Orpheus was the son of Apollo and the muse Calliope. He was
\npresented by his father with a lyre and taught to play upon it,
\nand he played to such perfection that nothing could withstand the
\ncharm of his music. Not only his fellow mortals, but wild beasts
\nwere softened by his strains, and gathering round him laid by
\ntheir fierceness, and stood entranced with his lay. Nay, the
\nvery trees and rocks were sensible to the charm. The former
\ncrowded round him and the latter relaxed somewhat of their
\nhardness, softened by his notes.<\/p>\n
Hymen had been called to bless with his presence the nuptials of
\nOrpheus with Eurydice; but though he attended, he brought no
\nhappy omens with him. His very torch smoked and brought tears
\ninto their eyes. In coincidence with such prognostics Eurydice,
\nshortly after her marriage, while wandering with the nymphs, her
\ncompanions, was seen by the shepherd Aristaeus, who was struck
\nwith her beauty, and made advances to her. She fled, and in
\nflying trod upon a snake in the grass, was bitten in the foot and
\ndied. Orpheus sang his grief to all who breathed the upper air,
\nboth gods and men, and finding it all unavailing resolved to seek
\nhis wife in the regions of the dead. He descended by a cave
\nsituated on the side of the promontory of Taenarus and arrived at
\nthe Stygian realm. He passed through crowds of ghosts, and
\npresented himself before the throne of Pluto and Proserpine.
\nAccompanying the words with the lyre, he sung, “O deities of the
\nunderworld, to whom all we who live must come, hear my words, for
\nthey are true! I come not to spy out the secrets of Tartarus,
\nnor to try my strength against the three-headed dog with snaky
\nhair who guards the entrance. I come to seek my wife, whose
\nopening years the poisonous viper’s fang has brought to an
\nuntimely end. Love had led me here, Love, a god all powerful
\nwith us who dwell on the earth, and, if old traditions say true,
\nnot less so here. I implore you by these abodes full of terror,
\nthese realms of silence and uncreated things, unite again the
\nthread of Eurydice’s life. We all are destined to you, and
\nsooner or later must pass to your domain. She too, when she
\nshall have filled her term of life, will rightly be yours. But
\ntill then grant her to me, I beseech you. If you deny me, I
\ncannot return alone; you shall triumph in the death of us both.”<\/p>\n
As he sang these tender strains, the very ghosts shed tears.
\nTantalus, in spite of his thirst, stopped for a moment his
\nefforts for water, Ixion’s wheel stood still, the vulture ceased
\nto tear the giant’s liver, the daughters of Danaus rested from
\ntheir task of drawing water in a sieve, and Sisyphus sat on his
\nrock to listen. Then for the first time, it is said, the cheeks
\nof the Furies were wet with tears. Proserpine could not resist,
\nand Pluto himself gave way. Eurydice was called. She came from
\namong the new-arrived ghosts, limping with her wounded foot.
\nOrpheus was permitted to take her away with him on one condition,
\nthat he should not turn round to look at her till they should
\nhave reached the upper air. Under this condition they proceeded
\non their way, he leading, she following, through passages dark
\nand steep, in total silence, till they had nearly reached the
\noutlet into the cheerful upper world, when Orpheus, in a moment
\nof forgetfulness, to assure himself that she was still following,
\ncast a glance behind him, when instantly she was borne away.
\nStretching out their arms to embrace one another they grasped
\nonly the air. Dying now a second time she yet cannot reproach
\nher husband, for how can she blame his impatience to behold her?
\n“Farewell,” she said, “a last farewell,” and was hurried away,
\nso fast that the sound hardly reached his ears.<\/p>\n
Orpheus endeavored to follow her, and besought permission to
\nreturn and try once more for her release but the stern ferryman
\nrepulsed him and refused passage. Seven days he lingered about
\nthe brink, without food or sleep; then bitterly accusing of
\ncruelty the powers of Erebus, he sang his complaints to the rocks
\nand mountains, melting the hearts of tigers and moving the oaks
\nfrom their stations. He held himself aloof from womankind,
\ndwelling constantly on the recollection of his sad mischance.
