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CANTO IV.

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See

ARGUMENT.

Dante, roused from his swoon by the sound of lamentation
follows his guide into Limbo, the first circle of Hell. He
he finds the souls of those who, not having been baptize
dwell in a place of neither happiness, nor torment.

BROKE the deep slumber in my brain, a hoarse
And heavy thunder :-starting at the sound,
I shook me, like to one aroused by force;
And straightway rising, turn'd my rested eye,
With stedfast gaze, if haply, looking round,
The nature of the place I could descry.
Truly, beneath me lay the Vale of Woe,
In whose abyss eternal groans unite,

And blend their thunders in the depth below.
Obscure it was, so cloudy-deep-and dense,
That though to pierce the gloom I strain'd my sight
Nought could I see within the gulf immense.

"Now go we down to dusky regions blind,”
The poet said, with visage deadly pale;
"I lead the way-do thou pursue behind."
Then I exclaim'd, of his pale looks aware,
"How shall I speed, if even thou dost quail,
Thou who art wont to cheer me in despair?"
He answer'd me: "The loud laments I hear

From those who are beneath us, on my face
Pourtray that pity thou mistak'st for fear:
But let us on-for we have far to go."

He led me then within that circle's space Which first encompasseth the Vale of Woe. No wailings there were audible ;-the sound

Of sighs alone were heard-convulsive sighs, That made the eternal air to tremble round. Yet flow'd this sorrow from no actual pain; Beneath the weight of mental agonies,

Men-women-children sigh'd, a countless train.

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Dost thou not wish," the master said, "to know 31. What spirits here their sad estate bewail?

This understand, ere thou proceed below;—

"They were not sinners; and if good they wrought, For want of baptism, 'tis of no avail ;—

A doctrine of the faith thou hast been taught:

Or if they lived ere Christ brought saving grace,
Due worship unto God they fail'd to give :
And I am one of this benighted race.
Heav'n have we lost for these defects alone;
And our's is this sole punishment-to live,
Tormented by desire, when hope is flown."
Great sorrow at his words my soul o'ercame ;
For in this Limbo knew I many a wight

Once high distinguish'd in the ranks of fame.
And I, who wish'd to be instructed well

In the true faith which error puts to flight,
Exclaim'd: "O tell, my lord and master, tell,
Went ever spirit hence, who by his own

Or other's worth in aftertime was blest?"
Then he, to whom my covert speech was known,
Gave answer: "I had lately reach'd this round,
When lo! arrived a great and glorious Guest,
Whose head with a victorious wreath was crown'd
The soul of man's first Parent hence he drew,
Abel his son, and also Noah's shade,
Moses the lawgiver, and, just and true,
The Patriarch Abraham: David,-Israel,
His father, and his sons that call obey'd,
And Rachel fair, whose love he earn'd so well.

D

For these and many others, grace he gain'd:

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Know that till these with happiness were blest, No human souls salvation e'er obtain'd." While thus he spoke, our journey we pursued; And onward through the shadowy wood we press'd, The wood of souls I mean-so thick they stood. Not far had we descended from the height, When I observed a flame so brightly burn, That it o'ercame the hemisphere of night. Though we were distant still no little space,

A noble band I could afar discern

Inhabiting this ample dwelling place. "O glory thou of science and of art,

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Say who are these before me, so renown'd

That from the vulgar throng they dwell apart?" Then answer'd he: "Their honourable fame,

Which in your world continues to resound,

Gains grace in heaven, and here exalts their name." Meanwhile a voice exclaim'd in lofty strain:

"Let honour to the mighty bard be paid ;His shade that left us, now returns again." Ceased had the voice-when in composed array Four mighty shades approaching I survey'd ;Nor joy, nor sorrow did their looks betray.

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"Him," said the gracious master, "now admire,
Who in his hand a falchion doth uphold,

Before the rest advancing as their sire;
Homer-the sovran bard who all surpast:
The next is Horace-Satirist famed of old,
Ovid the third, and Lucan is the last.
And since to each appropriate is the name
Which their united voice assign'd to me,—
In honouring me, to them redounds the fame."
Assembled thus, was offered to my sight

The school of him, the Prince of poetry,

Who, eagle like, o'er others takes his flight.
When they together had conversed awhile,

They turn'd to me with salutation bland,
Which from my master drew a friendly smile:
And greater glory still they bade me share,
Making me join their honourable band-
The sixth united to such genius rare.
Thus we proceeded till we reached the flame,
Speaking of things I may not now recall,
However well they then the place became.
Ere long we reach'd a noble castle's base,
Seven times surrounded by a lofty wall:
A beauteous streamlet flow'd around the place;