"'O Tuscan! Thou, who, through this realm of fire, Alive dost walk, thus courteously conversing Pause, if it please thee, here. Thy dialect Proclaims thy lineage from that noble land, Which I, perhaps, too much have wrong'd.' "Such sounds Suddenly issued forth from one of those Sepulchral caverns.--Tremblingly I crept A little nearer to my guide, but he Cried, 'Turn again! What would'st thou do? Behold, 'Tis Farinata that hath raised himself: There may'st thou see him, upward from the loins.' Already had I fix'd mine eyes on his, Who stood, with bust and visage so erect, As though he look'd on hell itself with scorn. My master then, with prompt and resolute hands, Thrust me among the charnel-vaults towards him, Saying,--'Thy words be plain.' When I had reach'd His tombstone-foot, he look'd at me a while As in disdain, then loftily demanded-- 'Who were thine ancestors?' ----"Eager to tell, Nought I conceal'd, but utter'd all the truth. Arching his brow a little, he return'd;-- 'Bitter antagonists of mine, of me, And of my party, were thy sires; but twice I scatter'd them.' "'If scatter'd twice,' said I, 'Once and again they came from all sides back,-- A lesson which _thy_ friends have not well learn'd.' "Just then a second figure, at his side, Emerged to view; unveil'd above the chin, And kneeling, as methought.--It look'd around So wistfully, as though it hoped to find Some other with me; but, that hope dispell'd, Weeping it spake:--'If through this dungeon-gloom, Grandeur of genius guide thy venturous way, My son!--where is he?--and why not with _thee?_' Then I to him:--"Not of myself I came; He who awaits me yonder brought me hither,-- One whom perhaps thy Guido held in scorn.[22] His speech and form of penance had already Taught me his name; my words were therefore pointed. Upstarting he exclaim'd:--"How?--said'st thou _held?_ Lives he not then? and doth not heaven's sweet light Fall on his eyes?'--When I w as slow to answer, Backward he sunk, and re-appear'd no more. "Meanw'hile that other most majestic form, Near which I stood, neither changed countenance, Nor turn'd his neck, nor lean'd to either side: 'And if,' quoth he, our first debate resuming, 'They have not well that lesson learn'd, the thought Torments me more than this infernal bed: And yet, not fifty times her changing face, Who here reigns sovereign, shall be re-illumined, Ere _thou_ shalt know how hard that lesson is.[23] --But tell me,--so may'st thou return in peace To the dear world above!--why are thy people In all their acts so mad against my race?' --'The slaughter and discomfiture,' said I, 'That turn'd the river red at Mont-Aperto, Have caused such dire proscriptions in our temples.' "He shook his head, deep-sighing, then rejoin'd,-- 'I was not _there_ alone; nor without cause Engaged with others; but I _was_ alone, And stood in her defence with open brow, When all our council, with one voice, decreed That Florence should be razed from her foundation.'