The ram from Colchos.  To the Lemnian isle
His passage thither led him, when those bold
And pitiless women had slain all their males. 
There he with tokens and fair witching words
Hypsipyle beguil’d, a virgin young,
Who first had all the rest herself beguil’d. 
Impregnated he left her there forlorn. 
Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain. 
Here too Medea’s inj’ries are avenged. 
All bear him company, who like deceit
To his have practis’d.  And thus much to know
Of the first vale suffice thee, and of those
Whom its keen torments urge.”  Now had we come
Where, crossing the next pier, the straighten’d path
Bestrides its shoulders to another arch.

Hence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts,
Who jibber in low melancholy sounds,
With wide-stretch’d nostrils snort, and on themselves
Smite with their palms.  Upon the banks a scurf
From the foul steam condens’d, encrusting hung,
That held sharp combat with the sight and smell.

So hollow is the depth, that from no part,
Save on the summit of the rocky span,
Could I distinguish aught.  Thus far we came;
And thence I saw, within the foss below,
A crowd immers’d in ordure, that appear’d
Draff of the human body.  There beneath
Searching with eye inquisitive, I mark’d
One with his head so grim’d, ’t were hard to deem,
If he were clerk or layman.  Loud he cried: 
“Why greedily thus bendest more on me,
Than on these other filthy ones, thy ken?”

“Because if true my mem’ry,” I replied,
“I heretofore have seen thee with dry locks,
And thou Alessio art of Lucca sprung. 
Therefore than all the rest I scan thee more.”

Then beating on his brain these words he spake: 
“Me thus low down my flatteries have sunk,
Wherewith I ne’er enough could glut my tongue.”

My leader thus:  “A little further stretch
Thy face, that thou the visage well mayst note
Of that besotted, sluttish courtezan,
Who there doth rend her with defiled nails,
Now crouching down, now risen on her feet.

“Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lip
Answer’d her doting paramour that ask’d,
‘Thankest me much!’—­’Say rather wondrously,’
And seeing this here satiate be our view.”

CANTO XIX

Woe to thee, Simon Magus! woe to you,
His wretched followers! who the things of God,
Which should be wedded unto goodness, them,
Rapacious as ye are, do prostitute
For gold and silver in adultery! 
Now must the trumpet sound for you, since yours
Is the third chasm.  Upon the following vault
We now had mounted, where the rock impends
Directly o’er the centre of the foss.

Wisdom Supreme! how wonderful the art,
Which thou dost manifest in heaven, in earth,
And in the evil world, how just a meed
Allotting by thy virtue unto all!