The Divine Comedy (Illustrated Edition). Dante Alighieri

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      “My guide! of thee this also would I learn;

      This fortune, that thou speak’st of, what it is,

      Whose talons grasp the blessings of the world?”

      He thus: “O beings blind! what ignorance

      Besets you? Now my judgment hear and mark.

      He, whose transcendent wisdom passes all,

      The heavens creating, gave them ruling powers

      To guide them, so that each part shines to each,

      Their light in equal distribution pour’d.

      By similar appointment he ordain’d

      Over the world’s bright images to rule.

      Superintendence of a guiding hand

      And general minister, which at due time

      May change the empty vantages of life

      From race to race, from one to other’s blood,

      Beyond prevention of man’s wisest care:

      Wherefore one nation rises into sway,

      Another languishes, e’en as her will

      Decrees, from us conceal’d, as in the grass

      The serpent train. Against her nought avails

      Your utmost wisdom. She with foresight plans,

      Judges, and carries on her reign, as theirs

      The other powers divine. Her changes know

      Nore intermission: by necessity

      She is made swift, so frequent come who claim

      Succession in her favours. This is she,

      So execrated e’en by those, whose debt

      To her is rather praise; they wrongfully

      With blame requite her, and with evil word;

      But she is blessed, and for that recks not:

      Amidst the other primal beings glad

      Rolls on her sphere, and in her bliss exults.

      Now on our way pass we, to heavier woe

      Descending: for each star is falling now,

      That mounted at our entrance, and forbids

      Too long our tarrying.” We the circle cross’d

      To the next steep, arriving at a well,

      That boiling pours itself down to a foss

      Sluic’d from its source. Far murkier was the wave

      Than sablest grain: and we in company

      Of the’ inky waters, journeying by their side,

      Enter’d, though by a different track, beneath.

      Into a lake, the Stygian nam’d, expands

      The dismal stream, when it hath reach’d the foot

      Of the grey wither’d cliffs. Intent I stood

      To gaze, and in the marish sunk descried

      A miry tribe, all naked, and with looks

      Betok’ning rage. They with their hands alone

      Struck not, but with the head, the breast, the feet,

      Cutting each other piecemeal with their fangs.