All stunn’d he stood when thus his wife he view’d, By second fate and double death subdued; Not more amazement by that wretch was shown Whom Cerberus beholding turn’d to stone; Nor Olenus could more astonish’d look, When on himself Lethea’s fault he took; His beauteous wife, who, too secure, had dared Her face to vie with goddesses, compared; Once join’d by love, they stand united still, Turn’d to contiguous rocks on Ida’s hill.

Now to repass the Styx in vain he tries; Charon, averse, his pressing suit denies. Seven days entire, along the infernal shores Disconsolate, the bard Eurydice deplores; Defiled with filth his robe, with tears his cheeks; No sustenance, but grief and cares he seeks; Of rigid fate incessant he complains, And hell’s inexorable gods arraigns. This ended, to high Rhodope he hastes, And Haemus mountain, bleak with northern blasts