Джон Мильтон

Innocence Once Lost - Religious Classics Collection


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ancient beeves;

       Many of life, himself of praise, deprives.

      Blood-stained he issues from the dismal forest;

       He leaves it such, a thousand years from now

       In its primeval state 'tis not re-wooded."

      As at the announcement of impending ills

       The face of him who listens is disturbed,

       From whate'er side the peril seize upon him;

      So I beheld that other soul, which stood

       Turned round to listen, grow disturbed and sad,

       When it had gathered to itself the word.

      The speech of one and aspect of the other

       Had me desirous made to know their names,

       And question mixed with prayers I made thereof,

      Whereat the spirit which first spake to me

       Began again: "Thou wishest I should bring me

       To do for thee what thou'lt not do for me;

      But since God willeth that in thee shine forth

       Such grace of his, I'll not be chary with thee;

       Know, then, that I Guido del Duca am.

      My blood was so with envy set on fire,

       That if I had beheld a man make merry,

       Thou wouldst have seen me sprinkled o'er with pallor.

      From my own sowing such the straw I reap!

       O human race! why dost thou set thy heart

       Where interdict of partnership must be?

      This is Renier; this is the boast and honour

       Of the house of Calboli, where no one since

       Has made himself the heir of his desert.

      And not alone his blood is made devoid,

       'Twixt Po and mount, and sea-shore and the Reno,

       Of good required for truth and for diversion;

      For all within these boundaries is full

       Of venomous roots, so that too tardily

       By cultivation now would they diminish.

      Where is good Lizio, and Arrigo Manardi,

       Pier Traversaro, and Guido di Carpigna,

       O Romagnuoli into bastards turned?

      When in Bologna will a Fabbro rise?

       When in Faenza a Bernardin di Fosco,

       The noble scion of ignoble seed?

      Be not astonished, Tuscan, if I weep,

       When I remember, with Guido da Prata,

       Ugolin d' Azzo, who was living with us,

      Frederick Tignoso and his company,

       The house of Traversara, and th' Anastagi,

       And one race and the other is extinct;

      The dames and cavaliers, the toils and ease

       That filled our souls with love and courtesy,

       There where the hearts have so malicious grown!

      O Brettinoro! why dost thou not flee,

       Seeing that all thy family is gone,

       And many people, not to be corrupted?

      Bagnacaval does well in not begetting

       And ill does Castrocaro, and Conio worse,

       In taking trouble to beget such Counts.

      Will do well the Pagani, when their Devil

       Shall have departed; but not therefore pure

       Will testimony of them e'er remain.

      O Ugolin de' Fantoli, secure

       Thy name is, since no longer is awaited

       One who, degenerating, can obscure it!

      But go now, Tuscan, for it now delights me

       To weep far better than it does to speak,

       So much has our discourse my mind distressed."

      We were aware that those beloved souls

       Heard us depart; therefore, by keeping silent,

       They made us of our pathway confident.

      When we became alone by going onward,

       Thunder, when it doth cleave the air, appeared

       A voice, that counter to us came, exclaiming:

      "Shall slay me whosoever findeth me!"

       And fled as the reverberation dies

       If suddenly the cloud asunder bursts.

      As soon as hearing had a truce from this,

       Behold another, with so great a crash,

       That it resembled thunderings following fast:

      "I am Aglaurus, who became a stone!"

       And then, to press myself close to the Poet,

       I backward, and not forward, took a step.

      Already on all sides the air was quiet;

       And said he to me: "That was the hard curb

       That ought to hold a man within his bounds;

      But you take in the bait so that the hook

       Of the old Adversary draws you to him,

       And hence availeth little curb or call.

      The heavens are calling you, and wheel around you,

       Displaying to you their eternal beauties,

       And still your eye is looking on the ground;

      Whence He, who all discerns, chastises you."

      XV. The Third Circle: The Irascible. Dante's Visions. The Smoke.

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      As much as 'twixt the close of the third hour

       And dawn of day appeareth of that sphere

       Which aye in fashion of a child is playing,

      So much it now appeared, towards the night,

       Was of his course remaining to the sun;

       There it was evening, and 'twas midnight here;

      And the rays smote the middle of our faces,

       Because by us the mount was so encircled,

       That straight towards the west we now were going

      When I perceived my forehead overpowered

       Beneath the splendour far more than at first,

       And stupor were to me the things unknown,

      Whereat towards the summit of my brow

       I raised my hands, and made myself the visor

       Which the excessive glare diminishes.

      As when from off the water, or a mirror,

       The sunbeam leaps unto the opposite side,

       Ascending upward in the selfsame measure

      That it descends, and deviates as far

       From falling of a stone in line direct,

       (As demonstrate experiment and art,)

      So it appeared to me that by a light

       Refracted there