But here, when landed on the foreign soil, A venom’d snake, the product of the isle, Attempts the head, and sacred locks, imbrued With clotted gore and still fresh-dropping blood. Phoebus at last his kind protection gives, And from the fact the greedy monster drives; Whose marbled jaws his impious crime atone— Still grinning ghastly, though transform’d to stone.
His ghost flies downward to the Stygian shore, And knows the places it had seen before: Among the shadows of the pious train He finds Eurydice, and loves again; With pleasure views the beauteous phantom’s charms, And clasps her in his unsubstantial arms: There side by side they unmolested walk, Or pass their blissful hours in pleasing talk; Aft or before the bard securely goes, And without danger can review his spouse.
Bacchus punishes the cruelty of the Thracian women by transforming them into trees.