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mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheer’d,

      Into that secret place he led me on.

      Here sighs with lamentations and loud moans

      Resounded through the air pierc’d by no star,

      That e’en I wept at entering. Various tongues,

      Horrible languages, outcries of woe,

      Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse,

      With hands together smote that swell’d the sounds,

      Made up a tumult, that for ever whirls

      Round through that air with solid darkness stain’d,

      Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.

      I then, with error yet encompass’d, cried:

      “O master! What is this I hear? What race

      Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?”

      He thus to me: “This miserable fate

      Suffer the wretched souls of those, who liv’d

      Without or praise or blame, with that ill band

      Of angels mix’d, who nor rebellious prov’d

      Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves

      Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth,

      Not to impair his lustre, nor the depth

      Of Hell receives them, lest th’ accursed tribe

      Should glory thence with exultation vain.”

      I then: “Master! what doth aggrieve them thus,

      That they lament so loud?” He straight replied:

      “That will I tell thee briefly. These of death

      No hope may entertain: and their blind life

      So meanly passes, that all other lots

      They envy. Fame of them the world hath none,

      Nor suffers; mercy and justice scorn them both.

      Speak not of them, but look, and pass them by.”

      And I, who straightway look’d, beheld a flag,

      Which whirling ran around so rapidly,

      That it no pause obtain’d: and following came

      Such a long train of spirits, I should ne’er

      Have thought, that death so many had despoil’d.

      When some of these I recogniz’d, I saw

And knew the shade of him, who to base fear2

      Yielding, abjur’d his high estate. Forthwith

      I understood for certain this the tribe

      Of those ill spirits both to God displeasing

      And to his foes. These wretches, who ne’er lived,

      Went on in nakedness, and sorely stung

      By wasps and hornets, which bedew’d their cheeks

      With blood, that mix’d with tears dropp’d to their feet,

      And by disgustful worms was gather’d there.

      Then looking farther onwards I beheld

      A throng upon the shore of a great stream:

      Whereat I thus: “Sir! grant me now to know

      Whom here we view, and whence impell’d they seem

      So eager to pass o’er, as I discern

      Through the blear light?” He thus to me in few:

      “This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arrive

      Beside the woeful tide of Acheron.”

      Then with eyes downward cast and fill’d with shame,

      Fearing my words offensive to his ear,

      Till we had reach’d the river, I from speech

      Abstain’d. And lo! toward us in a bark

      Comes on an old man hoary white with eld,

      Crying, “Woe to you wicked spirits! hope not

      Ever to see the sky again. I come

      To take you to the other shore across,

      Into eternal darkness, there to dwell

      In fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who there

      Standest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leave

      These who are dead.” But soon as he beheld

      I left them not, “By other way,” said he,

      “By other haven shalt thou come to shore,

      Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boat

      Must carry.” Then to him thus spake my guide:

      “Charon! thyself torment not: so ’t is will’d,

      Where will and power are one: ask thou no more.”

      Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeks

      Of him the boatman o’er the livid lake,

      Around whose eyes glar’d wheeling flames. Meanwhile

      Those spirits, faint and naked, color chang’d,

      And gnash’d their teeth, soon as the cruel words

      They heard. God and their parents they blasphem’d,

      The human kind, the place, the time, and seed

      That did engender them and give them birth.

      Then all together sorely wailing drew

      To the curs’d strand, that every man must pass

      Who fears not God. Charon, demoniac form,

      With eyes of burning coal, collects them all,

      Beck’ning, and each, that lingers, with his oar

      Strikes. As fall off the light autumnal leaves,

      One still another following, till the bough

      Strews all its honours on the earth beneath;

      E’en in like manner Adam’s evil brood

      Cast themselves one by one down from the shore,

Each at a beck, as falcon at his call.3

      Thus go they over through the umber’d wave,

      And ever they on the opposing bank

      Be landed, on this side another throng

      Still gathers. “Son,” thus spake the courteous guide,

      “Those, who die subject to the wrath of God,

      All here together come from every clime,

      And to o’erpass the river are not loth:

      For so heaven’s justice goads them on, that fear

      Is

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