Читать книгу The Divine Comedy: Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso (3 Classic Unabridged Translations in one eBook: Cary's + Longfellow's + Norton's Translation + Original Illustrations by Gustave Doré) - Dante Alighieri - Страница 69

On the green leaf mine eyes were fix'd, like his

Who throws away his days in idle chase

Of the diminutive, when thus I heard

The more than father warn me: "Son! our time

Asks thriftier using. Linger not: away."

Thereat my face and steps at once I turn'd

Toward the sages, by whose converse cheer'd

I journey'd on, and felt no toil: and lo!

A sound of weeping and a song: "My lips,

O Lord!" and these so mingled, it gave birth

To pleasure and to pain. "O Sire, belov'd!

Say what is this I hear?" Thus I inquir'd.

"Spirits," said he, "who as they go, perchance,

Their debt of duty pay." As on their road

The thoughtful pilgrims, overtaking some

Not known unto them, turn to them, and look,

But stay not; thus, approaching from behind

With speedier motion, eyed us, as they pass'd,

A crowd of spirits, silent and devout.

The eyes of each were dark and hollow: pale

Their visage, and so lean withal, the bones

Stood staring thro' the skin. I do not think

Thus dry and meagre Erisicthon show'd,

When pinc'ed by sharp-set famine to the quick.

"Lo!" to myself I mus'd, "the race, who lost

Jerusalem, when Mary with dire beak

Prey'd on her child." The sockets seem'd as rings,

From which the gems were drops. Who reads the name

Of man upon his forehead, there the M

Had trac'd most plainly. Who would deem, that scent

Of water and an apple, could have prov'd

Powerful to generate such pining want,

Not knowing how it wrought? While now I stood

Wond'ring what thus could waste them (for the cause

Of their gaunt hollowness and scaly rind

Appear'd not) lo! a spirit turn'd his eyes

In their deep-sunken cell, and fasten'd then

On me, then cried with vehemence aloud:

"What grace is this vouchsaf'd me?" By his looks

I ne'er had recogniz'd him: but the voice

Brought to my knowledge what his cheer conceal'd.

Remembrance of his alter'd lineaments

Was kindled from that spark; and I agniz'd

The visage of Forese. "Ah! respect

This wan and leprous wither'd skin," thus he

Suppliant implor'd, "this macerated flesh.

Speak to me truly of thyself. And who

Are those twain spirits, that escort thee there?

Be it not said thou Scorn'st to talk with me."