes
Drawn in and downward, when another cried,
“What ails thee, Bocca? Sound not loud enough
Thy chatt’ring teeth, but thou must bark outright?
“What devil wrings thee?”—“Now,” said I, “be dumb,
Accursed traitor! to thy shame of thee
True tidings will I bear.”—“Off,” he replied,
“Tell what thou list; but as thou escape from hence
To speak of him whose tongue hath been so glib,
Forget not: here he wails the Frenchman’s gold.
‘Him of Duera,’ thou canst say, ‘I mark’d,
Where the starv’d sinners pine.’ If thou be ask’d
What other shade was with them, at thy side
Is Beccaria, whose red gorge distain’d
The biting axe of Florence. Farther on,
If I misdeem not, Soldanieri bides,
With Ganellon, and Tribaldello, him
Who op’d Faenza when the people slept.”
We now had left him, passing on our way,
When I beheld two spirits by the ice
Pent in one hollow, that the head of one
Was cowl unto the other; and as bread
Is raven’d up through hunger, th’ uppermost
Did so apply his fangs to th’ other’s brain,
Where the spine joins it. Not more furiously
On Menalippus’ temples Tydeus gnaw’d,
Than on that skull and on its garbage he.
“O thou who show’st so beastly sign of hate
’Gainst him thou prey’st on, let me hear,” said I
“The cause, on such condition, that if right
Warrant thy grievance, knowing who ye are,
And what the colour of his sinning was,
I may repay thee in the world above,
If that wherewith I speak be moist so long.”


