In the same way that thoughtful pilgrims do, Who, unknown people on the road o’ertaking, Turn themselves round to them, and do not stop, Even thus, behind us with a swifter motion Coming and passing onward, gazed upon us A crowd of spirits silent and devout. Each in his eyes was dark and cavernous, Pallid in face, and so emaciate That from the bones the skin did shape itself. I do not think that so to merest rind Could Erisichthon have been withered up By famine, when most fear he had of it. Thinking within myself I said: “Behold, This is the folk who lost Jerusalem, When Mary made a prey of her own son.” Their sockets were like rings without the gems; Whoever in the face of men reads ‘omo’ Might well in these have recognised the ‘m.’ Who would believe the odour of an apple, Begetting longing, could consume them so, And that of water, without knowing how? I still was wondering what so famished them, For the occasion not yet manifest Of their emaciation and sad squalor; And lo! from out the hollow of his head His eyes a shade turned on me, and looked keenly; Then cried aloud: “What grace to me is this?” Never should I have known him by his look; But in his voice was evident to me That which his aspect had suppressed within it. This spark within me wholly re-enkindled My recognition of his altered face, And I recalled the features of Forese. “Ah, do not look at this dry leprosy,” Entreated he, “which doth my skin discolour, Nor at default of flesh that I may have; But tell me truth of thee, and who are those Two souls, that yonder make for thee an escort; Do not delay in speaking unto me.” “That face of thine, which dead I once bewept, Gives me for weeping now no lesser grief,” I answered him, “beholding it so changed! But tell me, for God’s sake, what thus denudes you? Make me not speak while I am marvelling, For ill speaks he who’s full of other longings.” And he to me: “From the eternal council Falls power into the water and the tree Behind us left, whereby I grow so thin. All of this people who lamenting sing, For following beyond measure appetite In hunger and thirst are here re-sanctified. Desire to eat and drink enkindles in us The scent that issues from the apple-tree, And from the spray that sprinkles o’er the verdure; And not a single time alone, this ground Encompassing, is refreshed our pain,— I say our pain, and ought to say our solace,— For the same wish doth lead us to the tree Which led the Christ rejoicing to say ‘Eli,’ When with his veins he liberated us.” And I to him: “Forese, from that day When for a better life thou changedst worlds, Up to this time five years have not rolled round. If sooner were the power exhausted in thee Of sinning more, than thee the hour surprised Of that good sorrow which to God reweds us,