Of the grey wither'd cliffs. Intent I stood
To gaze, and in the marish sunk, descried
A miry tribe, all naked, and with looks
Betok'ning rage. They with their hands alone
Struck not, but with the head, the breast, the feet,
Cutting each other piecemeal with their fangs. ...

--Our route
Thus compass'd, we a segment widely stretch'd
Between the dry embankment and the cove
Of the loath'd pool, turning meanwhile our eyes
Downward on those who gulp'd its muddy lees;
_Nor stopp'd, till to a tower's low base we came._

(CARY.)


VI. For Dante's power,--his absolute mastery over, although rare
exhibition of, the pathetic, I can do no more than refer to the passages
on Francesca di Rimini (Infer. C. v. ver. 73 to the end.) and on
Ugolino, (Infer. C. xxxiii. ver. 1. to 75.) They are so well known, and
rightly so admired, that it would be pedantry to analyze their
composition; but you will note that the first is the pathos of passion,
the second that of affection; and yet even in the first, you seem to
perceive that the lovers have sacrificed their passion to the cherishing
of a deep and rememberable impression.

VII. As to going into the endless subtle beauties of Dante, that is
impossible; but I cannot help citing the first triplet of the 29th canto
of the Inferno: