TO THE READER. (continued 3)
Robert Gwyneddon Davies translation
At that instant the huge bolt was whirled, and Lucifer and his chief counsellors were swept away into the vortex of Uttermost Perdition; woe’s me, how terrible it was to behold the jaws of Hell yawning wide to receive them! “Come now,” said the Angel, “we will return, but what thou hast seen is as nothing compared with all that is within the bounds of Hell; and if thou didst see everything therein that again would be as nought when compared with the unutterable woe of the Bottomless Pit; for it is impossible to have any conception of the life in the Uttermost Hell.” Then suddenly the heavenly Eagle caught me up into the vault of the accursed gloom by a way I knew not, where, from the court, across the entire firmament of dark-burning Perdition, and all the land of oblivion up to the ramparts of the City of Destruction, I obtained full view of the hideous monster of a giantess whose feet I had previously observed. “Words fail me to describe her ways and means; but of herself I can tell thee, that she was a three-faced ogress: one villainous face turned towards Heaven, yelping and snarling and belching forth cursèd abomination against the heavenly King; another face (and this was fair to look upon) towards earth, to allure men beneath her baneful shadow; and the other direful face towards the infernal abyss, to torture all therein for ages without end. She is greater than the earth in its entirety, and still continuously increases; she is a hundredfold more hideous than all Hell which she herself created and which she peoples. If Hell were rid of her, the vasty deep would be a Paradise; if she were driven from the earth, the little world would become a heaven; and if she ascended into Heaven, she would make an uttermost hell of that blissful realm. There is nought in all the worlds which God has not created, save her alone. She is the mother of the four deadly enchantresses; she is the mother of Death and of all evil and misery, and her terrible grasp is upon every living being. Her name is Sin. Blessed, ever blessed be he who escapes from her clutches,” said the Angel. Thereupon he departed, and I could hear the distant echo of his voice saying; “Write down what thou hast seen; and whosoever readeth it thoughtfully will never repent.”
WITH HEAVY HEART.
With heavy heart I sought th’ infernal coast And saw the vale of everlasting woes, The awful home of fiends and of the lost Where torments rage and never grant repose— A lake of fire whence horrid flames arose And whither tended every wayward path Its prey to lead ’midst cruel dragon-foes; Yet, though I wandered through withouten scath, A world I’d spurn, to view again that scene of wrath.
With heavy heart oft I recall to mind How many a loving friend unwarnèd fell To bottomless perdition, there to find A dread abode where he for aye must dwell; Who erst were men are now like hounds of Hell And with unceasing energy entice To dire combustion all with wily spell, And to themselves have ta’en the devils’ guise, Their power and skill all ill to do in every wise.
With heavy heart I roamed the dismal land That is ordained the sinner’s end to be; What mighty waves surge wild on every hand! What gloomy shadows haunt its canopy! What horrors fall on high and mean degree! How hideous is the mien of its fell lords, What shrieks rise from that boundless glowing sea, How fierce the curses of the damnèd hordes, No mortal ken can e’er conceive or paint in words.
With heavy heart we mourn true friends or kin And grieve the loss of home, of liberty, Of that good name which all aspire to win Or health and ease and sweet tranquility; When dim, dark clouds enshroud our memory And pass ’tween us and heaven’s gracious smiles, ’Tis sadder far to wake to misery And feel that Pleasure now no more beguiles, That sin has left nought but the wounds of its base wiles.
With heavy heart the valiantest of men Lays low his head beneath th’ impending doom; In terror he descends death’s awsome glen; While there appear flashing through the gloom The lurid shades of deeds which in the bloom Of youth he dared; at last the conscience cries With ruthless voice: “There’s life beyond the tomb;” His dying thoughts all vanities despise As on the threshold of Eternity he lies.
The heavy heart that suffers all such grief May, while the breath of life doth still remain, Hope for a joyous peace and blest relief; But if grim Death his fated victim gain, Woe’s him that entereth the realm of pain— For e’er on him its frowning portals close, Nor gleam of hope shall he perceive again, For in that vast eternal night he knows A woe awaits that far surpasseth earthly woes.
The heavy heart beneath its weight is crushed, And at its very name—Damnation writ, All men their vain and froward clamors hushed; But when within the fiery gaping pit Whose flaming ramparts none will ever quit, Above the thunder’s roar th’ accursed host Raise such loud cries, it passeth human wit To dream of aught so dire, for at the most, All woes of earth as pleasures seem unto the lost.
From every vain complaining, cease, my friend, Since thou art yet not numbered with the dead But turn thy thoughts unto thy destined end, Behold thy Fates spin out the vital thread, And oftèn as thy mind to Hell be led, To contemplate the doleful gloom aglow, There will forthwith possess thee such a dread, Which Christ’s unbounded mercy doth bestow, Lest thou be doomed to that eternal realm of woe.