LITMIR.BIZ

      At seeing us descend they each one stood;

      And issuing from the troop, three sped with bows

      And missile weapons chosen first; of whom

      One cried from far: “Say to what pain ye come

      Condemn'd, who down this steep have journied? Speak

      From whence ye stand, or else the bow I draw.”

      To whom my guide: “Our answer shall be made

      To Chiron, there, when nearer him we come.

      Ill was thy mind, thus ever quick and rash.”

      Then me he touch'd, and spake: “Nessus is this,

      Who for the fair Deianira died,

      And wrought himself revenge for his own fate.

      He in the midst, that on his breast looks down,

      Is the great Chiron who Achilles nurs'd;

      That other Pholus, prone to wrath.” Around

      The foss these go by thousands, aiming shafts

      At whatsoever spirit dares emerge

      From out the blood, more than his guilt allows.

      We to those beasts, that rapid strode along,

      Drew near, when Chiron took an arrow forth,

      And with the notch push'd back his shaggy beard

      To the cheek-bone, then his great mouth to view

      Exposing, to his fellows thus exclaim'd:

      “Are ye aware, that he who comes behind

      Moves what he touches? The feet of the dead

      Are not so wont.” My trusty guide, who now

      Stood near his breast, where the two natures join,

      Thus made reply: “He is indeed alive,

      And solitary so must needs by me

      Be shown the gloomy vale, thereto induc'd

      By strict necessity, not by delight.

      She left her joyful harpings in the sky,

      Who this new office to my care consign'd.

      He is no robber, no dark spirit I.

      But by that virtue, which empowers my step

      To treat so wild a path, grant us, I pray,

      One of thy band, whom we may trust secure,

      Who to the ford may lead us, and convey

      Across, him mounted on his back; for he

      Is not a spirit that may walk the air.”

      Then on his right breast turning, Chiron thus

      To Nessus spake: “Return, and be their guide.

      And if ye chance to cross another troop,

      Command them keep aloof.” Onward we mov'd,

      The faithful escort by our side, along

      The border of the crimson-seething flood,

      Whence from those steep'd within loud shrieks arose.

      Some there I mark'd, as high as to their brow

      Immers'd, of whom the mighty Centaur thus:

      “These are the souls of tyrants, who were given

      To blood and rapine. Here they wail aloud

      Their merciless wrongs. Here Alexander dwells,

      And Dionysius fell, who many a year

      Of woe wrought for fair Sicily. That brow

      Whereon the hair so jetty clust'ring hangs,

      Is Azzolino; that with flaxen locks

      Obizzo' of Este, in the world destroy'd

      By his foul step-son.” To the bard rever'd

      I turned me round, and thus he spake; “Let him

      Be to thee now first leader, me but next

      To him in rank.” Then farther on a space

      The Centaur paus'd, near some, who at the throat

      Were extant from the wave; and showing us

      A spirit by itself apart retir'd,

      Exclaim'd: “He in God's bosom smote the heart,

      Which yet is honour'd on the bank of Thames.”

      A race I next espied, who held the head,

      And even all the bust above the stream.

      'Midst these I many a face remember'd well.

      Thus shallow more and more the blood became,

      So that at last it but imbru'd the feet;

      And there our passage lay athwart the foss.

      “As ever on this side the boiling wave

      Thou seest diminishing,” the Centaur said,

      “So on the other, be thou well assur'd,

      It lower still and lower sinks its bed,

      Till in that part it reuniting join,

      Where 't is the lot of tyranny to mourn.

      There Heav'n's stern justice lays chastising hand

      On Attila, who was the scourge of earth,

      On Sextus, and on Pyrrhus, and extracts

      Tears ever by the seething flood unlock'd

      From the Rinieri, of Corneto this,

      Pazzo the other nam'd, who fill'd the ways

      With violence and war.” This said, he turn'd,

      And quitting us, alone repass'd the ford.