CANTO XXXIII

His jaws uplifting from their fell repast,
That sinner wip’d them on the hairs o’ th’ head,
Which he behind had mangled, then began:
“Thy will obeying, I call up afresh
Sorrow past cure, which but to think of wrings
My heart, or ere I tell on’t. But if words,
That I may utter, shall prove seed to bear
Fruit of eternal infamy to him,
The traitor whom I gnaw at, thou at once
Shalt see me speak and weep. Who thou mayst be
I know not, nor how here below art come:
But Florentine thou seemest of a truth,
When I do hear thee. Know I was on earth
Count Ugolino, and th’ Archbishop he
Ruggieri. Why I neighbour him so close,
Now list. That through effect of his ill thoughts
In him my trust reposing, I was ta’en
And after murder’d, need is not I tell.
What therefore thou canst not have heard, that is,
How cruel was the murder, shalt thou hear,
And know if he have wrong’d me. A small grate
Within that mew, which for my sake the name
Of famine bears, where others yet must pine,
Already through its opening sev’ral moons
Had shown me, when I slept the evil sleep,
That from the future tore the curtain off.
This one, methought, as master of the sport,
Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf and his whelps
Unto the mountain, which forbids the sight
Of Lucca to the Pisan. With lean brachs
Inquisitive and keen, before him rang’d
Lanfranchi with Sismondi and Gualandi.
After short course the father and the sons
Seem’d tir’d and lagging, and methought I saw
The sharp tusks gore their sides. When I awoke
Before the dawn, amid their sleep I heard
My sons (for they were with me) weep and ask
For bread. Right cruel art thou, if no pang
Thou feel at thinking what my heart foretold;
And if not now, why use thy tears to flow?
Now had they waken’d; and the hour drew near
When they were wont to bring us food; the mind
Of each misgave him through his dream, and I
Heard, at its outlet underneath lock’d up
The horrible tower: whence uttering not a word
I look’d upon the visage of my sons.
I wept not: so all stone I felt within.
They wept: and one, my little Anslem, cried:
‘Thou lookest so! Father what ails thee?’ Yet
I shed no tear, nor answer’d all that day
Nor the next night, until another sun
Came out upon the world. When a faint beam
Had to our doleful prison made its way,
And in four countenances I descry’d
The image of my own, on either hand
Through agony I bit, and they who thought
I did it through desire of feeding, rose
O’ th’ sudden, and cried, ‘Father, we should grieve
Far less, if thou wouldst eat of us: thou gav’st
These weeds of miserable flesh we wear,
And do thou strip them off from us again.’
Then, not to make them sadder, I kept down
My spirit in stillness. That day and the next
We all were silent. Ah, obdurate earth!
Why open’dst not upon us? When we came
To the fourth day, then Geddo at my feet
Outstretch’d did fling him, crying, ‘Hast no help
For me, my father!’ There he died, and e’en
Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three
Fall one by one ’twixt the fifth day and sixth:
Whence I betook me now grown blind to grope
Over them all, and for three days aloud
Call’d on them who were dead. Then fasting got
The mastery of grief.” Thus having spoke,
Once more upon the wretched skull his teeth
He fasten’d, like a mastiff’s ’gainst the bone
Firm and unyielding. Oh thou Pisa! shame
Of all the people, who their dwelling make
In that fair region, where th’ Italian voice
Is heard, since that thy neighbours are so slack
To punish, from their deep foundations rise
Capraia and Gorgona, and dam up
The mouth of Arno, that each soul in thee
May perish in the waters! What if fame
Reported that thy castles were betray’d
By Ugolino, yet no right hadst thou
To stretch his children on the rack. For them,
Brigata, Ugaccione, and the pair
Of gentle ones, of whom my song hath told,
Their tender years, thou modern Thebes! did make
Uncapable of guilt. Onward we pass’d,
Where others skarf’d in rugged folds of ice
Not on their feet were turn’d, but each revers’d.
There very weeping suffers not to weep;
For at their eyes grief seeking passage finds
Impediment, and rolling inward turns
For increase of sharp anguish: the first tears
Hang cluster’d, and like crystal vizors show,
Under the socket brimming all the cup.
Now though the cold had from my face dislodg’d
Each feeling, as ’t were callous, yet me seem’d
Some breath of wind I felt. “Whence cometh this,”
Said I, “my master? Is not here below
All vapour quench’d?”—“‘Thou shalt be speedily,”
He answer’d, “where thine eye shall tell thee whence
The cause descrying of this airy shower.”
Then cried out one in the chill crust who mourn’d:
“O souls so cruel! that the farthest post
Hath been assign’d you, from this face remove
The harden’d veil, that I may vent the grief
Impregnate at my heart, some little space
Ere it congeal again!” I thus replied:
“Say who thou wast, if thou wouldst have mine aid;
And if I extricate thee not, far down
As to the lowest ice may I descend!”
“The friar Alberigo,” answered he,
“Am I, who from the evil garden pluck’d
Its fruitage, and am here repaid, the date
More luscious for my fig.”—“Hah!” I exclaim’d,
“Art thou too dead!”—“How in the world aloft
It fareth with my body,” answer’d he,
“I am right ignorant. Such privilege
Hath Ptolomea, that ofttimes the soul
Drops hither, ere by Atropos divorc’d.
And that thou mayst wipe out more willingly
The glazed tear-drops that o’erlay mine eyes,
Know that the soul, that moment she betrays,
As I did, yields her body to a fiend
Who after moves and governs it at will,
Till all its time be rounded; headlong she
Falls to this cistern. And perchance above
Doth yet appear the body of a ghost,
Who here behind me winters. Him thou know’st,
If thou but newly art arriv’d below.
The years are many that have pass’d away,
Since to this fastness Branca Doria came.”
“Now,” answer’d I, “methinks thou mockest me,
For Branca Doria never yet hath died,
But doth all natural functions of a man,
Eats, drinks, and sleeps, and putteth raiment on.”
He thus: “Not yet unto that upper foss
By th’ evil talons guarded, where the pitch
Tenacious boils, had Michael Zanche reach’d,
When this one left a demon in his stead
In his own body, and of one his kin,
Who with him treachery wrought. But now put forth
Thy hand, and ope mine eyes.” I op’d them not.
Ill manners were best courtesy to him.
Ah Genoese! men perverse in every way,
With every foulness stain’d, why from the earth
Are ye not cancel’d? Such an one of yours
I with Romagna’s darkest spirit found,
As for his doings even now in soul
Is in Cocytus plung’d, and yet doth seem
In body still alive upon the earth.


