d
into which the self-violent are turned) has a peculiar strength and
dignity:--

"Amid the branches of this dismal grove,
Their loathsome nests the brutal Harpies build,
Who from the Strophades the Trojans drove
With woful auguries erelong fulfilled.
Huge wings they have, men's faces, human throats,
Feet armed with claws, vast bellies clothed with plumes:
From those strange trees they pour their doleful notes.
'Now, ere thou further penetrate these glooms,'
Said my good master, 'thou shouldst understand
Thou'rt in the second circlet, and shall be,
Until thou come upon the horrid sand.
Give good heed then: more wonders thou shall see,
Yea, to confirm all stories I have told.'
On every side I heard heart-rending cries,
But not a person could I there behold:
Wherefore I stopped, bewildered with surprise.
Methinks he thought I thought the voices came
From some that, hiding, in the thicket lay:
Because the Master said, 'If thou but maim
One of these plants, yen, pluck a branch away,
Then shall thy judgment be more just than now.'
Therefore my hand I slightly forward reached;
And while I wrenched away a little bough
From a huge bush, 'Why mangle me?' it screeched.
Then, as the dingy drops began to start,
'Why dost thou tear me?' shrieked the trunk again,
'Hast thou no touch of pity in thy heart?
We that now here are planted, once were men;
But, were we serpents' souls, thy hand might shame
To have no more compassion on our woes';
Like a green log, that hisses in the flame,
Groaning at one end, as the other glows,--
Even as the wind comes sputtering forth, I say,
Thus oozed together from the splintered wood
Both words and blood. I dropped the broken spray,
And, like a coward, faint and trembling stood."

This picture, also, of the apparition of the angel who opens the gates
of Dis is done with a hand as firm as it is free:--

"As frogs before their enemy, the snake,
Quick scattering through the pool in timid shoals,
On the dankooze a huddling cluster makes'
I saw above a thousand mined souls
Flying from one who passed the Stygian bog,
With feet unmoistened by the sludgy wave;
Oft from his face his left hand brushed the fog
Whose weight alone, it seemed, annoyance gave.