All he from grief could borrow And love redoubling sorrow, Till, as the echoes waken, All Taenarus is shaken; Whilst he to ruth persuades The monarch of the shades With dulcet prayer. Spellbound, The triple-headed hound At sounds so strangely sweet Falls crouching at his feet. The dread Avengers, too, That guilty minds pursue With ever-haunting fears, Are all dissolved in tears. Ixion, on his wheel, A respite brief doth feel; For, lo! the wheel stands still. And, while those sad notes thrill, Thirst-maddened Tantalus Listens, oblivious Of the stream’s mockery And his long agony. The vulture, too, doth spare Some little while to tear