Already unto me had read his name; On that account my answer was so full. Up starting suddenly, he cried out: “How Saidst thou⁠—he had? Is he not still alive? Does not the sweet light strike upon his eyes?” When he became aware of some delay, Which I before my answer made, supine He fell again, and forth appeared no more. But the other, magnanimous, at whose desire I had remained, did not his aspect change, Neither his neck he moved, nor bent his side. 141 “And if,” continuing his first discourse, “They have that art,” he said, “not learned aright, That more tormenteth me, than doth this bed. But fifty times shall not rekindled be The countenance of the Lady who reigns here, 142 Ere thou shalt know how heavy is that art; And as thou wouldst to the sweet world return, Say why that people is so pitiless Against my race in each one of its laws?” Whence I to him: “The slaughter and great carnage Which have with crimson stained the Arbia, cause