Francesca. Caina (in line 107) is the lowest but one of the four divisions of the traitors' circle, devoted to the punishment of fratricides, among whom Malatesta would take his place after death. Dante explains elsewhere that the damned, though not aware of what is at the time passing upon the earth, are yet able to foretell the future; a power liable to be made use of by witches and sorcerers while the world lasts, but one which of course will cease, together with futurity itself, at the Day of Judgment, when with the resumption of their bodies the measure of their suffering will be complete. THE INFERNO.-CANTO V. 10 FROM the first circle down I thus descended To the second, which a lesser region binding More pain includes, with bitter cries attended. There on the threshold his assize he holdeth, Dooms and adjudges by his tail's dread winding. that when the ill-born soul unfoldeth Then that inquisitor of sin beholdeth And then his tail so oft is round him curled As marks the circle lier misdoings merit. He summons each in turn to judgment; quailing Of his dread office, my appearance hailing, Let not the broad road lure thee.' Then returned My guide for answer, “Why this loud defiance? So it is there willed where the power remaineth The will to accomplish: more may not be learned.' An entrance at mine ear, and I am taken Where many a note of woe upon me raineth. Which like the ocean when the tempest waxes, Bellows and roars, by winds contrary shaken. Sweeps on the spirits in its wild careering, 20 30 40 50 Then they, the rocky precipices nearing, There utter shriek and plaint and lamentation, There they blaspheme the Power divine unfearing. Such was, I learnt, the woe and degradation To which the carnal sinners' souls are given Who yield their reason to their inclination. And like as starlings through the wintry heaven Form on the wing flights full and wide extended, So those ill spirits up and down are driven, Hither and thither, on that blast suspended : No comfort have they: every hope is wanting Even of pain diminished, much less ended. And like as cranes in one long line go chanting Athwart the sky their melancholy dirges, So I beheld the shades with moan and panting Borne by the force the woeful tempest urges. Then I, “O Master, give me information Concerning these whom the black air so scourges.' *The first of those whose histories' narration Thou ask'st,” he said, with answer not deferred, ‘Was empress o'er full many a tongue and nation. She to such wantonness of vice was spurred, That liking she made law without restriction, To take away the blame she had incurred. She is Semiramis; nor is it fiction That she was Ninus' spouse and his successor, And ruled where now the Turk has jurisdiction. The next, for love 'gainst her own life transgressor, Wrought to the dead Sicheus' memory treason ; Cleopatra next, of wanton thoughts possessor.' Helen I saw, through whom so long a season Of evil rolled ; Achilles then, who waged War to the end for love unchecked by reason. Paris and Tristram next my sight engaged ; And full a thousand he with finger showed me, And named, in whom death-working lust had raged. Then I, who on my master's words bestowed me, Hearing of olden dames and heroes knightly, Felt lost in the great pity which o’erflowed me. Then I began, 'O Poet, may I rightly Speak with those two, who go together wailing, And seem to rise before the wind so lightly?' Till they come nearer us; then call them hither 60 70 80 90 100 Will come.' And when the wind had swept them whither My voice could reach, I cry, 'O souls distressed, Come, speak with us, if none forbid it.' Thither As doves, by summons of true love addressed, With wings firm opened, from their airy wheeling Fly to the sweet nest with desire impressed ; So from the ranks where bideth Dido, stealing They came toward us through the air malignant; So urgent was my passionate appealing. Who us dost visit in this dark position, Who with our blood stained earth ; were not indignant Heaven's King against us, we would make petition Unto him for the grace which thou desirest, Who hast had pity of our sad condition. Whate'er to hear or speak of thou aspirest, That will we hear and speak to thee, while tarries As now it doth, the blast of vengeance direst. Our land upon its seaward margin carries The place where I was born, where Po descendeth There to have quiet with its tributaries. Love, that so quick the tender spirit bendeth, Seized him for that fair form, which was removed From me, whereof the manner yet offendeth. Love, that from love excuseth no one loved, Me with his pleasant looks so fascinated That as thou seest, it constant still hath proved. Love brought us both unto one death ; awaited By dark Caina is our life-blood's waster.' Such was the story she to us related. I bowed my head, in such a posture lowly That soon, “What thinkest thou ? inquired my Master. And when I answer made, 'O melancholy !' I said, 'What sweet thoughts, what endearments winning Did bring them unto this sad step unholy ! And then I turned towards them, thus beginning, • The woe, Francesca, that thou hast revealed Moves me to tears of sorrow for thy sinning. But tell me; when sweet sigh to sigh appealed, At what, and how did love grant recognition Of your desires, till then in doubt concealed ?' Than to remember here mid our distresses, 110 120 130 That knows thy guide. But since thy wish so presses To learn the root whence grew our love exceeding, I speak, as one who weeps and yet confesses. Of Lancelot's true love in story famous; Alone we were, nor aught of danger heeding. Full oft, and paleness o'er our faces glided; But one point only that which overcame us. His kiss toward the smile for which he longed, Then he, who ne'er shall be from me divided, By book and writer, tempters both ensnaring. That day we read no more.' Ere she prolonged Wailed so, that I became through pure compassion All faint, as if death's mark upon me bearing: (To be continued.) 140 MUSINGS OVER THE CHRISTIAN YEAR AND LYRA INNOCENTIUM. FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER. 6 6 The first Sunday after Easter has no less than three poems by Mr. Keble, if we reckon with the others one in the Child's Christian Year, which we believe is really one of his earliest poems. The subject of both this and of that in the Lyra is Faith—both alike being in accordance with the Epistle for the day, with its · Victory that overcometh the world, even our Faith ;' and the proclamation of that Faith in the words, “There are Three that bear witness in Heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Ghost; and these Three are One: and there are three that bear witness on earth, the Spirit, the Water, and the Blood.' The analogy between the Witness in Heaven and Earth, is the subject of the early poem we mentioned. Our God in glory sits on high ; Man may not see and live: For ever doth He give.' That witness is the Holy Spirit in man's heart, the Water of Baptism, and the cleansing Blood by which the Holy Spirit purifies the soul 80 90 100 Will come. And when the wind had swept them whither I With wings firm opened, from their airy wheeling Fly to the sweet nest with desire impressed ; So from the ranks where bideth Dido, stealing They came toward us through the air malignant ; So urgent was my passionate appealing. Who us dost visit in this dark position, Who with our blood stained earth; were not indignant Heaven's King against us, we would make petition Unto him for the grace which thou desirest, Who hast had pity of our sad condition. Whate'er to hear or speak of thou aspirest, That will we hear and speak to thee, while tarries As now it doth, the blast of vengeance direst. Our land upon its seaward margin carries The place where I was born, where Po descendeth There to have quiet with its tributaries. Love, that so quick the tender spirit bendeth, Seized him for that fair form, which was removed From me, whereof the manner yet offendeth. Love, that from love excuseth no one loved, Me with his pleasant looks so fascinated That as thou seest, it constant still hath proved. Love brought us both unto one death; awaited By dark Caina is our life-blood's waster.' Such was the story she to us related. I bowed my head, in such a posture lowly That soon, "What thinkest thou ?' inquired my Master. And when I answer made, 'O melancholy ! I said, “What sweet thoughts, what endearments winning Did bring them unto this sad step unholy ! And then I turned towards them, thus beginning, “The woe, Francesca, that thou hast revealed Moves me to tears of sorrow for thy sinning. But tell me; when sweet sigh to sigh appealed, At what, and how did love grant recognition Of your desires, till then in doubt concealed ?' Than to remember here mid our distresses, 110 6 120 |
