O R P H E U S.
The distinguished honour which the ancients rendered to Orpheus, appears to have been an homage paid by the refinement of the age to music and poetry, of which he was so distinguished an ornament. He was the son of Œager by the muse Calliope, though some assert him to have been the son of Apollo, because the god, owing to the genius he showed for music, presented him with a lyre, to the improvement of which Orpheus added two cords,—and upon which he played with so masterly a hand, that the river in its rapid current ceased to flow, the wild beasts of the forest forgot their nature, and gazed on him in mute admiration, while the very rocks moved towards him to express their joy.
"The rocks re-echo shrill, the beasts of forest wild
Stand at the cavern's mouth, in listening trance beguiled.
The birds surround the den, and, as in weary rest,
They drop their fluttering wings, forgetful of the rest,
Amazed the Centaur saw; his clapping hands he beat,
And stamped in ecstacy the rock with hoofed and horny feet."
But though this beautiful art was his master passion, he did not forget the charms of theology and philosophy, in both of which he was a proficient, and in Egypt, to which place he made a voyage, he was admitted to the sacred mysteries of Isis and Osiris. On his return he was the originator of many changes in the religious ceremonials of his country, and was received as the minister and interpreter of the will of the gods.
Nature itself seemed charmed and animated by his presence, and the nymphs made his company their chief desire. It was not long before the winged deity pierced him with his arrows, and Orpheus loved the nymph Eurydice, the only one whose charms touched the melodious musician; with her his happiness was made perfect by an union, at which Hymen presided.
This happiness, however, was not destined to last very long, for Aristæus became enamoured of the musician's bride, and with all the violence of an illicit passion, sought to win her from the bridegroom's affections. Eurydice resisted and fled; but as she fled from him, a serpent stung her with so deadly a bite, that she died on the field.
Deep was the despair felt by Orpheus at his unexpected loss, and the daring determination was formed by him to recover her, or perish in the attempt.
"His own despair the very stones admire
And rolling follow his melodious lyre,
He forced the heart of hardest oak to groan,
And made fierce tigers leave their rage and moan."
With his resistless lyre in his hands, he crossed the Styx, penetrated into the infernal regions, and gained admission to the presence of Pluto! Here the power of his genius was yet more eminently exhibited; for even the tortures of Hell gave way to it.
"At his powerful song the very seats
Of Erebus were moved; the retreats
Of all the ghosts were opened, and they swarm
Like bees in clusters, when the sun grows warm!"
Not only was the god of the infernal regions delighted, but the very wheel of Ixion paused; the stone of Sisyphus rested, as they listened to its sounds: the cooling water reached Tantalus' burning mouth, and even the Furies relented.
"Already had he passed the courts of Death,
And charmed with sacred verse the powers beneath;
While Hell with silent admiration hung,
On the soft music of his harp and tongue;
No longer Tantalus essayed to sip
The springs that fled from his deluded lip;
Their urn the fifty maids no longer fill,
Ixion leant and listened on his wheel,
And Sysiphus' stone for once stood still;
The ravenous vulture had forsook his meal,
And Titius felt his growing liver heal;
Relenting fiends to torture souls forbore,
And Furies wept who never wept before.
All Hell in harmony was heard to move,
With equal sweetness as the spheres above.
The wondrous numbers softened all beneath
Hell, and the inmost flinty seats of death:
Snakes round the Furies heads did upward rear,
And seemed to listen to the pleasing air,
While fiery Styx in milder streams did roll,
And Cerberus gaped, but yet forbore to howl,
No longer was the charming prayer denied,
All Hell consented to release his bride."
Ovid.
The sorrow and love of Orpheus penetrated the hearts of Pluto and Proserpine; they consented to restore him to the arms of Eurydice, if he could forbear to look behind him before he reached the borders of hell. Gladly were these conditions accepted by Orpheus, and already was he by the river Styx, eager to be conveyed across by the infernal boatman, when a touching thought of Eurydice and her love crossed his mind, and he looked back.
"Near the confines of ethereal air,
Unmindful and unable to forbear,
Mistrusting also lest her steps might stray,
And gladsome of the glimpse of dawning day,
He stopped—looked back—(what cannot love persuade?)
To take one view of the unhappy maid.
His longing eyes impatient backward cast,
To catch a lover's look—but looked his last:
Here all his pains were lost, one greedy look,
Defeats his hopes, and Hell's conditions broke,
A fatal messenger from Pluto flew,
And snatched the forfeit from a second view,
For instant dying, she again descends,
While he to empty air his arms extends!"
Ovid.
The condition being thus broken, he saw her, but at the same moment she was turned into a shadow.
"And fainting cries, 'What fury thee possest?
What frenzy, Orpheus, seized upon thy breast?
Once more my eyes are seized with endless sleep,
And now farewell, I sink into the deep.'
Oblivious cells surrounded all with night.
No longer thine: in vain to stop my flight
I stretch my arms, in vain thou stretchest thine,
In vain thou grievest, I in vain repine.'"
Virgil.
He returned to the upper world, where the only solace which he could find, was to soothe his grief with the tones of his musical instrument, to the sound of which, the mountains and caves of his native land bore a melancholy echo. He secluded himself entirely from the company of mankind; in vain was his society sought by the Thracian women; he rejected their overtures with coldness, until enraged at his behaviour, they attacked him while celebrating the Bacchanalian orgies.
"Here while the Thracian bard's enchanting strain,
Sooths beasts and woods, and all the listening plain:
The female Bacchanals devoutly mad,
In shaggy skins, like savage creatures clad,
Warbling in air perceived his lovely lay,
And from a rising ground beheld him play:
When one, the wildest, with dishevelled hair
That loosely streamed, and ruffled in the air:
Soon as her frantic eye the lyrist spied
'See, see, the hater of our sex,' she cried,
Then at his face her missive javelin sent,
Which whizzed along, and brushed him as it went;
But the soft wreaths of Ivy twisted round,
Prevent a deep impression of the wound,
Next their fierce hands the bard himself assail,
Nor can his song against their wrath prevail;
In vain he lifts his suppliant hands, in vain
He tries, before his never failing strain;
And, from those sacred lips, whose thrilling sound
Fierce tigers and insensate rocks could wound,
Ah Gods! how moving was the mournful sight,
To see the fleeting soul now take its flight!"
Dryden.
After tearing his body to pieces, they threw his head into the Hebrus, which, as it rolled down the current, ejaculated with touching tenderness, 'Eurydice! Eurydice!' until it reached the Ægean sea.
The inhabitants of Dian asserted that his tomb was in their city, but the people of Mount Libethrus, in Thrace, claimed the same honour, remarking that the nightingales which formed their nests near it, excelled all others in melody and beauty. After his death, he is reported by some to have received divine honours, the muses rendering the rites of sepulture to his remains, and his lyre becoming one of the constellations.