lin’d;
And then a voice, like that which issues forth
From heart with sorrow riv’d, did issue forth
From heav’n, and, “O poor bark of mine!” it cried,
“How badly art thou freighted!” Then, it seem’d,
That the earth open’d between either wheel,
And I beheld a dragon issue thence,
That through the chariot fix’d his forked train;
And like a wasp that draggeth back the sting,
So drawing forth his baleful train, he dragg’d
Part of the bottom forth, and went his way
Exulting.  What remain’d, as lively turf
With green herb, so did clothe itself with plumes,
Which haply had with purpose chaste and kind
Been offer’d; and therewith were cloth’d the wheels,
Both one and other, and the beam, so quickly
A sigh were not breath’d sooner.  Thus transform’d,
The holy structure, through its several parts,
Did put forth heads, three on the beam, and one
On every side; the first like oxen horn’d,
But with a single horn upon their front
The four.  Like monster sight hath never seen. 
O’er it methought there sat, secure as rock
On mountain’s lofty top, a shameless whore,
Whose ken rov’d loosely round her.  At her side,
As ’t were that none might bear her off, I saw
A giant stand; and ever, and anon
They mingled kisses.  But, her lustful eyes
Chancing on me to wander, that fell minion
Scourg’d her from head to foot all o’er; then full
Of jealousy, and fierce with rage, unloos’d
The monster, and dragg’d on, so far across
The forest, that from me its shades alone
Shielded the harlot and the new-form’d brute.

CANTO XXXIII

“The heathen, Lord! are come!” responsive thus,
The trinal now, and now the virgin band
Quaternion, their sweet psalmody began,
Weeping; and Beatrice listen’d, sad
And sighing, to the song’, in such a mood,
That Mary, as she stood beside the cross,
Was scarce more chang’d.  But when they gave her place
To speak, then, risen upright on her feet,
She, with a colour glowing bright as fire,
Did answer:  “Yet a little while, and ye
Shall see me not; and, my beloved sisters,
Again a little while, and ye shall see me.” 
     Before her then she marshall’d all the seven,
And, beck’ning only motion’d me, the dame,
And that remaining sage, to follow her. 
     So on she pass’d; and had not set, I ween,
Her tenth step to the ground, when with mine eyes
Her eyes encounter’d; and, with visage mild,
“So mend thy pace,” she cried, “that if my words
Address thee, thou mayst still be aptly plac’d
To hear them.”  Soon as duly to her side
I now had hasten’d:  “Brother!” she began,
“Why mak’st thou no attempt at questioning,
As thus we walk together?” Like to those
Who, speaking with too reverent an awe
Before their betters, draw not forth the voice
Alive unto their lips, befell me shell