On some the doom to push a mass up hill, And, when it slips, as slip it ever will, Still push; for some, e’en worse, the Wheel; and then— Limbs healed—to be broken again, again. There hapless Theseus sits, and will aye sit; Phlegyas there, whose cry—might I deaden it!— Is in mine ears: ‘Men, be warned! Scorn not Heav’n; Never is sin against the Gods forgiv’n!’” “More”? Yea; had I a hundred mouths; in each A tongue of iron to give forth my speech; And thou weeks to listen, I could not tell Of all the guilt, its chastisements in Hell. Enough for thee to know all there have dared To break God’s laws, and in like kind have fared. The deeds have been done; and now, fast shut in, The doers take the wages of their sin. But time presses; hasten, wouldst thou fulfil Duties charged by Heaven’s grace, thy own good-will. Courage; for we have left behind the Pit Of sin and torture, and are soon to quit Even the melancholy Precincts, where The dead still mourn the Past, the Future fear. Already I see the walls Cyclopian, built To shut off lands of misery and guilt From the happier one to which we wend. Lo the Arch! there must thou thy Branch suspend!” Crossing the intervening twilight space, They stood ’neath the vault of the gate in face. Then, sprinkled with fresh water from a spring, Æneas hung up his gold offering. Elysium’s doors opened; he was free, Having paid her due to its Deity. ELYSIUM A land for joyance made; blest for the blest; Happy in being chosen for their rest; For nowhere greener lawns, more bow’ry glades Inviting into more reposeful shades Of arched romantic groves, with, ev’rywhere, Steeped in a purple glow, a larger air Than Earth’s; for the lower world owes no debt To sun or stars with which our skies are set; It has them of its own, as real as ours. Real too its grass, the fragrance of its flow’rs; Real they to Spirit as to them It seems, Though for mortals unsubstantial as are dreams. On turf or yellow sand some test the skill, That earned them fame in life; and is theirs still. The woods are full of revellers, who beat Time to gay dancers and their flying feet; Or banqueting sit, garlanded with bays, Singing in chorus legends of old days; While others proud of battle-fields afar Conduct a mimic spectacle of war; Spears waiting to be snatched, and the broad shield To be slung, chargers harnessed for the field;— Shadows to terrestrial men, who call Earthly things real, when shadows most of all;— Shadows these of the busy lives they led On earth, which pursue them now they are dead; Nought palpable, unless that through a grove Eridanus rolls to the world above. Here ignorantly happy dwell in joy Princes like Dardanus who founded Troy; With Teucer father of a royal race, Gallant as noble, and most fair of face; Ilus, Assaracus, of blood divine, Through whom Æneas proudly traced his line.