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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 443 pages of information about Divine Comedy, Cary's Translation, Complete.
As thine eye tells thee wheresoe’er it turn. 
Fix’d in the slime they say:  “Sad once were we
In the sweet air made gladsome by the sun,
Carrying a foul and lazy mist within: 
Now in these murky settlings are we sad.” 
Such dolorous strain they gurgle in their throats. 
But word distinct can utter none.”  Our route
Thus compass’d we, a segment widely stretch’d
Between the dry embankment, and the core
Of the loath’d pool, turning meanwhile our eyes
Downward on those who gulp’d its muddy lees;
Nor stopp’d, till to a tower’s low base we came.

CANTO VIII

My theme pursuing, I relate that ere
We reach’d the lofty turret’s base, our eyes
Its height ascended, where two cressets hung
We mark’d, and from afar another light
Return the signal, so remote, that scarce
The eye could catch its beam.  I turning round
To the deep source of knowledge, thus inquir’d: 
“Say what this means? and what that other light
In answer set? what agency doth this?”
     “There on the filthy waters,” he replied,
“E’en now what next awaits us mayst thou see,
If the marsh-gender’d fog conceal it not.” 
     Never was arrow from the cord dismiss’d,
That ran its way so nimbly through the air,
As a small bark, that through the waves I spied
Toward us coming, under the sole sway
Of one that ferried it, who cried aloud: 
“Art thou arriv’d, fell spirit?”—­“Phlegyas, Phlegyas,
This time thou criest in vain,” my lord replied;
“No longer shalt thou have us, but while o’er
The slimy pool we pass.”  As one who hears
Of some great wrong he hath sustain’d, whereat
Inly he pines; so Phlegyas inly pin’d
In his fierce ire.  My guide descending stepp’d
Into the skiff, and bade me enter next
Close at his side; nor till my entrance seem’d
The vessel freighted.  Soon as both embark’d,
Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow,
More deeply than with others it is wont. 
     While we our course o’er the dead channel held. 
One drench’d in mire before me came, and said;
“Who art thou, that thou comest ere thine hour?”
     I answer’d:  “Though I come, I tarry not;
But who art thou, that art become so foul?”
     “One, as thou seest, who mourn:  " he straight replied. 
     To which I thus:  " In mourning and in woe,
Curs’d spirit! tarry thou.  I know thee well,
E’en thus in filth disguis’d.”  Then stretch’d he forth
Hands to the bark; whereof my teacher sage
Aware, thrusting him back:  “Away! down there
To the’ other dogs!” then, with his arms my neck
Encircling, kiss’d my cheek, and spake:  “O soul
Justly disdainful! blest was she in whom
Thou was conceiv’d!  He in the world was one
For arrogance noted; to his memory
No virtue lends its lustre; even so
Here is his shadow furious.  There above

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