When long his loss the Thracian had deplored, Not by superior powers to be restored, Inflamed by love, and urged by deep despair, He leaves the realms of light and upper air, Daring to tread the dark Tenarian road, And tempt the shades in their obscure abode, Through gliding spectres of the interr’d to go. And phantom people of the world below: Persephone he seeks, and him who reigns O’er ghosts, and hell’s uncomfortable plains. Arrived, he, tuning to his voice his strings, Thus to the king and queen of shadows sings: