Fer la città sovra quell’ ossa morte,
E per colei che ’l luogo prima elesse,
Mantova l’ appellar’, senza’ altra sorte.
L’Inferno, canto xx.
———Was Manto; she who searched
Through many regions, and at length her seat
Fixed in my native land; whence a short space
My words detain thy audience. When her sire
From life departed, and in servitude
The city, dedicate to Bacchus, mourned,
Long time she went a wanderer through the world.
Aloft in Italy’s delightful land,
A lake there lies, at foot of that proud Alp,
That o’er the Tyrol locks Germania in,
Its name Benacus; which a thousand rills,
Methinks, and more, water, between the vale
Camonica and Garda and the height
Of Apennine remote. There is a spot
At midway of that lake, where he who bears
Of Trento’s flock the pastoral staff, with him
Of Brescia and the Veronese might each
Passing that way, his benedction give.
A garrison of goodly sight and strong,
Peschiera stands, to awe with front opposed
The Bergamese and Brescian: whence the shore
More slope, each way descends. There whatsoe’er
Benacus’ bosom holds not, tumbling o’er
Down falls, and winds a river flood beneath,
Through the green pastures. Soon as in his course
The stream makes head, Benacus then no more
They call the name, but Mincius, till at last
Reaching Governo into Po he falls.
Not far his course hath run, when a wide flat
It finds, which overstretching, as a marsh
It covers, pestilent in summer oft.
Hence journeying the savage maiden saw
