IV.
On Dante's track by some funereal spell Drawn down through desperate ways that lead not back We seem to move,bound forth past flood and fell On Dante's track.
The grey path ends:the gaunt rocks gape:the black Deep hollow tortuous night,a soundless shell,Glares darkness:are the fires of old grown slack?
Nay,then,what flames are these that leap and swell As 'twere to show,where earth's foundations crack,The secrets of the sepulchres of hell On Dante's track?
V.
By mere men's hands the flame was lit,we know,From heaps of dry waste whin and casual brands:
Yet,knowing,we scarce believe it kindled so By mere men's hands.
Above,around,high-vaulted hell expands,Steep,dense,a labyrinth walled and roofed with woe,Whose mysteries even itself not understands.
The scorn in Farinata's eyes aglow Seems visible in this flame:there Geryon stands:
No stage of earth's is here,set forth to show By mere men's hands.
VI.
Night,in utmost noon forlorn and strong,with heart athirst and fasting,Hungers here,barred up for ever,whence as one whom dreams affright Day recoils before the low-browed lintel threatening doom and casting Night.
All the reefs and islands,all the lawns and highlands,clothed with light,Laugh for love's sake in their sleep outside:but here the night speaks,blasting Day with silent speech and scorn of all things known from depth to height.