THE DIVINE COMEDY: Inferno, Purgatorio & Paradiso (3 Classic Translations in One Edition). Dante Alighieri
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СКАЧАТЬ Wonder not, Tuscan, if thou see me weep,

       When I recall to mind those once lov'd names,

       Guido of Prata, and of Azzo him

       That dwelt with you; Tignoso and his troop,

       With Traversaro's house and Anastagio's,

       (Each race disherited) and beside these,

       The ladies and the knights, the toils and ease,

       That witch'd us into love and courtesy;

       Where now such malice reigns in recreant hearts.

       O Brettinoro! wherefore tarriest still,

       Since forth of thee thy family hath gone,

       And many, hating evil, join'd their steps?

       Well doeth he, that bids his lineage cease,

       Bagnacavallo; Castracaro ill,

       And Conio worse, who care to propagate

       A race of Counties from such blood as theirs.

       Well shall ye also do, Pagani, then

       When from amongst you tries your demon child.

       Not so, howe'er, that henceforth there remain

       True proof of what ye were. O Hugolin!

       Thou sprung of Fantolini's line! thy name

       Is safe, since none is look'd for after thee

       To cloud its lustre, warping from thy stock.

       But, Tuscan, go thy ways; for now I take

       Far more delight in weeping than in words.

       Such pity for your sakes hath wrung my heart."

       We knew those gentle spirits at parting heard

       Our steps. Their silence therefore of our way

       Assur'd us. Soon as we had quitted them,

       Advancing onward, lo! a voice that seem'd

       Like vollied light'ning, when it rives the air,

       Met us, and shouted, "Whosoever finds

       Will slay me," then fled from us, as the bolt

       Lanc'd sudden from a downward-rushing cloud.

       When it had giv'n short truce unto our hearing,

       Behold the other with a crash as loud

       As the quick-following thunder: "Mark in me

       Aglauros turn'd to rock." I at the sound

       Retreating drew more closely to my guide.

       Now in mute stillness rested all the air:

       And thus he spake: "There was the galling bit.

       But your old enemy so baits his hook,

       He drags you eager to him. Hence nor curb

       Avails you, nor reclaiming call. Heav'n calls

       And round about you wheeling courts your gaze

       With everlasting beauties. Yet your eye

       Turns with fond doting still upon the earth.

       Therefore He smites you who discerneth all."

       As much as 'twixt the third hour's close and dawn,

       Appeareth of heav'n's sphere, that ever whirls

       As restless as an infant in his play,

       So much appear'd remaining to the sun

       Of his slope journey towards the western goal.

       Evening was there, and here the noon of night;

       and full upon our forehead smote the beams.

       For round the mountain, circling, so our path

       Had led us, that toward the sun-set now

       Direct we journey'd: when I felt a weight

       Of more exceeding splendour, than before,

       Press on my front. The cause unknown, amaze

       Possess'd me, and both hands against my brow

       Lifting, I interpos'd them, as a screen,

       That of its gorgeous superflux of light

       Clipp'd the diminish'd orb. As when the ray,

       Striking On water or the surface clear

       Of mirror, leaps unto the opposite part,

       Ascending at a glance, e'en as it fell,

       (And so much differs from the stone, that falls)

       Through equal space, as practice skill hath shown;

       Thus with refracted light before me seemed

       The ground there smitten; whence in sudden haste

       My sight recoil'd. "What is this, sire belov'd!

       'Gainst which I strive to shield the sight in vain?"

       Cried I, "and which towards us moving seems?"

       "Marvel not, if the family of heav'n,"

       He answer'd, "yet with dazzling radiance dim

       Thy sense it is a messenger who comes,

       Inviting man's ascent. Such sights ere long,

       Not grievous, shall impart to thee delight,

       As thy perception is by nature wrought

       Up to their pitch." The blessed angel, soon

       As we had reach'd him, hail'd us with glad voice:

       "Here enter on a ladder far less steep

       Than ye have yet encounter'd." We forthwith

       Ascending, heard behind us chanted sweet,

       "Blessed the merciful," and "happy thou!

       That conquer'st." Lonely each, my guide and I

       Pursued our upward way; and as we went,

       Some profit СКАЧАТЬ