  Had I sonorous rough rhymes at command, Such as would suit the cavern terrible Rooted on which all the other ramparts stand, The sap of fancies which within me swell Closer I’d press; but since I have not these, With some misgiving I go on to tell. For ’tis no task to play with as you please, Of all the world the bottom to portray, Nor one that with a baby speech But let those ladies help me with my lay Who helped Amphion And faithful to the facts my words shall stay. O ’bove all creatures wretched, for whose vile Abode ’tis hard to find a language fit, As sheep or goats ye had been happier! While We still were standing in the murky pit— Beneath the giant’s feet And at the high wall I was staring yet, Lest haply by thy soles the heads be spurned Of wretched brothers wearied in their woe.’ Before me, as on hearing this I turned, Beneath my feet a frozen lake, Rather of glass than water, I discerned. In all its course on Austrian Danube lies No veil in time of winter near so thick, Nor on the Don beneath its frigid skies, As this was here; on which if Tabernicch Or Mount Pietrapana Not even the edge would answer with a creak. And as the croaking frog holds well in sight Its muzzle from the pool, what time of year The peasant girl of gleaning dreams at night; The mourning shades in ice were covered here, Seen livid up to where we blush In stork-like music their teeth chattering were. With downcast face stood every one of them: From every eye, an ample witness came. And having somewhat gazed around me there I to my feet looked down, and saw two pressed So close together, tangled was their hair, ‘Say, who are you with breast I asked; whereon their necks they backward bent, And when their upturned faces lay at rest Their eyes, which earlier were but moistened, sent Tears o’er their eyelids: these the frost congealed And fettered fast Plank set to plank no rivet ever held More firmly; wherefore, goat-like, either ghost Butted the other; so their wrath prevailed. And one who wanted both ears, which the frost Had bitten off, with face still downward thrown, Asked: ‘Why with us art thou so long engrossed? If who that couple are thou’dst have made known— The vale down which Bisenzio’s floods decline Was once their father Albert’s One body bore them: search the whole malign CaÏna, More worthy to be fixed in gelatine; Not he whose breast and shadow equally Nor yet Focaccia; With his head hampers, blocking out my view, Whose name was Sassol Mascheroni: Thou must him know if thou art Tuscan too. And that thou need’st not make me further tell— I’m Camicion de’ Pazzi, I weary for, whose guilt shall mine excel.’ A thousand faces saw I dog-like grin, Frost-bound; whence I, as now, shall always shake Whenever sight of frozen pools I win. While to the centre |
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