CANTO THE NINETEENTH.

ARGUMENT.

In the third Circle of Malebolge, the Poets next arrive at the Gulf of Simony, where they find the Soul of Pope Nicholas the Third, and learn from him the Nature of the Punishment of Magus and his Followers; thence occasion is taken to inveigh against the Corruptions of Ecclesiatical Election.

Oh! Magus, tell, what led thy sordid train,

With gold the hallow’d Province to profane,

And tempt the wand’ring Spouse of God to sin?

Your deadly station claims a harsher lay;

High o’er your frontier hangs the lofty way,

And sees below your horrid lot begin.

II.

Now o’er the second vale sublime we hung;

Oh, heav’nly wisdom! what immortal tongue

Can sing thy triumphs in the flaming deep

Thy triumphs, not to Earth and Heav’n confin’d,

For millions here thy mighty angels bind,

And countless tribes thy penal sentence weep.

III.

In num’rous crannies part the shelving sides,

And many a chasm the gloomy vale divides;

Like those baptismal fonts that range around

The sacred floor, where John of Patmos reigs,

Where late a life repaid my pious pains,

A life well purchas’d, tho’ with sland’rous wound.

IV.

Each, to the middle plung’d, a victim held,

The bust was hid, the burning limbs reveal’d;

Convulsive still they dance, to rest unknown:

For ever shifting round, the meteors glow,

The hanging head surveys the lake below,

And upward sends the long, reluctant groan.

V.

As the young blaze with unctuous fuel fed

Flames more intense, and lifts a bolder head;

So seem’d their quiv’ring limbs around to burn:

“Say, who is he,” I cry’d, “whose feet sublime

With fiery circles marks the dismal clime,

Conspicuous far among the tribes forlorn?”

VI.

“Would'st thou be wafted to a nearer stand,

And from himself his name and crimes demand?”

“My prompt obedience waits upon thy word;—

Thy will determines mine:” —“Submiss,” I said,

And following to the verge the Mantuan Shade,

Survey’d in ampler view the scene abhorr’d.

VII.

Then down the deep the hardy Roman bore

My mortal weight, and reach’d the shelving shore;

Where overhead the frowning arches meet:

Amid surrounding fires aghast I stood;

And saw with tenfold rage the dance renew’d,

Light’ning the region round with twinkling feet.

VIII.

“Say thou,” I cry’d, “whose limbs suspended high,

Like flaming meteors mark the nether sky;

What horrid cause thy burning bust conceals?”

As a Confessor, list’ning long I stood,

While the pale which protracts the tale of blood,

And from the falling axe a moment steals.

IX.

“Shame of the Papal Chair! and art thou come,

Hollow and dismal from the fiery tomb,”

He cried—“a later doom the Prophet told—

But come, Seducer of the Spouse of God,

Who rul’d the christian world with iron rod,

Come! thine eternal revenues behold!”

X.

As one, that hears the undistinguish’d sound

Of foul reproach, his quick sensations wound,

Struck with the sad salute, amaz’d I stood!

“Explain,” the Mantuan cry’d, “his fond mistake,

No dire successor seeks the burning lake,

With other views you pass’d the penal flood.”

XI.

Prompt I obey’d, the troubled Spirit heard,

And fiercer signs of doubled pain appear’d.

“Ah ! why delude a tortur’d soul!” he cry’d;

“But if a strong desire my doom to know,

Led your advent’rous feet fo far below,

Know, late I reign’d o’er Rome in mitred pride;

XII.

“Orsini claims my blood—illustrious name!

To raise her honours thus I sunk to shame;

Unfriended, and unwept, but not alone:

Many a proud prelate learns below to weep,

Above the fatal pass I’m doom’d to keep,

’Till Boniface forsakes the hallow’d throne.

XIII.

“I fondly thought my proud successor come,

Sent to supplant me in the fiery tomb;

Your salutation caus’d the sad mistake

Fated, alas! a longer time to weep,

And view with straihing eye the nether deep,

Than He, for soon he seeks the Stygian lake.

XIV.

“Soon haughty Boniface his Vigil ends,

And Clement here with laming feet descends,

A darker soul! the painful seat to claim

As Jason gain’d of old the Syrian Lord,

The Gallic Chief he plies with arts abhorr’d,

And soon the holy mantle hides his shame.”

XV.

He ceas’d—my fervent zeal o’ercame my fear,

And thus th’ usurper of the hallow’d chair

In scorn I questin’d, “Say, when Jesus grac’d

The humble Fisher with the high command,

Did shining gold pollute his holy hand?

“Follow my footsteps,” was his sole request.

XVI.

“Or from his station when Iscariot fell,

Did Peter’s voice the chosen Saint compel

To buy the empty feat for sums of gold?—

Now bid the Monarch dread his mitred foe;

Go, boast thy treasures to the Fiends below,

And how thy wolves destroy’d the hallow’d fold!

XVII.

“And tho’ the sanction of Orsini’s name

Thy sacred office, and thy lineal fame

Forbids my tongue to use an harsher strain;

Yet ever be thy caitiff‑soul pursu’d,

With the strong satire of the just and good,

Long, long oppress’d beneath thy hated reign.

XVIII.

“Those sordid scenes the man of Patmos saw,

When he beheld the foul enchantress draw

The royal train to wear her bonds abhorr’d;

With rapture on her lying charms to dwell,

And on her brow adore the stamp of Hell,

That brow, rebellious to her lawful Lord.

XIX.

“Go, seek your Saviour in the delved mine,

And bid th’ Idolater the palm resign;

Thine is a Legion, his a single God!—

Lamented ever be that lib’ral hand,

Whole gifts allur’d the Apostolic band

To leave that humble path where long they trod.”

XX.

I spoke—and whether grief sublim’d his pain,

Or conscience stung his soul, or high disdain;

His feet with tenfold haste the dance renew’d

List’ning with fix’d delight, the Mantuan Bard,

Silent awhile my strong invective heard,

And fondly came, and seiz’d me where I stood.

XXI.

Pleas’d with my zeal, the friendly Bard embrac’d,

And to his heart with warmer rapture prest

His filial charge, than e’er I felt before:

Then to another bridge, that o’er the deep

Led us still onward to the central steep,

My weight with Angel‑arm the Poet bore.

XXII.

The bending arch with high pontific pride

O’erhung the gloomy gulph from side to side;

The Mantuan there his cumb’rous load resign’d:

Then winding up the ridge our fearful way,

Where even the mountain kid would fear to stray,

Another vale we saw to guilt assign’d.

END OF THE NINETEENTH CANT0.