17
It is the hour when Pluto, urged by Jove,
Begins his progress to the air above.
Alecto to his car the coursers binds,
That graze the herbage where Cocytus winds,
Through gloom of Erebus that rove at will,
And, drinking sleepy draughts from Lethe's rill,
Oblivion from their tongues in ropy foam distil.
The fierce Orphnæus, in his restless might,
Swift Æthon, swifter than the arrow's flight,
Nycteus, of Hell's dark breed the first in fame,
Alastor, mark'd with Pluto's sovereign name,
Stand harness'd at the gates, and wildly neigh,
In joyous prospect of to-morrow's prey.