CANTO XXXIV

“The banners of Hell’s Monarch do come forth
Towards us; therefore look,” so spake my guide,
“If thou discern him.” As, when breathes a cloud
Heavy and dense, or when the shades of night
Fall on our hemisphere, seems view’d from far
A windmill, which the blast stirs briskly round,
Such was the fabric then methought I saw,
To shield me from the wind, forthwith I drew
Behind my guide: no covert else was there.
Now came I (and with fear I bid my strain
Record the marvel) where the souls were all
Whelm’d underneath, transparent, as through glass
Pellucid the frail stem. Some prone were laid,
Others stood upright, this upon the soles,
That on his head, a third with face to feet
Arch’d like a bow. When to the point we came,
Whereat my guide was pleas’d that I should see
The creature eminent in beauty once,
He from before me stepp’d and made me pause.
“Lo!” he exclaim’d, “lo Dis! and lo the place,
Where thou hast need to arm thy heart with strength.”
How frozen and how faint I then became,
Ask me not, reader! for I write it not,
Since words would fail to tell thee of my state.
I was not dead nor living. Think thyself
If quick conception work in thee at all,
How I did feel. That emperor, who sways
The realm of sorrow, at mid breast from th’ ice
Stood forth; and I in stature am more like
A giant, than the giants are in his arms.
Mark now how great that whole must be, which suits
With such a part. If he were beautiful
As he is hideous now, and yet did dare
To scowl upon his Maker, well from him
May all our mis’ry flow. Oh what a sight!
How passing strange it seem’d, when I did spy
Upon his head three faces: one in front
Of hue vermilion, th’ other two with this
Midway each shoulder join’d and at the crest;
The right ’twixt wan and yellow seem’d: the left
To look on, such as come from whence old Nile
Stoops to the lowlands. Under each shot forth
Two mighty wings, enormous as became
A bird so vast. Sails never such I saw
Outstretch’d on the wide sea. No plumes had they,
But were in texture like a bat, and these
He flapp’d i’ th’ air, that from him issued still
Three winds, wherewith Cocytus to its depth
Was frozen. At six eyes he wept: the tears
Adown three chins distill’d with bloody foam.
At every mouth his teeth a sinner champ’d
Bruis’d as with pond’rous engine, so that three
Were in this guise tormented. But far more
Than from that gnawing, was the foremost pang’d
By the fierce rending, whence ofttimes the back
Was stript of all its skin. “That upper spirit,
Who hath worse punishment,” so spake my guide,
“Is Judas, he that hath his head within
And plies the feet without. Of th’ other two,
Whose heads are under, from the murky jaw
Who hangs, is Brutus: lo! how he doth writhe
And speaks not! Th’ other Cassius, that appears
So large of limb. But night now re-ascends,
And it is time for parting. All is seen.”
I clipp’d him round the neck, for so he bade;
And noting time and place, he, when the wings
Enough were op’d, caught fast the shaggy sides,
And down from pile to pile descending stepp’d
Between the thick fell and the jagged ice.
Soon as he reach’d the point, whereat the thigh
Upon the swelling of the haunches turns,
My leader there with pain and struggling hard
Turn’d round his head, where his feet stood before,
And grappled at the fell, as one who mounts,
That into hell methought we turn’d again.
“Expect that by such stairs as these,” thus spake
The teacher, panting like a man forespent,
“We must depart from evil so extreme.”
Then at a rocky opening issued forth,
And plac’d me on a brink to sit, next join’d
With wary step my side. I rais’d mine eyes,
Believing that I Lucifer should see
Where he was lately left, but saw him now
With legs held upward. Let the grosser sort,
Who see not what the point was I had pass’d,
Bethink them if sore toil oppress’d me then.
“Arise,” my master cried, “upon thy feet.
The way is long, and much uncouth the road;
And now within one hour and half of noon
The sun returns.” It was no palace-hall
Lofty and luminous wherein we stood,
But natural dungeon where ill footing was
And scant supply of light. “Ere from th’ abyss
I sep’rate,” thus when risen I began,
“My guide! vouchsafe few words to set me free
From error’s thralldom. Where is now the ice?
How standeth he in posture thus revers’d?
And how from eve to morn in space so brief
Hath the sun made his transit?” He in few
Thus answering spake: “Thou deemest thou art still
On th’ other side the centre, where I grasp’d
Th’ abhorred worm, that boreth through the world.
Thou wast on th’ other side, so long as I
Descended; when I turn’d, thou didst o’erpass
That point, to which from ev’ry part is dragg’d
All heavy substance. Thou art now arriv’d
Under the hemisphere opposed to that,
Which the great continent doth overspread,
And underneath whose canopy expir’d
The Man, that was born sinless, and so liv’d.
Thy feet are planted on the smallest sphere,
Whose other aspect is Judecca. Morn
Here rises, when there evening sets: and he,
Whose shaggy pile was scal’d, yet standeth fix’d,
As at the first. On this part he fell down
From heav’n; and th’ earth, here prominent before,
Through fear of him did veil her with the sea,
And to our hemisphere retir’d. Perchance
To shun him was the vacant space left here
By what of firm land on this side appears,
That sprang aloof.” There is a place beneath,
From Belzebub as distant, as extends
The vaulted tomb, discover’d not by sight,
But by the sound of brooklet, that descends
This way along the hollow of a rock,
Which, as it winds with no precipitous course,
The wave hath eaten. By that hidden way
My guide and I did enter, to return
To the fair world: and heedless of repose
We climbed, he first, I following his steps,
Till on our view the beautiful lights of heav’n
Dawn’d through a circular opening in the cave:
Thus issuing we again beheld the stars.


