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Then said another: “Ah, be that desire

Fulfilled that draws thee to the lofty mountain,

As thou with pious pity aidest mine.
I was of Montefeltro, and am Buonconte;

Giovanna, nor none other cares for me ;

Hence among these I go with downcast front.” And I to him : “What violence or what chance

Led thee astray so far from Campaldino,

That never has thy sepulture been known ?” “Oh,” he replied, “at Casentino's foot

A river crosses named Archiano, born

Above the Hermitage in Apennine. There where the name thereof becometh void

Did I arrive, pierced through and through the throat,

Fleeing on foot, and bloodying the plain ; There my sight lost I, and my utterance

100 Ceased in the name of Mary, and thereat

I fell, and tenantless my flesh remained. Truth will I speak, repeat it to the living ;

God's Angel took me up, and he of hell

Shouted : “O thou from heaven, why dost thou rob me? 105 Thou bearest away the eternal part of him,

For one poor little tear, that takes him from me;

But with the rest I'll deal in other fashion !! Well knowest thou how in the air is gathered

That humid vapour which to water turns,

Soon as it rises where the cold doth grasp it. He joined that evil will, which aye seeks evil,

To intellect, and moved the mist and wind

By means of power, which his own nature gave; Thereafter, when the day was spent, the valley

From Pratomagno to the great yoke covered

With fog, and made the heaven above intent, So that the pregnant air to water changed ;

Down fell the rain, and to the gullies came

Whate'er of it earth tolerated not;
And as it mingled with the mighty torrents,

Towards the royal river with such speed

It headlong rushed, that nothing held it back. My frozen body near unto its outlet

The robust Archian found, and into Arno

Thrust it, and loosened from my breast the cross
I made of me, when agony o'ercame me;

It rolled me on the banks and on the bottom;
Then with its booty covered and begirt me.”

“ Ah, when thou hast returned unto the world,

And rested thee from thy long journeying,"

After the second followed the third spirit, “Do thou remember me who am the Pia;

Siena made me, unmade me Maremma;

He knoweth it, who had encircled first, Espousing me, my finger with his gem.”

CANTO VI.

IC

WHENE’Er is broken up the game of Zara,

He who has lost remains behind despondent,

The throws repeating, and in sadness learns; The people with the other ail depart;

One goes in front, and one behind doth pluck him,

And at his side one brings himself to mind; He pauses not, and this and that one hears ;

They crowd no more to whom his hand he stretches,

And from the throng he thus defends himself. Even such was I in that dense multitude,

Turning to them this way and that my face,

And, promising, I freed myself therefrom. There was the Aretine, who from the arms

Untamed of Ghin di Tacco had his death,

And he who fleeing from pursuit was drowned. There was imploring with his hands outstretched

Frederick Novello, and that one of Pisa

Who made the good Marzucco seem so strong. I saw Count Orso ; and the soul divided

By hatred and by envy from its body,

As it declared, and not for crime committed, Pierre de la Brosse I say ; and here provide

While still on earth the Lady of Brabant,

So that for this she be of no worse flock ! As soon as I was free from all those shades

Who only prayed that some one else may pray,

So as to hasten their becoming holy, Began I : “ It appears that thou deniest,

O light of mine, expressly in some text,

That orison can bend decree of Heaven;
And ne'ertheless these people pray for this.

Might then their expectation bootless be?
Or is to me thy saying not quite clear?”

And he to me: “My writing is explicit,

And not fallacious is the hope of these,

If with sane intellect 'tis well regarded ; For top of judgment doth not vail itself,

Because the fire of love fulfils at once

What he must satisfy who here installs him. And there, where I affirmed that proposition,

Defect was not amended by a prayer,

Because the prayer from God was separate. Verily, in so deep a questioning

Do not decide, unless she tell it thee,

Who light 'twixt truth and intellect shall be. I know not if thou understand; I speak

Of Beatrice; her shalt thou see above,

Smiling and happy, on this mountain's top.” And I: “Good Leader, let us make more haste,

For I no longer tire me as before ;

And see, e'en now the hill a shadow casts.” “We will go forward with this day,” he answered,

“ As far as now is possible for us;

But otherwise the fact is than thou thinkest. Ere thou art up there, thou shalt see return

