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hen there dissolv'd he lay, the dust again Uproll'd spontaneous, and the self-same form Instant resumed. So mighty sages tell, The' Arabian Phoenix, when five hundred years Have well nigh circled, dies, and springs forthwith Renascent. Blade nor herb throughout his life He tastes, but tears of frankincense alone And odorous amomum: swaths of nard And myrrh his funeral shroud. As one that falls, He knows not how, by force demoniac dragg'd To earth, or through obstruction fettering up In chains invisible the powers of man, Who, risen from his trance, gazeth around, Bewilder'd with the monstrous agony He hath endur'd, and wildly staring sighs; So stood aghast the sinner when he rose. Oh! how severe God's judgment, that deals out Such blows in stormy vengeance! Who he was My teacher next inquir'd, and thus in few He answer'd: "Vanni Fucci am I call'd, Not long since rained down from Tuscany To this dire gullet. Me the beastial life And not the human pleas'd, mule that I was, Who in Pistoia found my worthy den." I then to Virgil: "Bid him stir not hence, And ask what crime did thrust him hither: once A man I knew him choleric and bloody." The sinner heard and feign'd not, but towards me His mind directing and his face, wherein Was dismal shame depictur'd, thus he spake: "It grieves me more to have been caught by thee In this sad plight, which thou beholdest, than When I was taken from the other life. I have no power permitted to deny What thou inquirest. I am doom'd thus low To dwell, for that the sacristy by me Was rifled of its goodly ornaments, And with the guilt another falsely charged. But that thou mayst not joy to see me thus, So as thou e'er shalt 'scape this darksome realm Open thine ears and hear what I forebode. Reft of the Neri first Pistoia pines, Then Florence changeth citizens and laws. From Valdimagra, drawn by wrathful Mars, A vapour rises, wrapt in turbid mists, And sharp and eager driveth on the storm With arrowy hurtling o'er Piceno's field, Whence suddenly the cloud shall burst, and strike Each helpless Bianco prostrate to the ground. This have I told, that grief may rend thy heart." CANTO XXV WHEN he had spoke, the sinner rais'd his hands Pointed in mockery, and cried: "Take them, God! I level them at thee!" From that day forth The serpents were my friends; for round his neck One of then rolling twisted, as it said, "Be silent, tongue!" Another to his arms Upg
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