PURGATORY


CANTO I

O’er better waves to speed her rapid course
The light bark of my genius lifts the sail,
Well pleas’d to leave so cruel sea behind;
And of that second region will I sing,
In which the human spirit from sinful blot
Is purg’d, and for ascent to Heaven prepares.
Here, O ye hallow’d Nine! for in your train
I follow, here the deadened strain revive;
Nor let Calliope refuse to sound
A somewhat higher song, of that loud tone,
Which when the wretched birds of chattering note
Had heard, they of forgiveness lost all hope.
Sweet hue of eastern sapphire, that was spread
O’er the serene aspect of the pure air,
High up as the first circle, to mine eyes
Unwonted joy renew’d, soon as I ’scap’d
Forth from the atmosphere of deadly gloom,
That had mine eyes and bosom fill’d with grief.
The radiant planet, that to love invites,
Made all the orient laugh, and veil’d beneath
The Pisces’ light, that in his escort came.
To the right hand I turn’d, and fix’d my mind
On the’ other pole attentive, where I saw
Four stars ne’er seen before save by the ken
Of our first parents. Heaven of their rays
Seem’d joyous. O thou northern site, bereft
Indeed, and widow’d, since of these depriv’d!
As from this view I had desisted, straight
Turning a little tow’rds the other pole,
There from whence now the wain had disappear’d,
I saw an old man standing by my side
Alone, so worthy of rev’rence in his look,
That ne’er from son to father more was ow’d.
Low down his beard and mix’d with hoary white
Descended, like his locks, which parting fell
Upon his breast in double fold. The beams
Of those four luminaries on his face
So brightly shone, and with such radiance clear
Deck’d it, that I beheld him as the sun.
“Say who are ye, that stemming the blind stream,
Forth from th’ eternal prison-house have fled?”
He spoke and moved those venerable plumes.
“Who hath conducted, or with lantern sure
Lights you emerging from the depth of night,
That makes the infernal valley ever black?
Are the firm statutes of the dread abyss
Broken, or in high heaven new laws ordain’d,
That thus, condemn’d, ye to my caves approach?”
My guide, then laying hold on me, by words
And intimations given with hand and head,
Made my bent knees and eye submissive pay
Due reverence; then thus to him replied.
“Not of myself I come; a Dame from heaven
Descending, had besought me in my charge
To bring. But since thy will implies, that more
Our true condition I unfold at large,
Mine is not to deny thee thy request.
This mortal ne’er hath seen the farthest gloom.
But erring by his folly had approach’d
So near, that little space was left to turn.
Then, as before I told, I was dispatch’d
To work his rescue, and no way remain’d
Save this which I have ta’en. I have display’d
Before him all the regions of the bad;
And purpose now those spirits to display,
That under thy command are purg’d from sin.
How I have brought him would be long to say.
From high descends the virtue, by whose aid
I to thy sight and hearing him have led.
Now may our coming please thee. In the search
Of liberty he journeys: that how dear
They know, who for her sake have life refus’d.
Thou knowest, to whom death for her was sweet
In Utica, where thou didst leave those weeds,
That in the last great day will shine so bright.
For us the’ eternal edicts are unmov’d:
He breathes, and I am free of Minos’ power,
Abiding in that circle where the eyes
Of thy chaste Marcia beam, who still in look
Prays thee, O hallow’d spirit! to own her shine.
Then by her love we’ implore thee, let us pass
Through thy sev’n regions; for which best thanks
I for thy favour will to her return,
If mention there below thou not disdain.”
“Marcia so pleasing in my sight was found,”
He then to him rejoin’d, “while I was there,
That all she ask’d me I was fain to grant.
Now that beyond the’ accursed stream she dwells,
She may no longer move me, by that law,
Which was ordain’d me, when I issued thence.
Not so, if Dame from heaven, as thou sayst,
Moves and directs thee; then no flattery needs.
Enough for me that in her name thou ask.
Go therefore now: and with a slender reed
See that thou duly gird him, and his face
Lave, till all sordid stain thou wipe from thence.
For not with eye, by any cloud obscur’d,
Would it be seemly before him to come,
Who stands the foremost minister in heaven.
This islet all around, there far beneath,
Where the wave beats it, on the oozy bed
Produces store of reeds. No other plant,
Cover’d with leaves, or harden’d in its stalk,
There lives, not bending to the water’s sway.
After, this way return not; but the sun
Will show you, that now rises, where to take
The mountain in its easiest ascent.”
He disappear’d; and I myself uprais’d
Speechless, and to my guide retiring close,
Toward him turn’d mine eyes. He thus began;
“My son! observant thou my steps pursue.
We must retreat to rearward, for that way
The champain to its low extreme declines.”
The dawn had chas’d the matin hour of prime,
Which deaf before it, so that from afar
I spy’d the trembling of the ocean stream.
We travers’d the deserted plain, as one
Who, wander’d from his track, thinks every step
Trodden in vain till he regain the path.
When we had come, where yet the tender dew
Strove with the sun, and in a place, where fresh
The wind breath’d o’er it, while it slowly dried;
Both hands extended on the watery grass
My master plac’d, in graceful act and kind.
Whence I of his intent before appriz’d,
Stretch’d out to him my cheeks suffus’d with tears.
There to my visage he anew restor’d
That hue, which the dun shades of hell conceal’d.
Then on the solitary shore arriv’d,
That never sailing on its waters saw
Man, that could after measure back his course,
He girt me in such manner as had pleas’d
Him who instructed, and O, strange to tell!
As he selected every humble plant,
Wherever one was pluck’d, another there
Resembling, straightway in its place arose.


