In season of the new year, when the sun Beneath Aquarius And somewhat on the nights the days have won; When on the ground the hoar-frost painteth fair A mimic image of her sister white— But soon her brush of colour is all bare— The clown, whose fodder is consumed outright, Rises and looks abroad, and, all the plain Beholding glisten, on his thigh doth smite. Returned indoors, like wretch that seeks in vain What he should do, restless he mourns his case; But hope revives when, looking forth again, He sees the earth anew has changed its face. Then with his crook he doth himself provide, And straightway doth his sheep to pasture chase: So at my Master was I terrified, His brows beholding troubled; nor more slow To where I ailed My Guide turned to me with the expression sweet Which I beneath the mountain learned to know. His arms he opened, after counsel meet Held with himself, and, scanning closely o’er The fragments first, he raised me from my feet; And like a man who, working, looks before, With foresight still on that in front bestowed, Me to the summit of a block he bore And then to me another fragment showed, Saying: ‘By this thou now must clamber on; But try it first if it will bear thy load.’ The heavy cowled For hardly we, I holpen, he so light, Could clamber up from shattered stone to stone. And but that on the inner bank the height Of wall is not so great, I say not he, But for myself I had been vanquished quite. But Malebolge Of the deep central pit is planned to fall; Hence every Bolgia in its turn must be So to the summit we attained at last, Whence breaks away the topmost stone My lungs were so with breathlessness harassed, The summit won, I could no further go; And, hardly there, me on the ground I cast ‘Well it befits that thou shouldst from thee throw All sloth,’ the Master said; ‘for stretched in down Or under awnings none can glory know. And he who spends his life nor wins renown Leaves in the world no more enduring trace Than smoke in air, or foam on water blown. Therefore arise; o’ercome thy breathlessness By force of will, victor in every fight When not subservient to the body base. Of stairs thou yet must climb a loftier flight: ’Tis not enough to have ascended these. Up then and profit if thou hear’st aright.’ Rising I feigned to breathe with greater ease Than what I felt, and spake: ‘Now forward plod, For with my courage now my strength agrees.’ Up o’er the rocky rib we held our road; And rough it was and difficult and strait, And steeper far Speaking I went, to hide my wearied state, When from the neighbouring moat a voice we heard Which seemed ill fitted to articulate. Though on the arch But he who spake appeared by anger stirred. Though I bent downward yet my eager eye, So dim the depth, explored it all in vain; I then: ‘O Master, to that bank draw nigh, And let us by the wall descent obtain, Because I hear and do not understand, And looking down distinguish nothing plain.’ ‘My sole reply to thee,’ he answered bland, ‘Is to perform; for it behoves,’ he said, ‘With silent act to answer just demand.’ Then we descended from the bridge’s head, Where with the eighth bank is its junction wrought; And full beneath me was the Bolgia spread. And I perceived that hideously ’twas fraught With serpents; and such monstrous forms they bore, Even now my blood is curdled at the thought. Henceforth let sandy Libya boast no more! Though she breed hydra, snake that crawls or flies, Twy-headed, or fine-speckled, no such store Of plagues, nor near so cruel, she supplies, A |