From the Inferno. From Limbo the poet descends into the second circle, where the sin of lust is punished. The souls in this circle are driven forever round in a tyrannous gust of wind. They see Cleopatra and Helen and Paris and Tristan and many others whom Virgil names to the poet. Finally he sees two spirits approaching, whom he asks permission to address. To these he spoke: "O wearied spirits! come, and hold discourse With us, if by none else restrain'd." As doves By fond desire invited, on wide wings And firm, to their sweet nest returning home, Cleave the air, wafted by their will along; Thus issued, from that troop where Dido ranks, They, through the ill air speeding--with such force My cry prevail'd, by strong affection urged. "O gracious creature and benign! who go'st Visiting, through this element obscure, Us, who the world with bloody stain imbrued; If, for a friend, the King of all, we own'd, Our prayer to him should for thy peace arise, Since thou hast pity on our evil plight. Of whatsoe'er to hear or to discourse It pleases thee, that will we hear, of that Freely with thee discourse, while e'er the wind, As now, is mute. The land[1] that gave me birth, Is situate on the coast, where Po descends To rest in ocean with his sequent streams. "Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt, Entangled him by that fair form, from me Ta'en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still! Love, that denial takes from none beloved, Caught me with pleasing him so passing well, That, as thou seest' he yet deserts me not. Love brought us to one death: Caina[2] waits The soul, who split our life." Such were their words; At hearing which, downward I bent my looks, And held them there so long, that the bard cried: "What art thou pondering?" I in answer thus: "Alas I by what sweet thoughts, what fond desire Must they at length to that ill pass have reach'd!" Then turning, I to them my speech addressed, And thus began: "Francesca! your sad fate Even to tears my grief and pity moves. But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs, By what, and how Love granted, that ye knew Your yet uncertain wishes?" She replied: "No greater grief than to remember days Of joy, when misery is at hand. That kens Thy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerly If thou art bent to know the primal root, From whence our love gat being, I will do As one, who weeps and tells his tale. One day, For our delight we read of Lancelot,[3] How him love thrall'd. Alone we were, and no Suspicion near us. Oft-times by that reading Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue Fled from our alter'd cheek. But at one point Alone we fell. When of that smile we read, The wished smile so rapturously kiss'd By one so deep in love, then he, who ne'er From me shall separate, at once my lips All trembling kiss'd. The book and writer both Were love's purveyors. In its leaves that day We read no more." While thus one spirit spake, The other wailed so sorely, that heart-struck