Excerpt
CANTO IX
THE hue, which coward dread on my pale cheeksImprinted, when I saw my guide turn back,Chas'd that from his which newly they had worn,And inwardly restrain'd it. He, as oneWho listens, stood attentive: for his eyeNot far could lead him through the sable air,And the thick-gath'ring cloud. "It yet behoovesWe win this fight"—thus he began—"if not—Such aid to us is offer'd.—Oh, how longMe seems it, ere the promis'd help arrive!"I noted, how the sequel of his wordsClok'd their beginning; for the last he spakeAgreed not with the first. But not the lessMy fear was at his saying; sith I drewTo import worse perchance, than that he held,His mutilated speech. "Doth ever anyInto this rueful concave's extreme depthDescend, out of the first degree, whose painIs deprivation merely of sweet hope?"Thus I inquiring. "Rarely," he replied,"It chances, that among us any makesThis journey, which I wend. Erewhile 'tis trueOnce came I here beneath, conjur'd by fellErictho, sorceress, who compell'd the shadesBack to their bodies. No long space my fleshWas naked of me, when within these wallsShe made me enter, to draw forth a spiritFrom out of Judas' circle. Lowest placeIs that of all, obscurest, and remov'dFarthest from heav'n's all-circling orb. The roadFull well I know: thou therefore rest secure.That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, roundThe city' of grief encompasses, which nowWe may not enter without rage." Yet moreHe added: but I hold it not in mind,For that mine eye toward the lofty towerHad drawn me wholly, to its burning top.Where in an instant I beheld uprisenAt once three hellish furies stain'd with blood:In limb and motion feminine they seem'd;Around them greenest hydras twisting roll'dTheir volumes; adders and cerastes creptInstead of hair, and their fierce temples bound.He knowing well the miserable hagsWho tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake:"Mark thou each dire Erinnys. To the leftThis is Megaera; on the right hand she,Who wails, Alecto; and TisiphoneI' th' midst." This said, in silence he remain'dTheir breast they each one clawing tore; themselvesSmote with their palms, and such shrill clamour rais'd,That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound."Hasten Medusa: so to adamantHim shall we change;" all looking down exclaim'd."E'en when by Theseus' might assail'd, we tookNo ill revenge." "Turn thyself round, and keepThy count'nance hid; for if the Gorgon direBe shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy returnUpwards would be for ever lost." This said,Himself my gentle master turn'd me round,Nor trusted he my hands, but with his ownHe also hid me. Ye of intellectSound and entire, mark well the lore conceal'dUnder close texture of the mystic strain!And now there came o'er the perturbed wavesLoud-crashing, terrible, a sound that madeEither shore tremble, as if of a windImpetuous, from conflicting vapours sprung,That 'gainst some forest driving all its might,Plucks off the branches, beats them down and hurlsAfar; then onward passing proudly sweepsIts whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly....