Harvard Classics Volume 20. Golden Deer Classics

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СКАЧАТЬ underneath my feet, to weight like theirs

      Unused. I pondering went, and thus he spake:

      “Perhaps thy thoughts are of this ruin’d steep,

      Guarded by the brute violence, which I

      Have vanguish’d now. Know then, that when I erst

      Hither descended to the nether Hell,

      This rock was not yet fallen. But past doubt,

      (If well I mark) not long ere He arrived,^[86]

      Who carried off from Dis the mighty spoil

      Of the highest circle, then through all its bounds

      Such trembling seized the deep concave and foul,

      I thought the universe was thrill’d with love,

      Whereby, there are who deem, the world hath oft

      Been into chaos turn’d: and in that point,

      Here, and elsewhere, that old rock toppled down.

      But fix thine eyes beneath: the river of blood

      Approaches, in the which all those are steep’d,

      Who have by violence injured.” O blind lust!

      O foolish wrath! who so dost goad us on

      In the brief like, and in the eternal then

      Thus miserably o’erwhelm us. I beheld

      An ample foss, that in a bow was bent,

      As circling all the plain; for so my guide

      Had told. Between it and the rampart’s base,

      On trail ran Centaurs, with keen arrows arm’d,

      As to the chase they on the earth were wont.

      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 journey’d. 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 Deïanira died,

      And wrought himself revenge^[87] or his own fate.

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

      Is the great Chiron who Achilles nursed;

      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 induced

      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 tread 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 moved,

      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

      Immersed, 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 clustering hangs,

      Is Azzolino;^[88] that with flaxen locks

      Obizzo^[89] of Este, in the world destroy’d

      By his foul step-son.” To the bard revered

      I turn’d me round, and thus he spake: “Let him

      Be СКАЧАТЬ