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      Meanwhile the other, great of soul, near whom

      I yet was station'd, chang'd not count'nance stern,

      Nor mov'd the neck, nor bent his ribbed side.

      “And if,” continuing the first discourse,

      “They in this art,” he cried, “small skill have shown,

      That doth torment me more e'en than this bed.

      But not yet fifty times shall be relum'd

      Her aspect, who reigns here Queen of this realm,

      Ere thou shalt know the full weight of that art.

      So to the pleasant world mayst thou return,

      As thou shalt tell me, why in all their laws,

      Against my kin this people is so fell?”

      “The slaughter and great havoc,” I replied,

      “That colour'd Arbia's flood with crimson stain -

      To these impute, that in our hallow'd dome

      Such orisons ascend.” Sighing he shook

      The head, then thus resum'd: “In that affray

      I stood not singly, nor without just cause

      Assuredly should with the rest have stirr'd;

      But singly there I stood, when by consent

      Of all, Florence had to the ground been raz'd,

      The one who openly forbad the deed.”

      “So may thy lineage find at last repose,”

      I thus adjur'd him, “as thou solve this knot,

      Which now involves my mind. If right I hear,

      Ye seem to view beforehand, that which time

      Leads with him, of the present uninform'd.”

      “We view, as one who hath an evil sight,”

      He answer'd, “plainly, objects far remote:

      So much of his large spendour yet imparts

      The Almighty Ruler; but when they approach

      Or actually exist, our intellect

      Then wholly fails, nor of your human state

      Except what others bring us know we aught.

      Hence therefore mayst thou understand, that all

      Our knowledge in that instant shall expire,

      When on futurity the portals close.”

      Then conscious of my fault, and by remorse

      Smitten, I added thus: “Now shalt thou say

      To him there fallen, that his offspring still

      Is to the living join'd; and bid him know,

      That if from answer silent I abstain'd,

      'Twas that my thought was occupied intent

      Upon that error, which thy help hath solv'd.”

      But now my master summoning me back

      I heard, and with more eager haste besought

      The spirit to inform me, who with him

      Partook his lot. He answer thus return'd:

      “More than a thousand with me here are laid

      Within is Frederick, second of that name,

      And the Lord Cardinal, and of the rest

      I speak not.” He, this said, from sight withdrew.

      But I my steps towards the ancient bard

      Reverting, ruminated on the words

      Betokening me such ill. Onward he mov'd,

      And thus in going question'd: “Whence the amaze

      That holds thy senses wrapt?” I satisfied

      The inquiry, and the sage enjoin'd me straight:

      “Let thy safe memory store what thou hast heard

      To thee importing harm; and note thou this,”

      With his rais'd finger bidding me take heed,

      “When thou shalt stand before her gracious beam,

      Whose bright eye all surveys, she of thy life

      The future tenour will to thee unfold.”

      Forthwith he to the left hand turn'd his feet:

      We left the wall, and tow'rds the middle space

      Went by a path, that to a valley strikes;

      Which e'en thus high exhal'd its noisome steam.