HIS prayer availed! Touched by the tuneful plea,
The Lord of Death relaxed his iron hold,
And out of the swart shadows, deep and cold,
Stole the lost wife, the fair Eurydice.
He felt her soft arms in the old embrace,
He guessed the smile upon her unseen face,
And joyful turned him from the dreadful place.
A little patience, and all had been well;
A little faith, and bale had changed to bliss:
Was it too much that he should ask for this,