The Furies sink upon their iron beds,
And snakes uncurl'd hang listening round
By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elysian flowers ;
By those happy souls who dwell
In yellow meads of asphodel,
Or amaranthine bowers:
By the heroes' armed shades,
Glittering through the gloomy glades;
By the youths that died for love,
Wandering in the myrtle grove,
Restore, restore Eurydice to life;
Oh, take the husband, or return the wife!
He sung, and hell consented
To hear the poet's prayer:
Stern Proserpine relented,
And gave him back the fair.
Thus song could prevail
O'er death and o'er hell,
A conquest how hard and how glorious !
Though fate had fast bound her,
With Styx nine times round her,
Yet music and love were victorious.