Intro (Canto III)
"Through me the way is to the city dolent
Through me the way is to eternal dole
Through me the way among the people lost
Justice incited my sublime Creator
Created me divine Omnipotence
The highest Wisdom and the primal Love
Before me there were no created things
Only eterne, and I eternal last
All hope abandon, ye who enter in!"
These words in sombre colour I beheld
Written upon the summit of a gate
Whence I: "Their sense is, Master, hard to me!"
And he to me, as one experienced
"Here all suspicion needs must be abandoned
All cowardice must needs be here extinct
We to the place have come, where I have told thee
Thou shalt behold the people dolorous
Who have foregone the good of intellect."
And after he had laid his hand on mine
With joyful mien, whence I was comforted
He led me in among the secret things
There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud
Resounded through the air without a star
Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat
Languages diverse, horrible dialects
Accents of anger, words of agony
And I: "O Master, what so grievous is
To these, that maketh them lament so sore?"
He answered: "I will tell thee very briefly
These have no longer any hope of death
Through me the way is to eternal dole
Through me the way among the people lost
Justice incited my sublime Creator
Created me divine Omnipotence
The highest Wisdom and the primal Love
Before me there were no created things
Only eterne, and I eternal last
All hope abandon, ye who enter in!"
These words in sombre colour I beheld
Written upon the summit of a gate
Whence I: "Their sense is, Master, hard to me!"
And he to me, as one experienced
"Here all suspicion needs must be abandoned
All cowardice must needs be here extinct
We to the place have come, where I have told thee
Thou shalt behold the people dolorous
Who have foregone the good of intellect."
And after he had laid his hand on mine
With joyful mien, whence I was comforted
He led me in among the secret things
There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud
Resounded through the air without a star
Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat
Languages diverse, horrible dialects
Accents of anger, words of agony
And I: "O Master, what so grievous is
To these, that maketh them lament so sore?"
He answered: "I will tell thee very briefly
These have no longer any hope of death
Credits
Writer(s): Alan Maman, Unknown
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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