\nThe Thracian maidens tried their best to captivate him, but he
\nrepulsed their advances. They bore with him as long as they
\ncould; but finding him insensible, one day, one of them, excited
\nby the rites of Bacchus, exclaimed, “See yonder our despiser!”
\nand threw at him her javelin. The weapon, as soon as it came
\nwithin the sound of his lyre, fell harmless at his feet. So did
\nalso the stones that they threw at him. But the women raised a
\nscream and drowned the voice of the music, and then the missiles
\nreached him and soon were stained with his blood. The maniacs
\ntore him limb from limb, and threw his head and his lyre into the
\nriver Hebrus, down which they floated, murmuring sad music, to
\nwhich the shores responded a plaintive symphony. The Muses
\ngathered up the fragments of his body and buried them at
\nLibethra, where the nightingale is said to sing over his grave
\nmore sweetly than in any other part of Greece. His lyre was
\nplaced by Jupiter among the stars. His shade passed a second
\ntime to Tartarus, where he sought out his Eurydice and embraced
\nher, with eager arms. They roam through those happy fields
\ntogether now, sometimes he leads, sometimes she; and Orpheus
\ngazes as much as he will upon her, no longer incurring a penalty
\nfor a thoughtless glance.<\/p>\n
The story of Orpheus has furnished Pope with an illustration of
\nthe power of music, for his Ode for St. Cecelia’s Day. The
\nfollowing stanza relates the conclusion of the story:<\/p>\n
“But soon, too soon the lover turns his eyes;
\nAgain she falls, again she dies, she dies!
\nHow wilt thou now the fatal sisters move?
\nNo crime was thine, if ’tis no crime to love.
\nNow under hanging mountains,
\nBeside the falls of fountains,
\nOr where Hebrus wanders,
\nRolling in meanders,
\nAll alone,
\nHe makes his moan,
\nAnd calls her ghost,
\nForever, ever, ever lost!
\nNow with furies surrounded,
\nDespairing, confounded,
\nHe trembles, he glows,
\nAmidst Rhodope’s snows.
\nSee, wild as the winds o’er the desert he flies;
\nHark! Haemus resounds with the Bacchanals’ cries.
\nAh, see, he dies!
\nYet even in death Eurydice he sung,
\nEurydice still trembled on his tongue;
\nEurydice the woods,
\nEurydice the floods,
\nEurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung.”<\/p>\n
The superior melody of the nightingale’s song over the grave of
\nOrpheus, is alluded to by Southey in his Thalaba:<\/p>\n
“Then on his ear what sounds
\nOf harmony arose!
\nFar music and the distance-mellowed song
\n>From bowers of merriment;
\nThe waterfall remote;
\nThe murmuring of the leafy groves;
\nThe single nightingale
\nPerched in the rosier by, so richly toned,
\nThat never from that most melodious bird
\nSinging a love-song to his brooding mate,
\nDid Thracian shepherd by the grave
\nOf Orpheus hear a sweeter melody,
\nThough there the spirit of the sepulchre
\nAll his own power infuse, to swell
\nThe incense that he loves.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Orpheus was the son of Apollo and the muse Calliope. He was presented by his father with a lyre and taught to play upon it, and he played to such perfection that nothing could withstand the charm of his music. Not only his fellow mortals, but wild beasts were softened by his strains, and gathering […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-351","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/scottbevill.net\/HVA\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/351","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/scottbevill.net\/HVA\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/scottbevill.net\/HVA\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/scottbevill.net\/HVA\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/scottbevill.net\/HVA\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=351"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/scottbevill.net\/HVA\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/351\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":352,"href":"http:\/\/scottbevill.net\/HVA\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/351\/revisions\/352"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/scottbevill.net\/HVA\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=351"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/scottbevill.net\/HVA\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=351"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/scottbevill.net\/HVA\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=351"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}