And now there came o’er the perturbed waves
Loud-crashing, terrible, a sound that made
Either shore tremble, as if of a wind
Impetuous, from conflicting vapours sprung,
That ’gainst some forest driving all its might,
Plucks off the branches, beats them down and hurls
Afar; then onward passing proudly sweeps
Its whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly.

Mine eyes he loos’d, and spake:  “And now direct
Thy visual nerve along that ancient foam,
There, thickest where the smoke ascends.”  As frogs
Before their foe the serpent, through the wave
Ply swiftly all, till at the ground each one
Lies on a heap; more than a thousand spirits
Destroy’d, so saw I fleeing before one
Who pass’d with unwet feet the Stygian sound. 
He, from his face removing the gross air,
Oft his left hand forth stretch’d, and seem’d alone
By that annoyance wearied.  I perceiv’d
That he was sent from heav’n, and to my guide
Turn’d me, who signal made that I should stand
Quiet, and bend to him.  Ah me! how full
Of noble anger seem’d he!  To the gate
He came, and with his wand touch’d it, whereat
Open without impediment it flew.

“Outcasts of heav’n!  O abject race and scorn’d!”
Began he on the horrid grunsel standing,
“Whence doth this wild excess of insolence
Lodge in you? wherefore kick you ’gainst that will
Ne’er frustrate of its end, and which so oft
Hath laid on you enforcement of your pangs? 
What profits at the fays to but the horn? 
Your Cerberus, if ye remember, hence
Bears still, peel’d of their hair, his throat and maw.”

This said, he turn’d back o’er the filthy way,
And syllable to us spake none, but wore
The semblance of a man by other care
Beset, and keenly press’d, than thought of him
Who in his presence stands.  Then we our steps
Toward that territory mov’d, secure
After the hallow’d words.  We unoppos’d
There enter’d; and my mind eager to learn
What state a fortress like to that might hold,
I soon as enter’d throw mine eye around,
And see on every part wide-stretching space
Replete with bitter pain and torment ill.

As where Rhone stagnates on the plains of Arles,
Or as at Pola, near Quarnaro’s gulf,
That closes Italy and laves her bounds,
The place is all thick spread with sepulchres;
So was it here, save what in horror here
Excell’d:  for ’midst the graves were scattered flames,
Wherewith intensely all throughout they burn’d,
That iron for no craft there hotter needs.

Their lids all hung suspended, and beneath
From them forth issu’d lamentable moans,
Such as the sad and tortur’d well might raise.

I thus:  “Master! say who are these, interr’d
Within these vaults, of whom distinct we hear
The dolorous sighs?” He answer thus return’d: 

“The arch-heretics are here, accompanied
By every sect their followers; and much more,
Than thou believest, tombs are freighted:  like
With like is buried; and the monuments
Are different in degrees of heat.”  This said,
He to the right hand turning, on we pass’d
Betwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high.