Adverse their lot who died through perjury;
For they can claim revision of their cause
By eternal justice, if not man’s laws.
Minos holds his high Court; sifts hearts and lives;
A mute jury through Urns its verdict gives.
Acquittal will not breath of life restore;
But the appellant shuns his fellow Shades no more.
In the third Circle a sad folk abide,
Who go always wondering why they died.
Their hands are wet and red with blood they spilt;