To hold this wreckage of humanity.
The first Circle to which were drawing near
Æneas and his Guide, might force a tear
From hearts of iron; for the entire air
Was but a storm of infantile despair;
One scream—plaints of robbery of the share
In sweet life to which each is born an heir.
Only, clasped to their mother’s breasts, of all
Promised at birth, they have—a funeral!
In the next Circle, less by one degree