When in Bologna will a Fabbro rise? When in Faenza a Bernardin di Fosco, The noble scion of ignoble seed? Be not astonished, Tuscan, if I weep, When I remember, with Guido da Prata, Ugolin d’ Azzo, who was living with us, Frederick Tignoso and his company, The house of Traversara, and th’ Anastagi, And one race and the other is extinct; The dames and cavaliers, the toils and ease That filled our souls with love and courtesy, There where the hearts have so malicious grown! O Brettinoro! why dost thou not flee, Seeing that all thy family is gone, And many people, not to be corrupted? Bagnacaval does well in not begetting And ill does Castrocaro, and Conio worse, In taking trouble to beget such Counts. Will do well the Pagani, when their Devil Shall have departed; but not therefore pure Will testimony of them e’er remain. O Ugolin de’ Fantoli, secure Thy name is, since no longer is awaited One who, degenerating, can obscure it! But go now, Tuscan, for it now delights me To weep far better than it does to speak, So much has our discourse my mind distressed.” We were aware that those beloved souls Heard us depart; therefore, by keeping silent, They made us of our pathway confident. When we became alone by going onward, Thunder, when it doth cleave the air, appeared A voice, that counter to us came, exclaiming: “Shall slay me whosoever findeth me!” And fled as the reverberation dies If suddenly the cloud asunder bursts. As soon as hearing had a truce from this, Behold another, with so great a crash, That it resembled thunderings following fast: “I am Aglaurus, who became a stone!” And then, to press myself close to the Poet, I backward, and not forward, took a step. Already on all sides the air was quiet; And said he to me: “That was the hard curb That ought to hold a man within his bounds; But you take in the bait so that the hook Of the old Adversary draws you to him, And hence availeth little curb or call. The heavens are calling you, and wheel around you, Displaying to you their eternal beauties, And still your eye is looking on the ground; Whence He, who all discerns, chastises you.” Purgatorio: Canto XV As much as ’twixt the close of the third hour And dawn of day appeareth of that sphere Which aye in fashion of a child is playing, So much it now appeared, towards the night, Was of his course remaining to the sun; There it was evening, and ’twas midnight here; And the rays smote the middle of our faces, Because by us the mount was so encircled, That straight towards the west we now were going When I perceived my forehead overpowered Beneath the splendour far more than at first, And stupor were to me the things unknown, Whereat towards the summit of my brow I raised my hands, and made myself the visor Which the excessive glare diminishes.