“‘O sons of woe? decreed by adverse fates Alive to pass through hell’s eternal gates! All, soon or late, are doom’d that path to tread; More wretched you! twice number’d with the dead! This day adjourn your cares, exalt your souls, Indulge the taste, and drain the sparkling bowls; And when the morn unveils her saffron ray, Spread your broad sails, and plough the liquid way: Lo, I this night, your faithful guide, explain Your woes by land, your dangers on the main.’ “The goddess spoke. In feasts we waste the day, Till Phœbus downward plunged his burning ray; Then sable night ascends, and balmy rest Seals every eye, and calms the troubled breast. Then curious she commands me to relate The dreadful scenes of Pluto’s dreary state. She sat in silence while the tale I tell, The wondrous visions and the laws of hell. “Then thus: ‘The lot of man the gods dispose; These ills are past: now hear thy future woes O prince attend; some favouring power be kind, And print the important story on thy mind! “‘Next, where the Sirens dwell, you plough the seas; Their song is death, and makes destruction please. Unblest the man, whom music wins to stay Nigh the cursed shore and listen to the lay. No more that wretch shall view the joys of life His blooming offspring, or his beauteous wife! In verdant meads they sport; and wide around Lie human bones that whiten all the ground: The ground polluted floats with human gore, And human carnage taints the dreadful shore Fly swift the dangerous coast: let every ear Be stopp’d against the song! ’tis death to hear! Firm to the mast with chains thyself be bound, Nor trust thy virtue to the enchanting sound. If, mad with transport, freedom thou demand, Be every fetter strain’d, and added band to band. “‘These seas o’erpass’d, be wise! but I refrain To mark distinct thy voyage o’er the main: New horrors rise! let prudence be thy guide, And guard thy various passage through the tide. “‘High o’er the main two rocks exalt their brow,’ The boiling billows thundering roll below; Through the vast waves the dreadful wonders move, Hence named Erratic by the gods above. No bird of air, no dove of swiftest wing, That bears ambrosia to the ethereal king, Shuns the dire rocks: in vain she cuts the skies; The dire rocks meet, and crush her as she flies: Not the fleet bark, when prosperous breezes play, Ploughs o’er that roaring surge its desperate way; O’erwhelm’d it sinks: while round a smoke expires, And the waves flashing seem to burn with fires. Scarce the famed Argo pass’d these raging floods, The sacred Argo, fill’d with demigods! E’en she had sunk, but Jove’s imperial bride Wing’d her fleet sail, and push’d her o’er the tide.