Through me to the city dolorous lies the way, Who pass through me shall pains eternal prove, Through me are reached the people lost for aye. 'Twas Justice did my Glorious Maker move; I was created by the Power Divine,[203] The Highest Wisdom, and the Primal Love. No thing's creation earlier was than mine, If not eternal;[204] I for aye endure: Ye who make entrance, every hope resign! These words beheld I writ in hue obscure 10 On summit of a gateway; wherefore I: 'Hard[205] is their meaning, Master.' Like one sure Beforehand of my thought, he made reply: 'Here it behoves to leave all fears behind; All cowardice behoveth here to die. For now the place I told thee of we find, Where thou the miserable folk shouldst see Who the true good[206] of reason have resigned.' Then, with a glance of glad serenity, He took my hand in his, which made me bold, 20 And brought me in where secret things there be. There sighs and plaints and wailings uncontrolled The dim and starless air resounded through; Nor at the first could I from tears withhold. The various languages and words of woe, The uncouth accents,[207] mixed with angry cries And smiting palms and voices loud and low, Composed a tumult which doth circling rise For ever in that air obscured for aye; As when the sand upon the whirlwind flies. 30 And, horror-stricken,[208] I began to say: 'Master, what sound can this be that I hear, And who the folk thus whelmed in misery?' And he replied: 'In this condition drear Are held the souls of that inglorious crew Who lived unhonoured, but from guilt kept clear. Mingled they are with caitiff angels, who, Though from avowed rebellion they refrained, Disloyal to God, did selfish ends pursue. Heaven hurled them forth, lest they her beauty stained; Received they are not by the nether hell, 41 Else triumph[209] thence were by the guilty gained.' And I: 'What bear they, Master, to compel Their lamentations in such grievous tone?' He answered: 'In few words I will thee tell. No hope of death is to the wretches known; So dim the life and abject where they sigh They count all sufferings easier than their own. Of them the world endures no memory; Mercy and justice them alike disdain. 50 Speak we not of them: glance, and pass them by.' I saw a banner[210] when I looked again, Which, always whirling round, advanced in haste As if despising steadfast to remain. And after it so many people chased In long procession, I should not have said That death[211] had ever wrought such countless waste. Some first I recognised, and then the shade I saw and knew of him, the search to close, Whose dastard soul the great refusal[212] made. 60