Harvard Classics Volume 20. Golden Deer Classics

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СКАЧАТЬ for this wrong to do thee some amends,

      In the upper world (for thither to return

      Is granted him) thy fame he may revive.”

      “That pleasant word of thine,” the trunk replied,

      “Hath so inveigled me, that I from speech

      Cannot refrain, wherein if I indulge

      A little longer, in the snare detain’d,

      Count it not grievous. I it was,^[94] who held

      Both keys to Frederick’s heart, and turn’d the wards,

      Opening and shutting, with a skill so sweet,

      That besides me, into his inmost breast

      Scarce any other could admittance find.

      The faith I bore to my high charge was such,

      It cost me the life-blood that warm’d my veins.

      The harlot, who ne’er turn’d her gloating eyes

      From Cæsar’s household, common vice and pest

      Of courts, ’gainst me inflamed the minds of all;

      And to Augustus they so spread the flame,

      That my glad honours changed to bitter woes.

      My soul, disdainful and disgusted, sought

      Refuge in death from scorn, and I became,

      Just as I was, unjust toward myself.

      By the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear,

      That never faith I broke my liege lord,

      Who merited such honour; and of you,

      If any to the world indeed return,

      Clear he from wrong my memory, that lies

      Yet prostrate under envy’s cruel blow.”

      First somewhat pausing, till the mournful words

      Were ended, then to me the bard began:

      “Lose not the time; but speak, and of him ask,

      If more thou wish to learn.” Whence I replied:

      “Question thou him again of whatsoe’er

      Will, as thou think’st, content me; for no power

      Have I to ask, such pity is at my heart.”

      He thus resumed: “So may he do for thee

      Freely what thou entreatest, as thou yet

      Be pleased, imprison’d spirit! to declare,

      How in these gnarled joints the soul is tied;

      And whether any ever from such frame

      Be loosen’d, if thou canst, that also tell.”

      Thereat the trunk breathed hard, and the wind soon

      Changed into sounds articulate like these:

      “Briefly ye shall be answer’d. When departs

      The fierce soul from the body, by itself

      Thence torn asunder, to the seventh gulf

      By Minos doom’d, into the wood it falls,

      No place assign’d, but wheresoever chance

      Hurls it; there sprouting, as a grain of spelt,

      It rises to a sapling, growing thence

      A savage plant. The harpies, on its leaves

      Then feeding, cause both pain, and for the pain

      A vent to grief. We, as the rest, shall come

      For our own spoils, yet not so that with them

      We may again be clad; for what a man

      Takes from himself it is not just he have.

      Here we perforce shall drag them; and throughout

      The dismal glade our bodies shall be hung,

      Each on the wild thorn of his wretched shade.”

      Attentive yet to listen to the trunk

      We stood, expecting further speech, when us

      A noise surprised; as when a man perceives

      The wild boar and the hunt approach his place

      Of station’d watch, who of the beasts and boughs

      Loud rustling round him hears. And lo! there came

      Two naked, torn with briers, in headlong flight,

      That they before them broke each fan o’ th’ wood.

      “Haste now,” the foremost cried, “now haste thee, death!”

      The other, as seem’d, impatient of delay,

      Exclaiming, “Lano!^[95] not so bent for speed

      Thy sinews, in the lists of Toppo’s field.”

      And then, for that perchance no longer breath

      Sufficed him, of himself and of a bush

      One group he made. Behind them was the wood

      Full of black female mastiffs, gaunt and fleet,

      As greyhounds that have newly slipt the leash.

      On him, who squatted down, they stuck their fangs,

      And having rent him piecemeal bore away

      The tortured limbs. My guide then seized my hand,

      And led me to the thicket, which in vain

      Mourn’d through its bleeding wounds: “O Giacomo

      Of Sant’ Andrea!^[96] what avails it thee,”

      It cried, “that of me thou hast made thy screen?

      For thy ill life, what blame on me recoils?

      When o’er it he had paused, my master spake:

      “Say СКАЧАТЬ