For they tell how he charmed by the voice of his song on the mountains wild
The stubborn rocks into life, made rivers their flowing refrain,
And the wildwood oaks this day be memorials of that weird strain;
For they burgeon and bloom by Zonê yet on the Thracian shore,
Ranked orderly line upon line, the selfsame trees which of yore, {30}
Spell-drawn by his lyre, from Pieria followed the minstrel on.
Such an one was the Orpheus that Aison’s son for a helper won
For his high emprise, when he followed the pointing of Cheiron’s hand,—
Orpheus, who ruled o’er the Bistonid folk in Pieria-land.
And swiftly Asterion came, whom Komêtês begat by the side