Innocence Once Lost - Religious Classics Collection. Джон Мильтон

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СКАЧАТЬ Cried to us from behind: "Stay ye your feet,

       Ye, who so run athwart the dusky air!

      Perhaps thou'lt have from me what thou demandest."

       Whereat the Leader turned him, and said: "Wait,

       And then according to his pace proceed."

      I stopped, and two beheld I show great haste

       Of spirit, in their faces, to be with me;

       But the burden and the narrow way delayed them.

      When they came up, long with an eye askance

       They scanned me without uttering a word.

       Then to each other turned, and said together:

      "He by the action of his throat seems living;

       And if they dead are, by what privilege

       Go they uncovered by the heavy stole?"

      Then said to me: "Tuscan, who to the college

       Of miserable hypocrites art come,

       Do not disdain to tell us who thou art."

      And I to them: "Born was I, and grew up

       In the great town on the fair river of Arno,

       And with the body am I've always had.

      But who are ye, in whom there trickles down

       Along your cheeks such grief as I behold?

       And what pain is upon you, that so sparkles?"

      And one replied to me: "These orange cloaks

       Are made of lead so heavy, that the weights

       Cause in this way their balances to creak.

      Frati Gaudenti were we, and Bolognese;

       I Catalano, and he Loderingo

       Named, and together taken by thy city,

      As the wont is to take one man alone,

       For maintenance of its peace; and we were such

       That still it is apparent round Gardingo."

      "O Friars," began I, "your iniquitous. . ."

       But said no more; for to mine eyes there rushed

       One crucified with three stakes on the ground.

      When me he saw, he writhed himself all over,

       Blowing into his beard with suspirations;

       And the Friar Catalan, who noticed this,

      Said to me: "This transfixed one, whom thou seest,

       Counselled the Pharisees that it was meet

       To put one man to torture for the people.

      Crosswise and naked is he on the path,

       As thou perceivest; and he needs must feel,

       Whoever passes, first how much he weighs;

      And in like mode his father-in-law is punished

       Within this moat, and the others of the council,

       Which for the Jews was a malignant seed."

      And thereupon I saw Virgilius marvel

       O'er him who was extended on the cross

       So vilely in eternal banishment.

      Then he directed to the Friar this voice:

       "Be not displeased, if granted thee, to tell us

       If to the right hand any pass slope down

      By which we two may issue forth from here,

       Without constraining some of the black angels

       To come and extricate us from this deep."

      Then he made answer: "Nearer than thou hopest

       There is a rock, that forth from the great circle

       Proceeds, and crosses all the cruel valleys,

      Save that at this 'tis broken, and does not bridge it;

       You will be able to mount up the ruin,

       That sidelong slopes and at the bottom rises."

      The Leader stood awhile with head bowed down;

       Then said: "The business badly he recounted

       Who grapples with his hook the sinners yonder."

      And the Friar: "Many of the Devil's vices

       Once heard I at Bologna, and among them,

       That he's a liar and the father of lies."

      Thereat my Leader with great strides went on,

       Somewhat disturbed with anger in his looks;

       Whence from the heavy-laden I departed

      After the prints of his beloved feet.

      Canto XXIV. The Seventh Bolgia: Thieves. Vanni Fucci. Serpents.

       Table of Contents

      In that part of the youthful year wherein

       The Sun his locks beneath Aquarius tempers,

       And now the nights draw near to half the day,

      What time the hoar-frost copies on the ground

       The outward semblance of her sister white,

       But little lasts the temper of her pen,

      The husbandman, whose forage faileth him,

       Rises, and looks, and seeth the champaign

       All gleaming white, whereat he beats his flank,

      Returns in doors, and up and down laments,

       Like a poor wretch, who knows not what to do;

       Then he returns and hope revives again,

      Seeing the world has changed its countenance

       In little time, and takes his shepherd's crook,

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