 | The poems (1969) |  |
5 [Translation from Dante,
Inferno Canto xxxiii 1–78]
24
From his dire food the grisly felon raised
His gore-dyed lips, which on the clottered locks
Of the half-devoured head he wiped, and thus
Began: ‘Would'st thou revive the deep despair,
The anguish, that, unuttered, natheless wrings
My inmost heart? Yet if the telling may
Beget the traitor's infamy, whom thus
I ceaseless gnaw insatiate, thou shalt see me
At once give loose to utterance and to tears.
His gore-dyed lips, which on the clottered locks
Of the half-devoured head he wiped, and thus
Began: ‘Would'st thou revive the deep despair,
The anguish, that, unuttered, natheless wrings
My inmost heart? Yet if the telling may
Beget the traitor's infamy, whom thus
I ceaseless gnaw insatiate, thou shalt see me
At once give loose to utterance and to tears.
‘I know not who thou art nor on what errand
Sent hither; but a Florentine my ear,
Won by thy tongue, declares thee. Know, thou see'st
In me Count Ugolino, and Ruggieri,
Pisa's perfidious prelate, this: now hear
My wrongs and from them judge of my revenge.
Sent hither; but a Florentine my ear,
Won by thy tongue, declares thee. Know, thou see'st
In me Count Ugolino, and Ruggieri,
Pisa's perfidious prelate, this: now hear
My wrongs and from them judge of my revenge.
‘That I did trust him, that I was betrayed
By trusting, and by treachery slain, it recks not
That I advise thee; that which yet remains
To thee and all unknown (a horrid tale),
The bitterness of death, I shall unfold.
Attend, and say if he have injured me.
By trusting, and by treachery slain, it recks not
That I advise thee; that which yet remains
To thee and all unknown (a horrid tale),
The bitterness of death, I shall unfold.
Attend, and say if he have injured me.
‘Through a small crevice opening, what scant light
That grim and antique tower admitted (since
Of me the Tower of Famine hight, and known
To many a wretch) already 'gan the dawn
To send. The whilst I slumbering lay, a sleep
Prophetic of my woes with direful hand
Oped the dark veil of fate. I saw methought
Toward Pisa's mount, that intercepts the view
Of Lucca, chased by hell-hounds gaunt and bloody
A wolf full-grown; with fleet and equal speed
His young ones ran beside him. Lanfranc there
And Sigismundo and Gualandi rode
Amain, my deadly foes, headed by this
The deadliest: he their chief, the foremost he
Flashed to pursue and cheer the eager cry.
Nor long endured the chase: the panting sire,
Of strength bereft, his helpless offspring soon
O'erta'en beheld, and in their trembling flanks
The hungry pack their sharp-set fangs embrued.
That grim and antique tower admitted (since
Of me the Tower of Famine hight, and known
To many a wretch) already 'gan the dawn
To send. The whilst I slumbering lay, a sleep
Prophetic of my woes with direful hand
Oped the dark veil of fate. I saw methought
Toward Pisa's mount, that intercepts the view
Of Lucca, chased by hell-hounds gaunt and bloody
A wolf full-grown; with fleet and equal speed
His young ones ran beside him. Lanfranc there
And Sigismundo and Gualandi rode
Amain, my deadly foes, headed by this
The deadliest: he their chief, the foremost he
Flashed to pursue and cheer the eager cry.
Nor long endured the chase: the panting sire,
Of strength bereft, his helpless offspring soon
O'erta'en beheld, and in their trembling flanks
The hungry pack their sharp-set fangs embrued.
‘The morn had scarce commenced when I awoke:
My children (they were with me) sleep as yet
Gave not to know their sum of misery,
But yet in low and uncompleted sounds
I heard 'em wail for bread. Oh! thou art cruel,
Or thou dost mourn to think what my poor heart
Foresaw, foreknew; oh! if thou weep not now,
Where are thy tears? Too soon they had aroused them,
Sad with the fears of sleep, and now the hour
Of timely food approached; when, at the gate
Below, I heard the dreadful clank of bars
And fastening bolts. Then on my children's eyes
Speechless my sight I fixed, nor wept, for all
Within was stone. They wept, unhappy boys,
They wept; and first my little dear Anselmo
Cried, ‘Father, why do you gaze so sternly?
What would you have?’ Yet wept I not or answered
All that whole day or the succeeding night,
Till a new sun arose with weakly gleam
And wan, such as mought entrance find within
That house of woe. But oh! when I beheld
My sons, and in four faces saw my own
Despair reflected, either hand I gnawed
For anguish, which they construed hunger. Straight
Arising all they cried, ‘Far less shall be
Our sufferings, sir, if you resume your gift;
These miserable limbs with flesh you clothed;
Take back what once was yours.’ I swallowed down
My struggling sorrow, nor to heighten theirs.
That day and yet another, mute we sat
And motionless. O earth, could'st thou not gape
Quick to devour me? Yet a fourth day came,
When Gaddo, at my feet outstretched, imploring
In vain my help, expired; ere the sixth morn
Had dawned, my other three before my eyes
Died one by one. I saw 'em fall; I heard
Their doleful cries. For three days more I groped
About among their cold remains (for then
Hunger had reft my eyesight), often calling
On their dear names, that heard me now no more;
The fourth, what sorrow could not, famine did.’
My children (they were with me) sleep as yet
Gave not to know their sum of misery,
But yet in low and uncompleted sounds
I heard 'em wail for bread. Oh! thou art cruel,
Or thou dost mourn to think what my poor heart
25
Where are thy tears? Too soon they had aroused them,
Sad with the fears of sleep, and now the hour
Of timely food approached; when, at the gate
Below, I heard the dreadful clank of bars
And fastening bolts. Then on my children's eyes
Speechless my sight I fixed, nor wept, for all
Within was stone. They wept, unhappy boys,
They wept; and first my little dear Anselmo
Cried, ‘Father, why do you gaze so sternly?
What would you have?’ Yet wept I not or answered
All that whole day or the succeeding night,
Till a new sun arose with weakly gleam
And wan, such as mought entrance find within
That house of woe. But oh! when I beheld
My sons, and in four faces saw my own
Despair reflected, either hand I gnawed
For anguish, which they construed hunger. Straight
Arising all they cried, ‘Far less shall be
Our sufferings, sir, if you resume your gift;
These miserable limbs with flesh you clothed;
Take back what once was yours.’ I swallowed down
My struggling sorrow, nor to heighten theirs.
That day and yet another, mute we sat
And motionless. O earth, could'st thou not gape
Quick to devour me? Yet a fourth day came,
When Gaddo, at my feet outstretched, imploring
In vain my help, expired; ere the sixth morn
Had dawned, my other three before my eyes
Died one by one. I saw 'em fall; I heard
Their doleful cries. For three days more I groped
About among their cold remains (for then
Hunger had reft my eyesight), often calling
On their dear names, that heard me now no more;
The fourth, what sorrow could not, famine did.’
He finished; then with unrelenting eye
Askance he turned him, hasty to renew
The hellish feast, and rent his trembling prey.
Askance he turned him, hasty to renew
The hellish feast, and rent his trembling prey.
| The poems (1969) | |