When hurried to th' infernal coast,
His beauteous bride the Thracian lost,
Sure, hapless youth! so sweet a spell
Once more had charm'd the powers of hell;
Or if such had been the song
Which warbled erst the syren throng,
For councils sage the chief renown'd
His warrior limbs had vainly bound;
His eyes by love entranc'd, no more
Had seen with joy their native shore;
The cords had loos'd; the magic tale
Had stay'd his oars, and furl'd his sail.