Were lovers judges, or could hell forgive: For, near the confines of etherial light, And longing for the glimmering of a sight, The unwary lover cast his eyes behind, Forgetful of the law, nor master of his mind. Straight all his hopes exhaled in empty smoke, And his long toils were forfeit for a look. Three flashes of blue lightning gave the sign Of covenants broke; three peals of thunder join. Then thus the bride:--'What fury seized on thee, Unhappy man! to lose thyself and me? Dragged back again by cruel destinies, An iron slumber shuts my swimming eyes. And now, farewell! Involved in shades of night, For ever I am ravished from thy sight. In vain I reach my feeble hands, to join In sweet embraces--ah! no longer thine!' She said; and from his eyes the fleeting fair } Retired like subtile smoke dissolved in air, } And left her hopeless lover in despair. } In vain, with folding arms, the youth essayed To stop her flight, and strain the flying shade: He prays, he raves, all means in vain he tries, } With rage inflamed, astonished with surprise; } But she returned no more, to bless his longing eyes. } Nor would the infernal ferry-man once more Be bribed to waft him to the farther shore What should he do, who twice had lost his love? What notes invent? what new petitions move? Her soul already was consigned to Fate, And shivering in the leaky sculler sate. For seven continued months, if Fame say true, The wretched swain his sorrows did renew: By Strymon's freezing streams he sate alone: The rocks were moved to pity with his moan: Trees bent their heads to hear him sing his wrongs: Fierce tigers couched around, and lolled their fawning tongues. So, close in poplar shades, her children gone, The mother nightingale laments alone, Whose nest some prying churl had found, and thence, By stealth, conveyed the unfeathered innocence But she supplies the night with mournful strains; And melancholy music fills the plains. Sad Orpheus thus his tedious hours employs, Averse from Venus, and from nuptial joys. Alone he tempts the frozen floods, alone The unhappy climes, where spring was never known: He mourned his wretched wife, in vain restored, And Pluto's unavailing boon deplored. The Thracian matrons--who the youth accused Of love disdained, and marriage rites refused-- With furies and nocturnal orgies fired, At length against his sacred life conspired. Whom even the savage beasts had spared, they killed, And strewed his mangled limbs about the field. Then, when his head, from his fair shoulders torn, Washed by the waters, was on Hebrus borne, Even then his trembling tongue invoked his bride; } With his last voice, 'Eurydice,' he cried. } 'Eurydice,' the rocks and river-banks replied." }