LITMIR.BIZ

      The present fray had turn'd my thoughts to muse

      Upon old Aesop's fable, where he told

      What fate unto the mouse and frog befell.

      For language hath not sounds more like in sense,

      Than are these chances, if the origin

      And end of each be heedfully compar'd.

      And as one thought bursts from another forth,

      So afterward from that another sprang,

      Which added doubly to my former fear.

      For thus I reason'd: “These through us have been

      So foil'd, with loss and mock'ry so complete,

      As needs must sting them sore. If anger then

      Be to their evil will conjoin'd, more fell

      They shall pursue us, than the savage hound

      Snatches the leveret, panting 'twixt his jaws.”

      Already I perceiv'd my hair stand all

      On end with terror, and look'd eager back.

      “Teacher,” I thus began, “if speedily

      Thyself and me thou hide not, much I dread

      Those evil talons. Even now behind

      They urge us: quick imagination works

      So forcibly, that I already feel them.”

      He answer'd: “Were I form'd of leaded glass,

      I should not sooner draw unto myself

      Thy outward image, than I now imprint

      That from within. This moment came thy thoughts

      Presented before mine, with similar act

      And count'nance similar, so that from both

      I one design have fram'd. If the right coast

      Incline so much, that we may thence descend

      Into the other chasm, we shall escape

      Secure from this imagined pursuit.”

      He had not spoke his purpose to the end,

      When I from far beheld them with spread wings

      Approach to take us. Suddenly my guide

      Caught me, ev'n as a mother that from sleep

      Is by the noise arous'd, and near her sees

      The climbing fires, who snatches up her babe

      And flies ne'er pausing, careful more of him

      Than of herself, that but a single vest

      Clings round her limbs. Down from the jutting beach

      Supine he cast him, to that pendent rock,

      Which closes on one part the other chasm.

      Never ran water with such hurrying pace

      Adown the tube to turn a landmill's wheel,

      When nearest it approaches to the spokes,

      As then along that edge my master ran,

      Carrying me in his bosom, as a child,

      Not a companion. Scarcely had his feet

      Reach'd to the lowest of the bed beneath,

      When over us the steep they reach'd; but fear

      In him was none; for that high Providence,

      Which plac'd them ministers of the fifth foss,

      Power of departing thence took from them all.

      There in the depth we saw a painted tribe,

      Who pac'd with tardy steps around, and wept,

      Faint in appearance and o'ercome with toil.

      Caps had they on, with hoods, that fell low down

      Before their eyes, in fashion like to those

      Worn by the monks in Cologne. Their outside

      Was overlaid with gold, dazzling to view,

      But leaden all within, and of such weight,

      That Frederick's compar'd to these were straw.

      Oh, everlasting wearisome attire!

      We yet once more with them together turn'd

      To leftward, on their dismal moan intent.

      But by the weight oppress'd, so slowly came

      The fainting people, that our company

      Was chang'd at every movement of the step.

      Whence I my guide address'd: “See that thou find

      Some spirit, whose name may by his deeds be known,

      And to that end look round thee as thou go'st.”

      Then one, who understood the Tuscan voice,

      Cried after us aloud: “Hold in your feet,

      Ye who so swiftly speed through the dusk air.

      Perchance from me thou shalt obtain thy wish.”

      Whereat my leader, turning, me bespake:

      “Pause, and then onward at their pace proceed.”

      I staid, and saw two Spirits in whose look

      Impatient eagerness of mind was mark'd

      To overtake me; but the load they bare

      And narrow path retarded their approach.

      Soon as arriv'd, they with an eye askance

      Perus'd me, but spake not: then turning each

      To other thus conferring said: “This one

      Seems, by the action of his throat, alive.

      And, be they dead, what privilege allows

      They walk unmantled by the cumbrous stole?”

      Then thus to me: “Tuscan, who visitest

      The college of the mourning hypocrites,

      Disdain not to instruct us who thou art.”

      “By Arno's pleasant stream,” I thus replied,

      “In the great city I was bred and grew,

      And wear the body I have ever worn.

      but who are ye, from whom such mighty grief,

      As now I witness, courseth down your cheeks?

      What torment breaks forth in this bitter woe?”

      “Our bonnets gleaming bright with orange hue,”

      One of them answer'd, “are so leaden gross,

      That with their weight they make the balances

      To crack beneath them. Joyous friars we were,

      Bologna's natives, Catalano I,

      He Loderingo nam'd, and by thy land

      Together taken, as men used to take

      A single and indifferent arbiter,

      To reconcile their strifes. How there we sped,

      Gardingo's vicinage can best declare.”

      “O friars!” I began, “your miseries – ”

      But there brake off, for one had caught my eye,

      Fix'd to a cross with three stakes on the ground:

      He,

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