He hears, and feels his grief no more,
But glories in the namesake shore.
Once more upon their way they go
And near the stream of sulphurous flow,
Whom when the gloomy boatman saw
Still nigher through the forest draw
And touch the bank, with warning tone
He hails the visitants unknown:
'Whoe'er you are that sword in hand
Our Stygian flood approach,
Your errand speak from where you stand,
Nor further dare encroach.
These climes the spectres hold of right,
The home of Sleep and slumberous Night;
My laws forbid me to convey
Substantial forms of breathing clay.
'Twas no good hour that made me take
Alcides o'er the nether lake,
Nor found I more auspicious freight
In Theseus and his daring mate;
Yet all were Heaven's undoubted heirs,
And prowess more than man's was theirs.
That from our monarch's footstool dragged
The infernal watchdog, bound and gagged:
Then[errata 1] strove to force from Pluto's side
Our mistress, his imperial bride.'
Then briefly thus the Amphrysian seer:
'No lurking stratagems are here;
Dismiss your qualms: the sword we draw
Imports no breach of Stygian law:
Still let your porter from his den
Scare bloodless shades that once were men
With baying loud and deep:
Let virtuous Proserpine maintain
Her uncle's bed untouched by stain,
And still his threshold keep.
