CANTO VII

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       After their courteous greetings joyfully

       Sev'n times exchang'd, Sordello backward drew

       Exclaiming, "Who are ye?" "Before this mount

       By spirits worthy of ascent to God

       Was sought, my bones had by Octavius' care

       Been buried. I am Virgil, for no sin

       Depriv'd of heav'n, except for lack of faith."

       So answer'd him in few my gentle guide.

       As one, who aught before him suddenly

       Beholding, whence his wonder riseth, cries

       "It is yet is not," wav'ring in belief;

       Such he appear'd; then downward bent his eyes,

       And drawing near with reverential step,

       Caught him, where of mean estate might clasp

       His lord. "Glory of Latium!" he exclaim'd,

       "In whom our tongue its utmost power display'd!

       Boast of my honor'd birth-place! what desert

       Of mine, what favour rather undeserv'd,

       Shows thee to me? If I to hear that voice

       Am worthy, say if from below thou com'st

       And from what cloister's pale?"—"Through every orb

       Of that sad region," he reply'd, "thus far

       Am I arriv'd, by heav'nly influence led

       And with such aid I come. There is a place

       There underneath, not made by torments sad,

       But by dun shades alone; where mourning's voice

       Sounds not of anguish sharp, but breathes in sighs."