Come Almeone a sua madre fe'caro Parer lo sventurato adornamento. Mostrava come i figli si gittaro Sovra Sennacherib dentro dal tempio, E come morto lui quivi lasciaro. Mostrava la ruina e'l crudo scempio Che fe'Tamiri quando disse a Ciro Sangue sitisti, ed io di sangue t'empio. Mostrava come in rotta si fuggiro Gli Assiri poi che fu morto Oloferne, Ed anche le reliquie del martiro. Vedeva Troja in cenere e in caverne: O Ilion, come te basso e vile Mostrava il segno che lì si discerne! Qual di pennel fu maestro o di stile, Che ritraesse l'ombre e gli atti ch'ivi Mirar farieno uno'ngegno sottile? Morti li morti, e i vivi parean vivi. Non vide me'di me chi vide'l vero, Quant'io calcai fin che chinato givi." _Purgatorio_, XII. 10-69 "I had moved on, and followed willingly The footsteps of my Master, and we both Already showed how light of foot we were, When unto me he said: 'Cast down thine eyes; 'Twere well for thee, to alleviate the way, To look upon the bed beneath thy feet.' As, that some memory may exist of them, Above the buried dead their tombs in earth Bear sculptured on them what they were before; Whence often there we weep for them afresh, From pricking of remembrance, which alone To the compassionate doth set its spur; So saw I there, but of a better semblance In point of artifice, with figures covered Whate'er as pathway from the mount projects. I saw that one who was created noble More than all other creatures, down from heaven Flaming with lightnings fall upon one side. I saw Briareus smitten by the dart Celestial, lying on the other side, Heavy upon the earth by mortal frost. I saw Thymbræus, Pallas saw, and Mars, Still clad in armor round about their father, Gaze at the scattered members of the giants. I saw, at foot of his great labor, Nimrod, As if bewildered, looking at the people Who had been proud with him in Sennaar. O Niobe! with what afflicted eyes Thee I beheld upon the pathway traced, Between thy seven and seven children slain! O Saul! how fallen upon thy proper sword Didst thou appear there lifeless in Gilboa, That felt thereafter neither rain nor dew! O mad Arachne! so I thee beheld E'en then half spider, sad upon the shreds Of fabric wrought in evil hour for thee! O Rehoboam! no more seems to threaten Thine image there; but full of consternation A chariot bears it off, when none pursues! Displayed moreo'er the adamantine pavement How unto his own mother made Alcmæon Costly appear the luckless ornament; Displayed how his own sons did throw themselves