Don Juan in hell

When Don Juan went down the flood beneath the world

And when he had to Charon given up his obolus,

A darkling beggar, as Antisthenes proud,

Took up the oars with strong arms full of vengeance.

Revealing saggy bosoms and wide-open attire,

Women writhed about beneath the shadowed sky,

And, like a gathered flock of victims on the altar,

Behind them trailed drawn-out a sort of ovine cry.

Laughing Sganarelle asked for his pay with thanks,

While great Don Luis with a trembling finger

Pointed out to all the dead roaming the banks

The more than daring son who at his white hairs went scoffing.

Shaking all in black, thin and chaste Elvira,

Near the treacherous bridegroom who had been her lover,

Looked as if to ask of him a supremest smile

Where would gleam the gentleness of his first vow over.

Erect within his armor, a tall man made of stone

Grasped the tiller firm and split the darkling wave,

But the hero calmly, on his sword bent over,

Gazed upon the wake, and saw nothing to fear or crave.

Charles Baudelaire