And balefull shriekes of ghosts in deadly paines
Tortur’d eternally are heard most brim
Through silent shades of night so darke and dim.
From hence vpon our way we forward passe,
And through the groues and vncoth paths we goe,
Which leade vnto the Cyclops walles of brasse:
And where that maine-broad flood for aye doth floe,
Which parts the gladsome fields from place of woe,
Whence none shall euer passe t’Elizium plaine,
Or from Elizium euer turne againe.