# Inferno Canto  4

*Exported from [Holy-Writings.com](https://www.holy-writings.com/) on 2026-06-20 — 1 clipping.*

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> 
> Canto IV
> 
> Argument
> 
>      The Poet, being roused by a clap of thunder, and following his guide
> onward, descends into Limbo, which is the first circle of Hell, where he finds
> the souls of those, who although they have lived virtuously and have not to
> suffer for great sins, nevertheless, through lack of baptism, merit not the
> bliss of Paradise. Hence he is led on by Virgil to descend into the second
> circle.
> 
> Broke the deep slumber in my brain a crash
> Of heavy thunder, that I shook myself,
> As one by main force roused. Risen upright,
> My rested eyes I moved around, and search'd
> With fixed ken, to know what place it was
> Wherein I stood. For certain, on the brink
> I found me of the lamentable vale,
> The dread abyss, that joins a thunderous sound
> Of plaints innumerable. Dark and deep,
> 
> And thick with clouds o'erspread, mine eye in vain
> Explored its bottom, nor could aught discern.
> 
> "Now let us to the blind world there beneath
> Descend," the bard began, all pale of look:
> "I go the first, and thou shalt follow next."
> 
> Then I, his alter'd hue perceiving, thus:
> "How may I speed, if thou yieldest to dread,
> Who still art wont to comfort me in doubt?"
> 
> He then: "The anguish of that race below
> With pity stains my cheek, which thou for fear
> Mistakest. Let us on. Our length of way
> Urges to haste." Onward, this said, he moved;
> And entering led me with him, on the bounds
> Of the first circle that surrounds the abyss.
> 
> Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heard
> Except of sighs, that made the eternal air
> Tremble, not caused by tortures, but from grief
> Felt by those multitudes, many and vast,
> Of men, women, and infants. Then to me
> The gentle guide: "Inquirest thou not what spirits
> Are these which thou beholdest? Ere thou pass
> Farther, I would tkou know, that these of sin
> Were blameless; and if aught they merited,
> If profits not, since baptism was not heirs,
> The portal[1] to thy faith. If they before
> The Gospel lived, they served not God aright;
> And among such am I. For these defects,
> And for no other evil, we are lost;
> Only so far afflicted, that we live
> Desiring without hope." Sore grief assail'd
> My heart at hearing this, for well I knew
> Suspended in that Limbo many a soul
> Of mighty worth. "O tell me, sire revered!
> Tell me, my master!" I began, through wish
> Of full assurance in that holy faith
> Which vanquishes all error; "say, did e'er
> Any, or through his own or other's merit,
> Come forth from thence, who afterward was blest?"
> 
> [1: "Portal." "Porta della fede." This was an alteration made in the
> text by the Academicians della Crusca, on the authority, as it would appear,
> of only two manuscripts. The other reading is, "parte della fede," "part of
> the faith."]
> 
> Piercing the secret purport[2] of my speech,
> He answer'd: "I was new to that estate
> When I beheld a puissant one[3] arrive
> Amongst us, with victorious trophy crown'd.
> He forth the shade of our first parent drew,
> Abel, his child, and Noah righteous man,
> Of Moses lawgiver for faith approved,
> Of patriarch Abraham, and David king,
> Israel with his sire and with his sons,
> Nor without Rachel whom so hard he won,
> And others many more, whom He to bliss
> Exalted. Before these, be thou assured,
> No spirit of human kind was ever saved."
> 
> [2: "Secret purport." Lombardi well observes that Dante seems to have
> been restrained by awe and reverence from uttering the name of Christ in this
> place of torment; and that for the same cause, probably, it does not occur
> once throughout the whole of this first part of the poem.]
> 
> [3: "A puissant one." Our Savior.]
> 
> We, while he spake, ceased not our onward road,
> Still passing through the wood; for so I name
> Those spirits thick beset. We were not far
> On this side from the summit, when I kenn'd
> A flame, that o'er the darken'd hemisphere
> Prevailing shined. Yet we a little space
> Were distant, not so far but I in part
> Discover'd that a tribe in honour high
> That placed possess'd. "O thou, who every art
> And science valuest! who are these, that boast
> Such honor, separate from all the rest?"