Him, who now hides himself behind the hill,

So that thou dost not interrupt his rays. But yonder there behold ! 'a soul that stationed

All, all alone is looking hitherward ;

It will point out to us the quickest way.” We came up unto it; O Lombard soul,

How lofty and disdainful thou didst bear thee,

And grand and slow in moving of thine eyes ! Nothing whatever did it say to us,

But let us go our way, eying us only

After the manner of a couchant lion ; Still near to it Virgilius drew, entreating

That it would point us out the best ascent;

And it replied not unto his demand, But of our native land and of our life

It questioned us; and the sweet Guide began :

“Mantua,”—and the shade, all in itself recluse, Rose tow'rds him from the place where first it was,

Saying: “O Mantuan, I am Sordello

Of thine own land !” and one embraced the other.
Ah! servile Italy, grief's hostelry !

A ship without a pilot in great tempest !
No Lady thou of Provinces, but brothel !

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That noble soul was so impatient, only

At the sweet sound of his own native land,

To make its citizen glad welcome there ; And now within thee are not without war

Thy living ones, and one doth gnaw the other

Of those whom one wall and one fosse shut in ! Search, wretched one, all round about the shores

Thy seaboard, and then look within thy bosom,

If any part of thee enjoyeth peace ! What boots it, that for thee Justinian

The bridle mend, if empty be the saddle ?

Withouten this the shame would be the less. Ah ! people, thou that oughtest to be devout,

And to let Cæsar sit upon the saddle,

If well thou hearest what God teacheth thee, Behold how fell this wild beast has become,

Being no longer by the spur corrected,

Since thou hast laid thy hand upon the bridle. O German Albert! who abandonest

Her that has grown recalcitrant and savage,

And oughtest to bestride her saddle-bow, May a just judgment from the stars down fall

Upon thy blood, and be it new and open,

That thy successor may have fear thereof; Because thy father and thyself have suffered,

By greed of those transalpine lands distrained,

The garden of the empire to be waste. Come and behold Montecchi and Cappelletti,

Monaldi and Fillippeschi, careless man !

Those sad already, and these doubt-depressed ! Come, cruel one ! come and behold the oppression

Of thy nobility, and cure their wounds,

And thou shalt see how safe is Santafiore ! Come and behold thy Rome, that is lamenting,

Widowed, alone, and day and night exclaims,

“ My Cæsar, why hast thou forsaken me?”. Come and behold how loving are the people ;

And if for us no pity moveth thee,

Come and be made ashamed of thy renown ! And if it lawful be, O Jove Supreme !

Who upon earth for us wast crucified,

Are thy just eyes averted otherwhere?
Or preparation is ’t, that, in the abyss

Of thine own counsel, for some good thou makest
From our perception utterly cut off?

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For all the towns of Italy are full

Of tyrants, and becometh a Marcellus

Each peasant churl who plays the partisan ! My Florence! well mayst thou contented be

With this digression, which concerns thee not,

Thanks to thy people who such forethought take ! Many at heart have justice, but shoot slowly,

That unadvised they come not to the bow,

But on their very lips thy people have it ! Many refuse to bear the common burden;

But thy solicitous people answereth

Without being asked, and crieth : “ I submit.” Now be thou joyful, for thou hast good reason ;

Thou affluent, thou in peace, thou full of wisdom !

If I speak true, the event conceals it not. Athens and Lacedæmon, they who made

The ancient laws, and were so civilized,

Made towards living well a little sign Compared with thee, who makest such fine-spun

Provisions, that to middle of November

Reaches not what thou in October spinnest. How oft, within the time of thy remembrance,

Laws, money, offices, and usages

Hast thou remodelled, and renewed thy members ? And if thou mind thee well, and see the light,

Thou shalt behold thyself like a sick woman,

Who cannot find repose upon her down, But by her tossing wardeth off her pain.

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CANTO VII.

AFTER the gracious and glad salutations

Had three and four times been reiterated,

Sordello backward drew and said, “ Who are you?” “ Or ever to this mountain were directed

The souls deserving to ascend to God,

My bones were buried by Octavian. I am Virgilius ; and for no crime else

Did I lose heaven, than for not having faith ;"

In this wise then my Leader made reply.
As one who suddenly before him sees

Something whereat he marvels, who believes
And yet does not, saying, “ It is ! it is not !”

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