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 rere 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
Down falls, and winds a river flood beneath
Through the green pastures.  Soon as in his course
The steam makes head, Benacus then no more
They call the name, but Mincius, till at last
Reaching Governo into Po he falls. 
Not far his course hath run, when a wide flat
It finds, which overstretchmg as a marsh
It covers, pestilent in summer oft. 
Hence journeying, the savage maiden saw
’Midst of the fen a territory waste
And naked of inhabitants.  To shun
All human converse, here she with her slaves
Plying her arts remain’d, and liv’d, and left
Her body tenantless.  Thenceforth the tribes,
Who round were scatter’d, gath’ring to that place
Assembled; for its strength was great, enclos’d
On all parts by the fen.  On those dead bones
They rear’d themselves a city, for her sake,
Calling it Mantua, who first chose the spot,
Nor ask’d another omen for the name,
Wherein more numerous the people dwelt,
Ere Casalodi’s madness by deceit
Was wrong’d of Pinamonte.  If thou hear
Henceforth another origin assign’d