> 
> He answer'd: "The renown of their great names,
> That echoes through your world above, acquires
> Favor in Heaven, which holds them thus advanced."
> Meantime a voice I heard: "Honor the bard
> Sublime! his shade returns, that left us late!"
> No sooner ceased the sound, that I beheld
> Four mighty spirits toward us bend their steps,
> Of semblance neither sorrowful nor glad.
> 
> When thus my master kind began: "Mark him,
> Who in his right hand bears that falchion keen,
> The other three preceding, as their lord.
> 
> This is that Homer, of all bards supreme:
> Flaccus the next, in satire's vein excelling;
> The third is Naso; Lucan is the last.
> Because they all that appellation own,
> With which the voice singly accosted me,
> Honouring they greet me thus, and well they judge."
> 
> So I beheld united the bright school
> Of him the monarch of sublimest song,[4]
> That o'er the others like an eagle soars.
> 
> [4: "The monarch of sublimest song." Homer.]
> 
> When they together short discourse had held,
> They turn'd to me, with salutation kind
> Beckoning me; at the which my master smiled:
> Nor was this all; but greater honour still
> They gave me, for they made me of their tribe;
> And I was sixth amid so learn'd a band.
> 
> Far as the luminous beacon on we pass'd,
> Speaking of matters, then befitting well
> To speak, now fitter left untold. At foot
> Of a magnificent castle we arrived,
> Seven times with lofty walls begirt, and around
> Defended by a pleasant stream. O'er this
> As o'er dry land we pass'd. Next, through seven gates,
> I with those sages enter'd, and we came
> Into a mead with lively verdure fresh.
> 
> There dwelt a race, who slow their eyes around
> Majestically moved, and in their port
> Bore eminent authority: they spake
> Seldom, but all their words were tuneful sweet.
> 
> We to one side retired, into a place
> Open and bright and lofty, whence each one
> Stood manifest to view. Incontinent,
> There on the green enamel of the plain
> Were shown me the great spirits, by whose sight
> I am exalted in my own esteem.
> 
> Electra[5] there I saw accompanied
> By many, among whom Hector I knew,
> Anchises' pious son, and with hawk's eye
> Caesar all arm'd, and by Camilla there
> Penthesilea. On the other side,
> Old King Latinus seated by his child
> Lavinia, and that Brutus I beheld
> Who Tarquin chased, Lucretia, Cato's wife
> Marcia, with Julia[6] and Cornelia there;
> And sole apart retired, the Soldan fierce.[7]
> 
> [5: Daughter of Atlas, and mother of Dardanus, founder of Troy.]
> 
> [6: "Julia." The daughter of Julius Caesar, and wife of Pompey.]
> 
> [7: "The Soldan fierce." Saladin, or Salaheddin, the rival of Richard
> Coeur de Lion.]
> 
> Then when a little more I raised my brow,
> I spied the master of the sapient throng,[8]
> Seated amid the philosophic train.
> Him all admire, all pay him reverence due.
> There Socrates and Plato both I mark'd
> Nearest to him in rank, Democritus,
> Who sets the world at chance,[9] Diogenes,
> With Heraclitus, and Empedocles,
> And Anaxagoras, and Thales sage,
> Zeno, and Dioscorides well read
> In nature's secret lore. Orpheus I mark'd
> And Linus, Tully and moral Seneca,
> Euclid and Ptolemy, Hippocrates,
> Galenus, Avicen, and him who made
> That commentary vast, Averroes.[10]
> 
> [8: "The master of the sapient throng." "Maestro di color che sanno."
> Aristotle.]
> 
> [9: "Who sets the world at chance." Democritus, who maintained the
> world to have been formed by the fortuitous concourse of atoms.]
> 
> [10: Averroes, called by the Arabians Ibn Roschd, translated and
> commented on the works of Aristotle.]
> 
> Of all to speak at full were vain attempt;
> For my wide theme so urges, that oft - times
> My words fall short of what bechanced. In two
> The six associates part. Another way
> My sage guide leads me, from that air serene,
> Into a climate ever vex'd with storms:
> And to a part I come, where no light shines.
>
> — *Inferno Canto  4*