for this wrong to do thee some amends,
In the upper world (for thither to return
Is granted him) thy fame he may revive.”
“That pleasant word of thine,” the trunk replied,
“Hath so inveigled me, that I from speech
Cannot refrain, wherein if I indulge
A little longer, in the snare detain’d,
Count it not grievous. I it was,[94] who held
Both keys to Frederick’s heart, and turn’d the wards,
Opening and shutting, with a skill so sweet,
That besides me, into his inmost breast
Scarce any other could admittance find.
The faith I bore to my high charge was such,
It cost me the life-blood that warm’d my veins.
The harlot, who ne’er turn’d her gloating eyes
From Cæsar’s household, common vice and pest
Of courts, ’gainst me inflamed the minds of all;
And to Augustus they so spread the flame,
That my glad honours changed to bitter woes.
My soul, disdainful and disgusted, sought
Refuge in death from scorn, and I became,
Just as I was, unjust toward myself.
By the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear,
That never faith I broke my liege lord,
Who merited such honour; and of you,
If any to the world indeed return,
Clear he from wrong my memory, that lies
Yet prostrate under envy’s cruel blow.”
First somewhat pausing, till the mournful words
Were ended, then to me the bard began:
“Lose not the time; but speak, and of him ask,
If more thou wish to learn.” Whence I replied:
“Question thou him again of whatsoe’er
Will, as thou think’st, content me; for no power
Have I to ask, such pity is at my heart.”
He thus resumed: “So may he do for thee
Freely what thou entreatest, as thou yet
Be pleased, imprison’d spirit! to declare,
How in these gnarled joints the soul is tied;
And whether any ever from such frame
Be loosen’d, if thou canst, that also tell.”
Thereat the trunk breathed hard, and the wind soon
Changed into sounds articulate like these:
“Briefly ye shall be answer’d. When departs
The fierce soul from the body, by itself
Thence torn asunder, to the seventh gulf
By Minos doom’d, into the wood it falls,
No place assign’d, but wheresoever chance
Hurls it; there sprouting, as a grain of spelt,
It rises to a sapling, growing thence
A savage plant. The harpies, on its leaves
Then feeding, cause both pain, and for the pain
A vent to grief. We, as the rest, shall come
For our own spoils, yet not so that with them
We may again be clad; for what a man
Takes from himself it is not just he have.
Here we perforce shall drag them; and throughout
The dismal glade our bodies shall be hung,
Each on the wild thorn of his wretched shade.”
Attentive yet to listen to the trunk
We stood, expecting further speech, when us
A noise surprised; as when a man perceives
The wild boar and the hunt approach his place
Of station’d watch, who of the beasts and boughs
Loud rustling round him hears. And lo! there came
Two naked, torn with briers, in headlong flight,
That they before them broke each fan o’ th’ wood.
“Haste now,” the foremost cried, “now haste thee, death!”
The other, as seem’d, impatient of delay,
Exclaiming, “Lano![95] not so bent for speed
Thy sinews, in the lists of Toppo’s field.”
And then, for that perchance no longer breath
Sufficed him, of himself and of a bush
One group he made. Behind them was the wood
Full of black female mastiffs, gaunt and fleet,
As greyhounds that have newly slipt the leash.
On him, who squatted down, they stuck their fangs,
And having rent him piecemeal bore away
The tortured limbs. My guide then seized my hand,
And led me to the thicket, which in vain
Mourn’d through its bleeding wounds: “O Giacomo
Of Sant’ Andrea![96] what avails it thee,”
It cried, “that of me thou hast made thy screen?
For thy ill life, what blame on me recoils?
When o’er it he had paused, my master spake:
“Say
