Whose bursting rage in twain her bosom rent,

And ’gainst her offspring all its fury bent.

And now I hear Pandion’s daughters sing

Their mournful notes. With these, Bistonia’s king,

A bird in semblance, wings his airy flight.

And here fell discord hurls the flames of fight

Mid Cadmus’ train; with ire the brothers burn,

And, each on each, their kindred weapons turn;

Eternal labor!—Now compell’d to fly,

Th’ infernal powers in distant prospect lie;

Now born afar, along th’ Elysian tide,

Where Ceres’ daughter, Pluto’s gloomy bride,

Still urges on her train. Absolv’d from care,

The fair Alcestis roves rewarded there;

Proof of unbounded love! her life she gave,

To save her spouse, Admetus, from the grave.

And here is seen, the grace of womankind,

Ulisses’ wife: and, ling’ring far behind,

Transfix’d with spears, the daring suitor train.

Mourn, Orpheus, mourn! here, rack’d with grief and pain,

Curs’d by that fatal lovesick look from thee,

Thy bride remains! All-daring sure was he,

Who hop’d for mercy from the gods of Hell,

Who strove to stop the keeper’s horrid yell;

Who dar’d with mortal strength to pierce the gloom,

Where none may go, but those whom Minos doom:

Who trod mid realms of ruin, fire, and blood,

And view’d with living eyes the burning flood.

All this did Orpheus! Mid the fury-throng,

Secure he pass’d; so great the pow’r of song!

Lo, in his train ev’n list’ning beasts appear,

And rapid rivers stay their floods to hear;

Vast oaks, in rapture, hear his heav’nly strains,

Spring from their roots, and leave their native plains:

The lofty forests wave their heads around,

While their tough rinds receive the potent sound.

The monthly maid, along the starry sphere,

Pleas’d with the notes, inclin’d her steeds to hear;

Hell’s mighty mother own’d the matchless strain,

And willing gave what force could ne’er obtain;

Ev’n back to life sad Orpheus’ bride she gave,

Long try’d with griefs beyond the Stygian wave.

Yet by these ties constrain’d; if, in their flight,

Their eyes reverted to the realms of night;

If mortal voice profan’d the shades below,

Back to her bonds the forfeit bride should go.

Ah, mournful Orpheus! cruel love prevail’d,

And thro’ that love thy glorious labor fail’d.

If but one crime Hell’s iron lips could move

To speak in pardon, sure that crime were Love.

Yet, constant pair, th’ Elysian fields are thine;

Where from afar immortal heroes shine.

Blest in their father, Jove’s official son,

Here Peleus stands and virtuous Telamon;

This, by a slave of modest worth caress’d,

That, with her charms immortal Thetis bless’d.

In equal place the youth unshaken stands,

Whose mighty arm repell’d the flaming brands,

With tenfold fury mid the Phrygian bands.

What tongue unborn shall not the tale employ,