Harvard Classics Volume 20. Golden Deer Classics. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Golden Deer Classics
Издательство: Bookwire
Серия: Harvard Classics
Жанр произведения: Языкознание
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isbn: 9782377932573
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weeping piteously, to different laws

      Subjected; for on the earth some lay supine,

      Some crouching close were seated, others paced

      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 vapor was extinguish’d, while alone:

      So fell the eternal fiery flood, wherewith

      The marle 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 overcomest,

      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 immatured?”

      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 he weary out,

      At their black smithy laboring by turns,

      In Mongibello, while he cries aloud,

      ‘Help, help, good Mulciber!’ as erst he cried

      In the Phlegræan 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 raised

      Than I before had heard him: “Capaneus!

      Thou art more punish’d, in that this thy pride

      Lives yet unquench’d: no torment, 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 naught.

      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,[99] 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 perceived our passage lay.

      “Of all that I have shown thee, since that gate

      We enter’d first, whose threshold is to none

      Denied, naught 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 given me appetite to know,

      The food he too would give, that hunger craved.

      “In midst of ocean,” forthwith he began,

      “A desolate country lies, which Crete is named;

      Under whose monarch, in old times, the world

      Lived 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 toward Damiata; and at Rome,

      As in his mirror, looks. Of finest gold

      His head is shaped, 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

      Shalt see it) I here give thee no account.”

      Then I to him: “If from our world this sluice

      Be thus derived; 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 past, 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 inquired: “Where flow the streams

      Of Phlegethon and Lethe? for of one

      Thou