CANTO II

Now had the sun to that horizon reach’d,
That covers, with the most exalted point
Of its meridian circle, Salem’s walls,
And night, that opposite to him her orb
Sounds, from the stream of Ganges issued forth,
Holding the scales, that from her hands are dropp’d
When she reigns highest: so that where I was,
Aurora’s white and vermeil-tinctur’d cheek
To orange turn’d as she in age increas’d.
Meanwhile we linger’d by the water’s brink,
Like men, who, musing on their road, in thought
Journey, while motionless the body rests.
When lo! as near upon the hour of dawn,
Through the thick vapours Mars with fiery beam
Glares down in west, over the ocean floor;
So seem’d, what once again I hope to view,
A light so swiftly coming through the sea,
No winged course might equal its career.
From which when for a space I had withdrawn
Thine eyes, to make inquiry of my guide,
Again I look’d and saw it grown in size
And brightness: thou on either side appear’d
Something, but what I knew not of bright hue,
And by degrees from underneath it came
Another. My preceptor silent yet
Stood, while the brightness, that we first discern’d,
Open’d the form of wings: then when he knew
The pilot, cried aloud, “Down, down; bend low
Thy knees; behold God’s angel: fold thy hands:
Now shalt thou see true Ministers indeed.”
Lo how all human means he sets at naught!
So that nor oar he needs, nor other sail
Except his wings, between such distant shores.
Lo how straight up to heaven he holds them rear’d,
Winnowing the air with those eternal plumes,
That not like mortal hairs fall off or change!”
As more and more toward us came, more bright
Appear’d the bird of God, nor could the eye
Endure his splendor near: I mine bent down.
He drove ashore in a small bark so swift
And light, that in its course no wave it drank.
The heav’nly steersman at the prow was seen,
Visibly written blessed in his looks.
Within a hundred spirits and more there sat.
“In Exitu Israel de Aegypto;”
All with one voice together sang, with what
In the remainder of that hymn is writ.
Then soon as with the sign of holy cross
He bless’d them, they at once leap’d out on land,
The swiftly as he came return’d. The crew,
There left, appear’d astounded with the place,
Gazing around as one who sees new sights.
From every side the sun darted his beams,
And with his arrowy radiance from mid heav’n
Had chas’d the Capricorn, when that strange tribe
Lifting their eyes towards us: “If ye know,
Declare what path will Lead us to the mount.”
Them Virgil answer’d. “Ye suppose perchance
Us well acquainted with this place: but here,
We, as yourselves, are strangers. Not long erst
We came, before you but a little space,
By other road so rough and hard, that now
The’ ascent will seem to us as play.” The spirits,
Who from my breathing had perceiv’d I liv’d,
Grew pale with wonder. As the multitude
Flock round a herald, sent with olive branch,
To hear what news he brings, and in their haste
Tread one another down, e’en so at sight
Of me those happy spirits were fix’d, each one
Forgetful of its errand, to depart,
Where cleans’d from sin, it might be made all fair.
Then one I saw darting before the rest
With such fond ardour to embrace me, I
To do the like was mov’d. O shadows vain
Except in outward semblance! thrice my hands
I clasp’d behind it, they as oft return’d
Empty into my breast again. Surprise
I needs must think was painted in my looks,
For that the shadow smil’d and backward drew.
To follow it I hasten’d, but with voice
Of sweetness it enjoin’d me to desist.
