Lament XIV

Where are those gates through which so long ago
Orpheus 1 descended to the realms below
To seek his lost one? Little daughter, I
Would find that path and pass that ford whereby
The grim-faced boatman ferries pallid shades
And drives them forth to joyless cypress glades.
But do thou not desert me, lovely lute!
Be thou the furtherance of my mournful suit
Before dread Pluto 2 , till he shall give ear
To our complaints and render up my dear.
To his dim dwelling all men must repair,
And so must she, her father’s joy and heir;