His mouth uplifting from the savage feast, The sinner[829] rubbed and wiped it free of gore On the hair of the head he from behind laid waste; And then began: 'Thou'dst have me wake once more A desperate grief, of which to think alone, Ere I have spoken, wrings me to the core. But if my words shall be as seed that sown May fructify unto the traitor's shame Whom thus I gnaw, I mingle speech[830] and groan. Of how thou earnest hither or thy name 10 I nothing know, but that a Florentine[831] In very sooth thou art, thy words proclaim. Thou then must know I was Count Ugolin, The Archbishop Roger[832] he. Now hearken well Why I prove such a neighbour. How in fine, And flowing from his ill designs, it fell That I, confiding in his words, was caught Then done to death, were waste of time[833] to tell. But that of which as yet thou heardest nought Is how the death was cruel which I met: 20 Hearken and judge if wrong to me he wrought. Scant window in the mew whose epithet Of Famine[834] came from me its resident, And cooped in which shall many languish yet, Had shown me through its slit how there were spent Full many moons,[835] ere that bad dream I dreamed When of my future was the curtain rent. Lord of the hunt and master this one seemed, Chasing the wolf and wolf-cubs on the height[836] By which from Pisan eyes is Lucca hemmed. 30 With famished hounds well trained and swift of flight, Lanfranchi[837] and Gualandi in the van, And Sismond he had set. Within my sight Both sire and sons--nor long the chase--began To grow (so seemed it) weary as they fled; Then through their flanks fangs sharp and eager ran. When I awoke before the morning spread I heard my sons[838] all weeping in their sleep-- For they were with me--and they asked for bread. Ah! cruel if thou canst from pity keep 40 At the bare thought of what my heart foreknew; And if thou weep'st not, what could make thee weep? Now were they 'wake, and near the moment drew At which 'twas used to bring us our repast; But each was fearful[839] lest his dream came true. And then I heard the under gate[840] made fast Of the horrible tower, and thereupon I gazed In my sons' faces, silent and aghast. I did not weep, for I to stone was dazed: They wept, and darling Anselm me besought: 50 "What ails thee, father? Wherefore thus amazed?" And yet I did not weep, and answered not The whole day, and that night made answer none, Till on the world another sun shone out. Soon as a feeble ray of light had won Into our doleful prison, made aware Of the four faces[841] featured like my own, Both of my hands I bit at in despair; And they, imagining that I was fain