And now with homeward footstep he had passed All perils scathless, and, at length restored, Eurydice to realms of upper air Had well-nigh won, behind him following-So Proserpine had ruled it- when his heart A sudden mad desire surprised and seized-Meet fault to be forgiven, might Hell forgive.
For at the very threshold of the day, Heedless, alas! and vanquished of resolve, He stopped, turned, looked upon Eurydice His own once more. But even with the look, Poured out was all his labour, broken the bond Of that fell tyrant, and a crash was heard Three times like thunder in the meres of hell.
'Orpheus! what ruin hath thy frenzy wrought On me, alas! and thee? Lo! once again The unpitying fates recall me, and dark sleep Closes my swimming eyes. And now farewell:
Girt with enormous night I am borne away, Outstretching toward thee, thine, alas! no more, These helpless hands.' She spake, and suddenly, Like smoke dissolving into empty air, Passed and was sundered from his sight; nor him Clutching vain shadows, yearning sore to speak, Thenceforth beheld she, nor no second time Hell's boatman brooks he pass the watery bar.
What should he do? fly whither, twice bereaved?
Move with what tears the Manes, with what voice The Powers of darkness? She indeed even now Death-cold was floating on the Stygian barge!
For seven whole months unceasingly, men say, Beneath a skyey crag, by thy lone wave, Strymon, he wept, and in the caverns chill Unrolled his story, melting tigers' hearts, And leading with his lay the oaks along.
As in the poplar-shade a nightingale Mourns her lost young, which some relentless swain, Spying, from the nest has torn unfledged, but she Wails the long night, and perched upon a spray With sad insistence pipes her dolorous strain, Till all the region with her wrongs o'erflows.