Orpheus turned, or was led; more felt than heard—
Passing the gates—as when a babe has stirred,
Dreaming—a sigh; but, venturing no glance
Anywhere, or speech, walked as in a trance.
Save, as if strings snapt, the lyre stammered out
A spasm of jarred notes wandering about,
Nor glad nor sad; the harper scarce aware
Of the music that he made; or how far
He had gone, through what scenes of bale or bliss,
Since he quitted the royal halls of Dis;