Erecting, seem’d as in high scorn he held
E’en hell.  Between the sepulchres to him
My guide thrust me with fearless hands and prompt,
This warning added:  “See thy words be clear!”
     He, soon as there I stood at the tomb’s foot,
Ey’d me a space, then in disdainful mood
Address’d me:  “Say, what ancestors were thine?”
     I, willing to obey him, straight reveal’d
The whole, nor kept back aught:  whence he, his brow
Somewhat uplifting, cried:  “Fiercely were they
Adverse to me, my party, and the blood
From whence I sprang:  twice therefore I abroad
Scatter’d them.”  “Though driv’n out, yet they each time
From all parts,” answer’d I, “return’d; an art
Which yours have shown, they are not skill’d to learn.” 
     Then, peering forth from the unclosed jaw,
Rose from his side a shade, high as the chin,
Leaning, methought, upon its knees uprais’d. 
It look’d around, as eager to explore
If there were other with me; but perceiving
That fond imagination quench’d, with tears
Thus spake:  “If thou through this blind prison go’st. 
Led by thy lofty genius and profound,
Where is my son? and wherefore not with thee?”
     I straight replied:  “Not of myself I come,
By him, who there expects me, through this clime
Conducted, whom perchance Guido thy son
Had in contempt.”  Already had his words
And mode of punishment read me his name,
Whence I so fully answer’d.  He at once
Exclaim’d, up starting, “How! said’st thou he had? 
No longer lives he?  Strikes not on his eye
The blessed daylight?” Then of some delay
I made ere my reply aware, down fell
Supine, not after forth appear’d he more. 
     Meanwhile the other, great of soul, near whom
I yet was station’d, chang’d not count’nance stern,
Nor mov’d the neck, nor bent his ribbed side. 
“And if,” continuing the first discourse,
“They in this art,” he cried, “small skill have shown,
That doth torment me more e’en than this bed. 
But not yet fifty times shall be relum’d
Her aspect, who reigns here Queen of this realm,
Ere thou shalt know the full weight of that art. 
So to the pleasant world mayst thou return,
As thou shalt tell me, why in all their laws,
Against my kin this people is so fell?”
     “The slaughter and great havoc,” I replied,
“That colour’d Arbia’s flood with crimson stain—­
To these impute, that in our hallow’d dome
Such orisons ascend.”  Sighing he shook
The head, then thus resum’d:  “In that affray
I stood not singly, nor without just cause
Assuredly should with the rest have stirr’d;
But singly there I stood, when by consent
Of all, Florence had to the ground been raz’d,
The one who openly forbad the deed.” 
     “So may thy lineage find at last repose,”
I thus adjur’d him, “as thou solve this knot,
Which now involves my mind.  If right I hear,