Where bide the awful ministers of Dis,
With hearts that never beat at prayer but his.
And still the notes rose bravely; and still he
Came, calling on his lost Eurydice;
On her, sole burden of his love-lorn cries—
One theme informing countless melodies.
At the sweet sorrowing, awhile a hush—
Amazement—throughout Hades; then a rush—
A quick rustling rather, as when a flight
Of birds seeks where to sleep at fall of night,