(5) There is a mountain there, that once was glad With waters and with leaves, which was called Ida; Now 'tis deserted, as a thing worn out. Rhea once chose it for the faithful cradle Of her own son; and to conceal him better, Whene'er he cried, she there had clamours made. A grand old man stands in the mount erect, Who holds his shoulders turned tow'rds Damietta, And looks at Rome as if it were his mirror. His head is fashioned of refined gold, And of pure silver are the arms and breast; Then he is brass as far down as the fork. From that point downward all is chosen iron, Save that the right foot is of kiln-baked clay, And more he stands on that than on the other. Each part, except the gold, is by a fissure Asunder cleft, that dripping is with tears, Which gathered together perforate that cavern. From rock to rock they fall into this valley; Acheron, Styx, and Phlegethon they form; Then downward go along this narrow sluice Unto that point where is no more descending. They form Cocytus; what that pool may be Thou shalt behold, so here 'tis not narrated."