He knowing well the miserable hags
Who tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake: 
“Mark thou each dire Erinnys.  To the left
This is Megaera; on the right hand she,
Who wails, Alecto; and Tisiphone
I’ th’ midst.”  This said, in silence he remain’d
Their breast they each one clawing tore; themselves
Smote with their palms, and such shrill clamour rais’d,
That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound. 
“Hasten Medusa:  so to adamant
Him shall we change;” all looking down exclaim’d. 
“E’en when by Theseus’ might assail’d, we took
No ill revenge.”  “Turn thyself round, and keep
Thy count’nance hid; for if the Gorgon dire
Be shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy return
Upwards would be for ever lost.”  This said,
Himself my gentle master turn’d me round,
Nor trusted he my hands, but with his own
He also hid me.  Ye of intellect
Sound and entire, mark well the lore conceal’d
Under close texture of the mystic strain! 
     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