Those legs of thine at joustings of the Toppo!" And then, perchance because his breath was failing. Behind them was the forest full of black She-mastiffs, ravenous, and swift of foot As greyhounds, who are issuing from the chain. On him who had crouched down they set their teeth, And him they lacerated piece by piece, Thereafter bore away those aching members. Thereat my Escort took me by the hand, And led me to the bush, that all in vain "O Jacopo," it said, "of Sant' Andrea, What helped it thee of me to make a screen? When near him had the Master stayed his steps, 123 13 He said: "Who wast thou, that through wounds so many And he to us: "O souls, that hither come I of that city was which to the Baptist Forever with his art will make it sad. And were it not that on the pass of Arno Those citizens, who afterwards rebuilt it Upon the ashes left by Attila, In vain had caused their labour to be done. Of my own house I made myself a gibbet." 140 143 CANTO XIV. BECAUSE the charity of my native place Constrained me, gathered I the scattered leaves, The second round is from the third, and where Clearly to manifest these novel things, The dolorous forest is a garland to it All round about, as the sad moat to that; There close upon the edge we stayed our feet. The soil was of an arid and thick sand, Not of another fashion made than that Which by the feet of Cato once was pressed. Who all were weeping very miserably, Those who were going round were far the more, And those were less who lay down to their torment, But had their tongues more loosed to lamentation. O'er all the sand-waste, with a gradual fall, Were raining down dilated flakes of fire, As of the snow on Alp without a wind. As Alexander, in those torrid parts Of India, beheld upon his host Flames fall unbroken till they reached the ground, Whence he provided with his phalanxes To trample down the soil, because the vapour Better extinguished was while it was single; Thus was descending the eternal heat, Whereby the sand was set on fire, like tinder Beneath the steel, for doubling of the dole. Without repose forever was the dance Of miserable hands, now there, now here, All things except the demons dire, that issued That I was questioning my Guide about him, And if he wearied out by turns the others And shot his bolts at me with all his might, Saying: "One of the Seven Kings was he God in disdain, and little seems to prize him; Whose redness makes my hair still stand on end. As from the Bulicamë springs the brooklet, The sinful women later share among them, The bottom of it, and both sloping banks, Were made of stone, and the margins at the side; "In all the rest which I have shown to thee Since we have entered in within the gate Nothing has been discovered by thine eyes Which all the little flames above it quenches." These words were of my Leader; whence I prayed him That he would give me largess of the food, "In the mid-sea there sits a wasted land," Said he thereafterward, "whose name is Crete, There is a mountain there, that once was glad With waters and with leaves, which was called Ida; Rhea once chose it for the faithful cradle Of her own son; and to conceal him better, Who holds his shoulders turned tow'rds Damietta, And of pure silver are the arms and breast; Save that the right foot is of kiln-baked clay, And more he stands on that than on the other. Each part, except the gold, is by a fissure Asunder cleft, that dripping is with tears, Which gathered together perforate that cavern. From rock to rock they fall into this valley; Acheron, Styx, and Phlegethon they form ; Then downward go along this narrow sluice Unto that point where is no more descending. They form Cocytus; what that pool may be Doth take its rise in this way from our world, Lethe and Phlegethon, for of one thou'rt silent, There where the souls repair to lave themselves, Then said he: "It is time now to abandon The wood; take heed that thou come after me; A way the margins make that are not burning, And over them all vapours are extinguished." CANTO XV. Now bears us onward one of the hard margins, To guard their villas and their villages, Whoever he might be, the master made them. I could not have discovered where it was, And so towards us sharpened they their brows Thus scrutinised by such a family, By some one I was recognised, who scized My garment's hem, and cried out, "What a marvel !" On his baked aspect fastened so mine eyes, His recognition by my intellect; And bowing down my face unto his own, I made reply, "Are you here, Ser Brunetto?" Backward return and let the trail go on." A moment stops, lies then a hundred years, ४ 30 23 |