One and the selfsame tongue first wounded me, So that it tinged the one cheek and the other, And then held out to me the medicine;
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Thus do I hear that once Achilles' spear, His and his father's, used to be the cause first of a sad and then a gracious boon.
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We turned our backs upon the wretched valley, Upon the bank that girds it round about, going across it without any speech.
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There it was less than night, and less than day, So that my sight went little in advance;
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第三十一歌: 围着深渊耸立的巨人们
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