drinking the rotting pools of sluggish Lethe, let dark oblivion drip from their slumbrous lips—Orphnaeus, savage and fleet, Aethon, swifter than an arrow, great Nyctaeus, proud glory of Hell’s steeds, and Alastor, branded with the mark of Dis. These stood harnessed before the door and savagely champed the bit all eager for the morrow’s enjoyment of their destined booty.
BOOK II PREFACE
(XXXIV.)
When Orpheus sought repose and, lulling his song to sleep, had long laid aside his neglected task, the Nymphs complained that their joy had been reft from them and the sad rivers mourned the loss of his tuneful lays. Nature’s savagery returned and the heifer in terror of the lion looked in vain for help from the now voiceless lyre. The rugged mountains lamented his silence and the woods that had so often followed his Thracian lute.
But after that Hercules, setting forth from Inachian Argos, reached the plains of Thrace on his mission of salvation, and destroying the stables of Diomede, fed the horses of the bloody tyrant on grass, then it was that the poet, o’erjoyed at his country’s happy fate, took up once more the tuneful strings of his lute long laid aside, and touching its
et resides levi modulatus pectine nervos 15
pollice festivo nobile duxit ebur.
vix auditus erat: venti frenantur et undae,
pigrior adstrictis torpuit Hebrus aquis,