As on them more direct mine eye descends,
Each wondrously seem’d to be revers’d
At the neck-bone, so that the countenance
Was from the reins averted:  and because
None might before him look, they were compell’d
To’ advance with backward gait.  Thus one perhaps
Hath been by force of palsy clean transpos’d,
But I ne’er saw it nor believe it so.

Now, reader! think within thyself, so God
Fruit of thy reading give thee! how I long
Could keep my visage dry, when I beheld
Near me our form distorted in such guise,
That on the hinder parts fall’n from the face
The tears down-streaming roll’d.  Against a rock
I leant and wept, so that my guide exclaim’d: 
“What, and art thou too witless as the rest? 
Here pity most doth show herself alive,
When she is dead.  What guilt exceedeth his,
Who with Heaven’s judgment in his passion strives? 
Raise up thy head, raise up, and see the man,
Before whose eyes earth gap’d in Thebes, when all
Cried out, ’Amphiaraus, whither rushest? 
‘Why leavest thou the war?’ He not the less
Fell ruining far as to Minos down,
Whose grapple none eludes.  Lo! how he makes
The breast his shoulders, and who once too far
Before him wish’d to see, now backward looks,
And treads reverse his path.  Tiresias note,
Who semblance chang’d, when woman he became
Of male, through every limb transform’d, and then
Once more behov’d him with his rod to strike
The two entwining serpents, ere the plumes,
That mark’d the better sex, might shoot again.

“Aruns, with more his belly facing, comes. 
On Luni’s mountains ’midst the marbles white,
Where delves Carrara’s hind, who wons beneath,
A cavern was his dwelling, whence the stars
And main-sea wide in boundless view he held.

“The next, whose loosen’d tresses overspread
Her bosom, which thou seest not (for each hair
On that side grows) was Manto, she who search’d
Through many regions, and at length her seat
Fix’d in my native land, whence a short space
My words detain thy audience.  When her sire
From life departed, and in servitude
The city dedicate to Bacchus mourn’d,
Long time she went a wand’rer through the world. 
Aloft in Italy’s delightful land
A lake there lies, at foot of that proud Alp,
That o’er the Tyrol locks Germania in,
Its name Benacus, which a thousand rills,
Methinks, and more, water between the vale
Camonica and Garda and the height
Of Apennine remote.  There is a spot
At midway of that lake, where he who bears
Of Trento’s flock the past’ral staff, with him
Of Brescia, and the Veronese, might each
Passing that way his benediction give. 
A garrison of goodly site and strong
Peschiera stands, to awe with front oppos’d
The Bergamese and Brescian, whence the shore
More slope each way descends.  There, whatsoev’er
Benacus’ bosom holds not, tumbling o’er