Now ’gin the rueful wailings to be heard. 
Now am I come where many a plaining voice
Smites on mine ear.  Into a place I came
Where light was silent all.  Bellowing there groan’d
A noise as of a sea in tempest torn
By warring winds.  The stormy blast of hell
With restless fury drives the spirits on
Whirl’d round and dash’d amain with sore annoy.

When they arrive before the ruinous sweep,
There shrieks are heard, there lamentations, moans,
And blasphemies ’gainst the good Power in heaven.

I understood that to this torment sad
The carnal sinners are condemn’d, in whom
Reason by lust is sway’d.  As in large troops
And multitudinous, when winter reigns,
The starlings on their wings are borne abroad;
So bears the tyrannous gust those evil souls. 
On this side and on that, above, below,
It drives them:  hope of rest to solace them
Is none, nor e’en of milder pang.  As cranes,
Chanting their dol’rous notes, traverse the sky,
Stretch’d out in long array:  so I beheld
Spirits, who came loud wailing, hurried on
By their dire doom.  Then I:  “Instructor! who
Are these, by the black air so scourg’d?”—­“The first
’Mong those, of whom thou question’st,” he replied,
“O’er many tongues was empress.  She in vice
Of luxury was so shameless, that she made
Liking be lawful by promulg’d decree,
To clear the blame she had herself incurr’d. 
This is Semiramis, of whom ’tis writ,
That she succeeded Ninus her espous’d;
And held the land, which now the Soldan rules. 
The next in amorous fury slew herself,
And to Sicheus’ ashes broke her faith: 
Then follows Cleopatra, lustful queen.”

There mark’d I Helen, for whose sake so long
The time was fraught with evil; there the great
Achilles, who with love fought to the end. 
Paris I saw, and Tristan; and beside
A thousand more he show’d me, and by name
Pointed them out, whom love bereav’d of life.

When I had heard my sage instructor name
Those dames and knights of antique days, o’erpower’d
By pity, well-nigh in amaze my mind
Was lost; and I began:  “Bard! willingly
I would address those two together coming,
Which seem so light before the wind.”  He thus: 
“Note thou, when nearer they to us approach.”

“Then by that love which carries them along,
Entreat; and they will come.”  Soon as the wind
Sway’d them toward us, I thus fram’d my speech: 
“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 issu’d from that troop, where Dido ranks,
They through the ill air speeding; with such force
My cry prevail’d by strong affection urg’d.