ARGUMENT.

DANTE recognizes his former preceptor Brunetto Latini, to whom he expresses his gratitude. Brunetto characterizes the Florentines, and intimates to Dante the evils he may expect.

OUR road on one of those firm margins lay,

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Protected from the fire by clouds of mist,

Which o'er the water rising, fell in spray.

E'en such embankments as the Flemings rear,
The flood's impetuous progress to resist,

"Twixt Ghent and Bruges, where its rage they fear; And such as, to protect from Brenta's might

Their villas, Padua's citizens devise,

Ere melts the snow on Chiarentana's height ;-
Embankments like to those were here display'd;
But not so lofty, or so vast in size,

Whoe'er their builder was, these piers were made.

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So far behind us had we left the wood,

That, had I turn'd me round, in vain had been
The endeavour to behold it whence we stood,-
When on the margin by the river's side

A band of souls we met, whose prying eyen
Scann'd us, as men are wont at eventide

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'Neath the young moon to scan each passer by ; 19 And tow'rds us straight their brows they sharpen'd up, Like an old tailor at his needle's eye.

My features, thus so stedfastly survey'd,

Were recognized by one of this strange troop,

Who seized my skirt, and, "Oh ! how wondrous!" said. When forth he stretch'd his arm, my looks were bent So earnestly upon his scorched brow,

That e'en his shrivell'd face could not prevent My recollection of him full and clear:

Then downward to his face my own I bow, Exclaiming: "Ser Brunetto, art thou here?" He answer'd me: "My son, if thou approve, Brunetto will some little space with thee

Turn back, while onward his companions move." "Turn, I implore,-and with thee," I replied,

"I'll sit me down, if so thy wish it be,

And it offendeth not my faithful guide."

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"Who of this flock, my son a moment rests,"
He answer'd, "here a hundred years shall lie―
No fan to cool him when the fire molests.
Wherefore proceed-I at thy skirt will go,
And afterwards rejoin my company,

Who journeying on bewail their endless woe."
I dared not venture down, that I might tread
On the same level; but inclined mine ear,
Like one who reverently bows his head.
"What fortune, or what destiny," he cried,

"Before the final day hath brought thee here,
And who is this that deigns thy path to guide ?"
I answer'd him 66
: In yon high world serene
Bewilder'd in a vale I went astray,
Ere yet my age maturity had seen:
Nor left till yestermorn its fatal gloom;

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But thither was I tracing back my way,

When he appear'd who reconducts me home."

"A glorious haven surely shall be thine,

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So thou pursue thy star," he answer'd me,

"If right I judged when that sweet life was mine.

And had not death full early closed mine eyes,
Seeing that heaven was so benign to thee,
I would have aided thy sublime emprize.

But that ungrateful and malignant race,

Who erst came down from lofty Fiesole,

And of their mountain flint still bear the trace,

Shall for thy very virtues prove thy foe:

And meet it is that ye should disagree;

Since not with crabs the pleasant fig may grow. In olden time they were reported blind;

Covetous, proud, and envious as they are; From their depravity cleanse thou thy mind. Thy fate hath such renown in store for thee,

Each side shall hunger after thee;—but far From the goat's browsing let the sweet herb be. Then let them tread each other under foot

The beasts of Fiesole,-nor dare to touch The plant, if any 'mid their filth still shoot, Whence may the hallow'd seed of Rome revive,

In Florence left, when she was render'd such

A nest for base malignity to thrive,"

"Had full accordance to my prayers been given," 79

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Lives your paternal image, good and dear,

As when from day to day you counsell'd me

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How man may best immortalize his name:
My gratitude, while yet I breathe the air,

'Tis meet I show, and with my voice proclaim.
What you have told me of my days to come

I treasure up, to be explain'd by Her,

If e'er I reach Her, who will know my doom.
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upon these my words of truth rely ;—

If in my breast no secret stings I feel,
Let Fortune do her worst-prepared am I :
Not new to me this prophecy of woe :

Then at her will let Fortune turn her wheel,
As turns the peasant his accustom'd hoe."
Now to the right my master bent with speed,

And on mine ear his warning accents fell:
"He listens to good purpose who takes heed.”
Not that I ceased discoursing as I went

With Ser Brunetto, asking him to tell
Who of his comrades were most eminent.

"The histories of some I may relate;

Others," he said, "'twere better not to name;
Time would be wanting for a theme so great.
Know briefly-all were priests, and in their time
Great Literati, not unknown to fame,

On earth polluted with the self-same crime.

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