| |
| ONE of the solid margins bears us now | |
| Envelop’d in the mist, that, from the stream | |
| Arising, hovers o’er, and saves from fire | |
| Both piers and water. As the Flemings rear | |
| Their mound, ’twixt Ghent and Bruges, to chase back | 5 |
| The ocean, fearing his tumultuous tide | |
| That drives toward them; or the Paduans theirs | |
| Along the Brenta, to defend their towns | |
| And castles, ere the genial warmth be felt | |
| On Chiarentana’s 1 top; such were the mounds, | 10 |
| So framed, though not in height or bulk to these | |
| Made equal, by the master, whosoe’er | |
| He was, that raised them here. We from the wood | |
| Were now so far removed, that turning round | |
| I might not have discern’d it, when we met | 15 |
| A troop of spirits, who came beside the pier. | |
| They each one eyed us, as at eventide | |
| One eyes another under a new moon; | |
| And toward us sharpen’d their sight, as keen | |
| As an old tailor at his needle’s eye. | 20 |
| Thus narrowly explored by all the tribe, | |
| I was agnized of one, who by the skirt | |
| Caught me, and cried, “What wonder have we here?” | |
| And I, when he to me outstretch’d his arm, | |
| Intently fix’d my ken on his parch’d looks, | 25 |
| That, although smirch’d with fire, they hinder’d not | |
| But I remember’d him; and toward his face | |
| My hand inclining, answer’d: “Ser Brunetto! 2 | |
| And are ye here?” He thus to me: “My son! | |
| Oh let it not displease thee, if Brunetto | 30 |
| Latini but a little space with thee | |
| Turn back, and leave his fellows to proceed.” | |
| I thus to him replied: “Much as I can, | |
| I thereto pray thee; and if thou be willing | |
| That I here seat me with thee, I consent; | 35 |
| His leave, with whom I journey, first obtain’d.” | |
| “O son!” said he, “whoever of this throng | |
| One instant stops, lies then a hundred years, | |
| No fan to ventilate him, when the fire | |
| Smitest sorest. Pass thou therefore on. I close | 40 |
| Will at thy garments walk, and then rejoin | |
| My troop, who go mourning their endless doom.” | |
| I dared not from the path descend to tread | |
| On equal ground with him, but held my head | |
| Bent down, as one who walks in reverent guise. | 45 |
| “What chance or destiny,” thus he began, | |
| “Ere the last day, conducts thee here below? | |
| And who is this that shows to thee the way?” | |
| “There up aloft,” I answer’d, “in the life | |
| Serene, I wander’d in a valley lost, | 50 |
| Before mine age had to its fullness reach’d. | |
| But yester-morn I left it: then once more | |
| Into that vale returning, him I met; | |
| And by this path homeward he leads me back.” | |
| “If thou,” he answer’d, “follow but thy star, | 55 |
| Thou canst not miss at last a glorious haven; | |
| Unless in fairer days my judgment err’d. | |
| And if my fate so early had not chanced, | |
| Seeing the heavens thus bounteous to thee, I | |
| Had gladly given thee comfort in thy work. | 60 |
| But that ungrateful and malignant race, | |
| Who in old times came down from Fesole, | |
| Ay and still smack of their rough mountain flint, | |
| Will for thy good deeds show thee enmity. | |
| Nor wonder; for amongst ill-savor’d crabs | 65 |
| It suits not the sweet fig-tree lay her fruit. | |
| Old fame reports them in the world for blind, | |
| Covetous, envious, proud. Look to it well: | |
| Take heed thou cleanse thee of their ways. For thee, | |
| Thy fortune hath such honor in reserve, | 70 |
| That thou by either party shalt be craved | |
| With hunger keen: but be the fresh herb far | |
| From the goat’s tooth. The herd of Fesole | |
| May of themselves make litter, not touch the plant, | |
| If any such yet spring on their rank bed, | 75 |
| In which the holy seed revives, transmitted | |
| From those true Romans, who still there remain’d, | |
| When it was made the nest of so much ill.” | |
| “Were all my wish fulfill’d,” I straight replied, | |
| “Thou from the confines of man’s nature yet | 80 |
| Hadst not been driven forth; for in my mind | |
| Is fix’d, and now strikes full upon my heart, | |
| The dear, benign, paternal image, such | |
| As thine was, when so lately thou didst teach me | |
| The way for man to win eternity: | 85 |
| And how I prized the lesson, it behoves, | |
| That, long as life endures, my tongue should speak. | |
| What of my fate thou tell’st, that write I down; | |
| And, with another text 3 to comment on, | |
| For her I keep it, the celestial dame, | 90 |
| Who will know all, if I to her arrive. | |
| This only would I have thee clearly note: | |
| That, so my conscience have no plea against me, | |
| Do Fortune as she list, I stand prepared. | |
| Not new or strange such earnest to mine ear. | 95 |
| Speed Fortune then her wheel, as likes her best; | |
| The clown his mattock; all things have their course.” | |
| Thereat my sapient guide upon his right | |
| Turn’d himself back, then looked at me, and spake: | |
| “He listens to good purpose who takes note.” | 100 |
| I not the less still on my way proceed, | |
| Discoursing with Brunetto, and inquire | |
| Who are most known and chief among his tribe. | |
| “To know of some is well;” he thus replied, | |
| “But of the rest silence may best beseem. | 105 |
| Time would not serve us for report so long. | |
| In brief I tell thee, that all these were clerks, | |
| Men of great learning and no less renown, | |
| By one same sin polluted in the world. | |
| With them is Priscian; and Accorso’s son, | 110 |
| Francesco, 4 herds among the wretched throng: | |
| And, if the wish of so impure a blotch | |
| Possess’d thee, him thou also mightst have seen, | |
| Who by the servants’ servant was transferr’d | |
| From Arno’s seat to Bacchiglione, where | 115 |
| His ill-strain’d nerves he left. I more would add, | |
| But must from further speech and onward way | |
| Alike desist; for yonder I behold | |
| A mist new-risen on the sandy plain. | |
| A company, with whom I may not sort, | 120 |
| Approaches, I commend my Treasure to thee, | |
| Wherein I yet survive; my sole request.” | |
| This said, he turn’d, and seem’d as one of those | |
| Who o’er Verona’s champaign try their speed | |
| For the green mantle; and of them he seem’d, | 125 |
| Not he who loses but who gains the prize. | |