Then who it was I knew, and pray’d of it,
To talk with me, it would a little pause.
It answered: “Thee as in my mortal frame
I lov’d, so loos’d forth it I love thee still,
And therefore pause; but why walkest thou here?”
“Not without purpose once more to return,
Thou find’st me, my Casella, where I am
Journeying this way;” I said, “but how of thee
Hath so much time been lost?” He answer’d straight:
“No outrage hath been done to me, if he
Who when and whom he chooses takes, me oft
This passage hath denied, since of just will
His will he makes. These three months past indeed,
He, whose chose to enter, with free leave
Hath taken; whence I wand’ring by the shore
Where Tyber’s wave grows salt, of him gain’d kind
Admittance, at that river’s mouth, tow’rd which
His wings are pointed, for there always throng
All such as not to Archeron descend.”
Then I: “If new laws have not quite destroy’d
Memory and use of that sweet song of love,
That while all my cares had power to ’swage;
Please thee with it a little to console
My spirit, that incumber’d with its frame,
Travelling so far, of pain is overcome.”
“Love that discourses in my thoughts.” He then
Began in such soft accents, that within
The sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guide
And all who came with him, so well were pleas’d,
That seem’d naught else might in their thoughts have room.
Fast fix’d in mute attention to his notes
We stood, when lo! that old man venerable
Exclaiming, “How is this, ye tardy spirits?
What negligence detains you loit’ring here?
Run to the mountain to cast off those scales,
That from your eyes the sight of God conceal.”
As a wild flock of pigeons, to their food
Collected, blade or tares, without their pride
Accustom’d, and in still and quiet sort,
If aught alarm them, suddenly desert
Their meal, assail’d by more important care;
So I that new-come troop beheld, the song
Deserting, hasten to the mountain’s side,
As one who goes yet where he tends knows not.
Nor with less hurried step did we depart.


CANTO III

Them sudden flight had scatter’d over the plain,
Turn’d tow’rds the mountain, whither reason’s voice
Drives us; I to my faithful company
Adhering, left it not. For how of him
Depriv’d, might I have sped, or who beside
Would o’er the mountainous tract have led my steps
He with the bitter pang of self-remorse
Seem’d smitten. O clear conscience and upright
How doth a little fling wound thee sore!
Soon as his feet desisted (slack’ning pace),
From haste, that mars all decency of act,
My mind, that in itself before was wrapt,
Its thoughts expanded, as with joy restor’d:
And full against the steep ascent I set
My face, where highest to heav’n its top o’erflows.
The sun, that flar’d behind, with ruddy beam
Before my form was broken; for in me
His rays resistance met. I turn’d aside
With fear of being left, when I beheld
Only before myself the ground obscur’d.
When thus my solace, turning him around,
Bespake me kindly: “Why distrustest thou?
Believ’st not I am with thee, thy sure guide?
It now is evening there, where buried lies
The body, in which I cast a shade, remov’d
To Naples from Brundusium’s wall. Nor thou
Marvel, if before me no shadow fall,
More than that in the sky element
One ray obstructs not other. To endure
Torments of heat and cold extreme, like frames
That virtue hath dispos’d, which how it works
Wills not to us should be reveal’d. Insane
Who hopes, our reason may that space explore,
Which holds three persons in one substance knit.
Seek not the wherefore, race of human kind;