THE DIVINE COMEDY: Inferno, Purgatorio & Paradiso (3 Classic Translations in One Edition). Dante Alighieri
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СКАЧАТЬ 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 to 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 resum'd; "So may he do for thee

       Freely what thou entreatest, as thou yet

       Be pleas'd, 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 breath'd hard, and the wind soon

       Chang'd 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 farther speech, when us

       A noise surpris'd, 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!"

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

       Exclaiming, "Lano! not so bent for speed

       Thy sinews, in the lists of Toppo's field."

       And then, for that perchance no longer breath

       Suffic'd 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 slipp'd the leash.

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

       And having rent him piecemeal bore away

       The tortur'd limbs. My guide then seiz'd my hand,

       And led me to the thicket, which in vain

       Mourn'd through its bleeding wounds: "O Giacomo

       Of Sant' Andrea! 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 paus'd, my master spake:

       "Say who wast thou, that at so many points

       Breath'st out with blood thy lamentable speech?"

       He answer'd: "Oh, ye spirits: arriv'd in time

       To spy the shameful havoc, that from me

       My leaves hath sever'd thus, gather them up,

       And at the foot of their sad parent-tree

       Carefully lay them. In that city' I dwelt,

       Who for the Baptist her first patron chang'd,

       Whence he for this shall cease not with his art

       To work her woe: and if there still remain'd not

       On Arno's passage some faint glimpse of him,

       Those citizens, who rear'd once more her walls

       Upon the ashes left by Attila,

       Had labour'd without profit of their toil.

       I slung the fatal noose from my own roof."

       SOON as the charity of native land

       Wrought in my bosom, I the scatter'd leaves

       Collected, and to him restor'd, who now

       Was hoarse with utt'rance. To the limit thence

       We came, which from the third the second round

       Divides, and where of justice is display'd

       СКАЧАТЬ