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The Furies sink upon their iron beds,
And snakes uncurl'd hang listening round

their heads.

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.

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