He oftentimes fancies he hears far above The seamen their voices raising, The great King Harold Harfagar In songs heroical praising. And then the king from the depth of his heart Begins sobbing and wailing and sighing, When quickly the water-fay over him bends, With loving kisses replying. 24. THE LOWER WORLD. I. Many a time poor Pluto sigh’d thus: “Were I but a single man! “Since my married life began, “Hell, I’ve learnt, was not a hell “Till I to a wife was tied thus! “Would that I remain’d still single! “Since I Proserpine did wed, “Each day wish I I was dead! “With the bark of Cerberus “Her loud scoldings ever mingle. “Each attempt I make is fruitless “After peace. There’s not a ghost “Half so sad in all my host, “And I envy Sisyphus, “And the Danaid’s labour bootless.” II. On golden chair in the regions infernal, Beside her spouse, the monarch eternal, Queen Proserpine’s sitting With mien ill befitting Her station, and sadly she’s sighing: “For roses I yearn, and the rapturous blisses “Of Philomel’s song, and the sun’s sweet kisses; “And here ’mongst the pallid “Lemures and squalid “Dead bodies, my youth’s days are flying. “I’m firmly bound in the hard yoke of marriage “In this hole, which I’m sure e’en a rat would disparage “And the spectres unsightly “Through my window peep nightly, “Their wails with the Styx’s groans vying. “This very day I’ve invited to dinner “Old Charon, the bald-pated spindle-shank’d sinner,-- “And also the Judges, “Those wearisome drudges-- “Such company’s really too trying!” III. Whilst these murmurs unavailing In the lower world found vent, Ceres on the earth was wailing, And the crazy goddess went, With no cap on, with no collar, And with loose dishevell’d hair, Uttering, in a voice of dolour, That lament known everywhere:[13] “Is’t the beauteous spring I see? “Hath the earth grown young again? “Sunlit hills glow verdantly, “Bursting through their icy chain. “From the streamlet’s mirror blue “Smiles the now-unclouded sky, “Zephyr’s wings wave milder too, “Youthful blossoms ope their eye. “In the grove sweet songs resound, “While the Oread thus doth speak: “‘Once again thy flow’rs are found, “Vain thy daughter ’tis to seek.’