The speech of one and aspect of the other Had me desirous made to know their names, And question mixed with prayers I made thereof, Whereat the spirit which first spake to me Began again: "Thou wishest I should bring me To do for thee what thou'lt not do for me;

But since God willeth that in thee shine forth Such grace of his, I'll not be chary with thee;

Know, then, that I Guido del Duca am.

My blood was so with envy set on fire, That if I had beheld a man make merry, Thou wouldst have seen me sprinkled o'er with pallor.

From my own sowing such the straw I reap!

O human race! why dost thou set thy heart Where interdict of partnership must be?

This is Renier; this is the boast and honour Of the house of Calboli, where no one since Has made himself the heir of his desert.

And not alone his blood is made devoid, 'Twixt Po and mount, and sea-shore and the Reno, Of good required for truth and for diversion;

For all within these boundaries is full Of venomous roots, so that too tardily By cultivation now would they diminish.

Where is good Lizio, and Arrigo Manardi, Pier Traversaro, and Guido di Carpigna, O Romagnuoli into bastards turned?

When in Bologna will a Fabbro rise?

When in Faenza a Bernardin di Fosco, The noble scion of ignoble seed?

Be not astonished, Tuscan, if I weep, When I remember, with Guido da Prata, Ugolin d' Azzo, who was living with us, Frederick Tignoso and his company, The house of Traversara, and th' Anastagi, And one race and the other is extinct;

The dames and cavaliers, the toils and ease That filled our souls with love and courtesy, There where the hearts have so malicious grown!

O Brettinoro! why dost thou not flee, Seeing that all thy family is gone, And many people, not to be corrupted?

Bagnacaval does well in not begetting And ill does Castrocaro, and Conio worse, In taking trouble to beget such Counts.

Will do well the Pagani, when their Devil Shall have departed; but not therefore pure Will testimony of them e'er remain.

O Ugolin de' Fantoli, secure Thy name is, since no longer is awaited One who, degenerating, can obscure it!

But go now, Tuscan, for it now delights me To weep far better than it does to speak, So much has our discourse my mind distressed."

We were aware that those beloved souls Heard us depart; therefore, by keeping silent, They made us of our pathway confident.

When we became alone by going onward, Thunder, when it doth cleave the air, appeared A voice, that counter to us came, exclaiming:

"Shall slay me whosoever findeth me!"

And fled as the reverberation dies If suddenly the cloud asunder bursts.

As soon as hearing had a truce from this, Behold another, with so great a crash, That it resembled thunderings following fast:

"I am Aglaurus, who became a stone!"

And then, to press myself close to the Poet, I backward, and not forward, took a step.

Already on all sides the air was quiet;

And said he to me: "That was the hard curb That ought to hold a man within his bounds;

But you take in the bait so that the hook Of the old Adversary draws you to him, And hence availeth little curb or call.

The heavens are calling you, and wheel around you, Displaying to you their eternal beauties, And still your eye is looking on the ground;

Whence He, who all discerns, chastises you."