Lament XIV

Where are those gates through which so long ago

Orpheus¹ 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 Pluto², till he shall give ear