Classic Poem

CANTO VIII.

Argument.

The two Poets, in the bark of Phlegyas, cross the Styx, and approach the city of Dis.

N OW I narrate, continuing my lay,
That ere unto the lofty tower we came,
Our eyes unto its topmost height did stray;
For there we saw two glimmering lamps of flame,
And then a third the signal did return,
Which from long distance pale and weak became.
Now to that sea of knowledge did I turn,
And said: " What thing is this? and how replies
Yon other fire? and who doth make it burn? "
And thus he answer'd me: " This should thine eyes
Perceive, were they not hinder'd by the dark
Foul vapours from the filthy marsh that rise. "
Never so swiftly arrow to the mark
Flew from the cord, impell'd through thinnest air,
As here I saw advance a slender bark
Across the waters dim; and it did bear
Only one mariner, who cried amain:
" At last, O wicked spirit, thou art here! "
" O Phlegyas, Phlegyas, this time all in vain
Thy cry, " my Leader said; " of us no more,
When thou hast borne us o'er the slime, thou'lt gain. "
As one who lists to some deception sore,
That hath been done to him, in anger sad,
Such was the sullen aspect Phlegyas wore.
My guide went down into the bark and bade
That I should follow him; and only now,
With me it seem'd as though some freight it had.
And when we there were placed, that ancient prow,
Cutting the dark and dismal waters, fled;
But more than wont, upon the waves lay low.
The while across the sullen lake we sped,
A form arose from out the filthy tide,
And, " Who art thou who comest here? " it said
And I: " Not long within thy realm I bide;
But who art thou, that in such mire dost dwell? "
" Thou look'st on one who mourneth, " he replied.
And I to him: " With tears and sorrow fell,
Accursid spirit, aye mayst thou remain!
Although thou art so foul, I know thee well. "
Then both his hands toward us did he strain;
But my good Master push'd him back, and spake:
" Unto thy fellows get thee hence amain! "
Then Virgil threw his arms around my neck,
And kiss'd me, saying: " Righteous is thy wrath,
And she who bore thee blessid for thy sake!
In life he walk'd in proud disdainful path;
No worthy deeds his memory do adorn;
Thus here his furious Shade sad dwelling hath
How many who have kingly sceptres borne
On earth, shall here, as swine within the sty,
Dwell in this filthy marsh, and sorely mourn! "
I answer'd thus: " Good Master, joyfully
I would behold him plunged beneath the mire,
Ere we unto the solid shore draw nigh. "
And he to me: " What thou dost now require
Shall be, before thine eye can reach the banks;
'Tis well thou shouldst attain thy just desire. "
And soon I saw him, mid the filthy ranks
Of those foul beings, handled sore, I ween;
Whereof to God I still give praise and thanks.
They cried: " To Philip Argent! " with fierce mien:
Then tore he his own flesh; and fain had fled
The spirit of that angry Florentine.
Leave we him here, nor more by me be said;
But yet I heard a cry of anguish rude,
Although, intent, mine eye had onward sped.
" Behold! my son, " thus spake my Master good,
" Unto the walls of Dis thou drawest nigh,
Where sadly dwell a mighty multitude. "
And I: " My Master, now its turrets high
Plainly within yon valley I discern,
As though of flame were their vermilion dye. "
And then he said to me: " The fire etern,
That burns within them, sheds a crimson glow,
Which thou perceivest in this lower bourne. "
At last, the moat that guards the land of woe
We had attain'd; and all its haughty pride
Of walls a front of solid steel did show.
Onward we sail'd, in many a circuit wide,
Until our pilot stay'd his bark; and there,
" Now come ye forth; behold the gate, " he cried.
More than a thousand on the walls there were
Of those erst hurl'd from Heaven; and fierce they said:
" Now who is this, that ere his death may dare
To journey through the kingdom of the dead? "
Then my wise Master sign'd that he would fain
Speak with them secretly. Whereat they stay'd
In some small measure this their proud disdain,
And said: " Come thou alone; let him begone,
Who is so bold to enter where we reign.
On his mad path let him return alone,
If, sooth, he knoweth how; and 'bide thou here,
Who through the shadowy land the way hast shown "
Reader, thou well mayst picture my sad fear,
At their accürsid words; for never more
I hoped to see the summer sunlight clear.
" O Leader well-beloved, who erst me bore
Through sevenfold dangers safely, and by whom
My steps have pass'd along this perilous shore,
Leave me not here to such a dreadful doom, "
I said; " together (if our course be stay'd),
Seek we again our traces mid the gloom. "
And he who hither had my footsteps led
Replied: " Nay, fear not; none have power to stay
Our going; One, more great, our way hath sped.
But wait me here; and on thy spirit lay
This comfort of good hope to give thee cheer,
Ne'er will I leave thee on thy darksome way. "
Thus he departed; and in doubt and fear,
Left by my gentle father did I bide;
For yes and no alternate did appear
Unto my weary brain. And undescried
By me his speech; but little in that place
He stay'd, till with contention they replied.
And then the gates before my Master's face
Our adversaries closed; and thus repell'd,
He turn'd again to me with tardy pace
His eyes were bent on earth; and I beheld
No boldness on his forehead, as with sighs
He said: " Now who the entrance hath withheld
Unto the house of woe? " Then on this wise
To me he spake: " Fear not, though on my brow
Be anger; I shall daunt their scornful guise.
No new thing is this daring that they show;
They used it at less secret gate, of yore,
Which, to this day, nor lock nor bar doth know.
Erst hast thou seen inscribed above that door,
The characters of death. But now draws nigh
One, all unguided, from a distant shore,
To force the bars wherewith to hinder us they try. "