Distorted, ruffling with deep sighs his beard. 
And Catalano, who thereof was ’ware,
Thus spake:  “That pierced spirit, whom intent
Thou view’st, was he who gave the Pharisees
Counsel, that it were fitting for one man
To suffer for the people.  He doth lie
Transverse; nor any passes, but him first
Behoves make feeling trial how each weighs. 
In straits like this along the foss are plac’d
The father of his consort, and the rest
Partakers in that council, seed of ill
And sorrow to the Jews.”  I noted then,
How Virgil gaz’d with wonder upon him,
Thus abjectly extended on the cross
In banishment eternal.  To the friar
He next his words address’d:  “We pray ye tell,
If so be lawful, whether on our right
Lies any opening in the rock, whereby
We both may issue hence, without constraint
On the dark angels, that compell’d they come
To lead us from this depth.”  He thus replied: 
“Nearer than thou dost hope, there is a rock
From the next circle moving, which o’ersteps
Each vale of horror, save that here his cope
Is shatter’d.  By the ruin ye may mount: 
For on the side it slants, and most the height
Rises below.”  With head bent down awhile
My leader stood, then spake:  “He warn’d us ill,
Who yonder hangs the sinners on his hook.” 
     To whom the friar:  At Bologna erst
I many vices of the devil heard,
Among the rest was said, ’He is a liar,
And the father of lies!’” When he had spoke,
My leader with large strides proceeded on,
Somewhat disturb’d with anger in his look. 
     I therefore left the spirits heavy laden,
And following, his beloved footsteps mark’d.

CANTO XXIV

In the year’s early nonage, when the sun
Tempers his tresses in Aquarius’ urn,
And now towards equal day the nights recede,
When as the rime upon the earth puts on
Her dazzling sister’s image, but not long
Her milder sway endures, then riseth up
The village hind, whom fails his wintry store,
And looking out beholds the plain around
All whiten’d, whence impatiently he smites
His thighs, and to his hut returning in,
There paces to and fro, wailing his lot,
As a discomfited and helpless man;
Then comes he forth again, and feels new hope
Spring in his bosom, finding e’en thus soon
The world hath chang’d its count’nance, grasps his crook,
And forth to pasture drives his little flock: 
So me my guide dishearten’d when I saw
His troubled forehead, and so speedily
That ill was cur’d; for at the fallen bridge
Arriving, towards me with a look as sweet,
He turn’d him back, as that I first beheld
At the steep mountain’s foot.  Regarding well
The ruin, and some counsel first maintain’d
With his own thought, he open’d wide his arm
And took me up.  As one, who, while he works,