Heathen mythology Part 36

But though this beautiful art was his master pa.s.sion, 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 G.o.ds.

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 Aristaeus became enamoured of the musician's bride, and with all the violence of an illicit pa.s.sion, 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. {208}

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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"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 h.e.l.l 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 cl.u.s.ters, when the sun grows warm!"

Not only was the G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed the courts of Death, And charmed with sacred verse the powers beneath; While h.e.l.l 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 t.i.tius felt his growing liver heal; Relenting fiends to torture souls forbore, And Furies wept who never wept before.

{209} All h.e.l.l in harmony was heard to move, With equal sweetness as the spheres above.

The wondrous numbers softened all beneath h.e.l.l, 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 h.e.l.l consented to release his bride."

OVID.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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 h.e.l.l.

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: {210} Here all his pains were lost, one greedy look, Defeats his hopes, and h.e.l.l's conditions broke, A fatal messenger from Pluto flew, And s.n.a.t.c.hed the forfeit from a second view, For instant dying, she again descends, While he to empty air his arms extends!"

OVID.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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.

{211}

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 Baccha.n.a.lian orgies.

"Here while the Thracian bard's enchanting strain, Sooths beasts and woods, and all the listening plain: The female Baccha.n.a.ls devoutly mad, In s.h.a.ggy 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 s.e.x,' 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 a.s.sail, 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 G.o.ds! 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, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed with touching tenderness, 'Eurydice! Eurydice!' until it reached the aegean sea.

The inhabitants of Dian a.s.serted 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.

{212}

ADMETUS

was the king of Thessaly, whose flocks were tended by Apollo for nine years, when banished from heaven. During his servitude to this monarch he obtained a promise from the Fates, that Admetus should never die if another person would lay down his life for him.

Being one of the Argonauts, he was at the hunt of the Calydonian boar, when Pelias promised his daughter in marriage to him only, who could bring him a chariot drawn by a lion and wild boar. With the aid of Apollo, Admetus effected this, and obtained the hand of Alcestis.

By the fortune of war, he became a prisoner, and was condemned to death; Alcestis, with a beautiful display of conjugal affection, laid down her life to save her husband from the cruel death prepared for him.

DEATH-SONG OF ALCESTIS.

"She came forth in her bridal robes arrayed, And midst the graceful statues round the hall Shedding the calm of their celestial mien, Stood pale, yet proudly beautiful as they: Flowers in her bosom, and the star-like gleam Of jewels trembling from her braided hair And death upon her brow! but glorious death!

Her own heart's choice, the token of the seal Of love, o'ermastering love; which till that hour, Almost an anguish in the brooding weight Of its unutterable tenderness, Had burdened her full soul. But now, oh! now, Its time was come--and from the spirit's depths The pa.s.sion and the melody Of its immortal voice, in triumph broke Like a strong rus.h.i.+ng wind!

The soft pure air Came floating through that hall--the Grecian air, Laden with music--flute notes from the vales, Echoes of song--the last sweet sounds of life And the glad suns.h.i.+ne of the golden clime Streamed, as a royal mantle, round her form-- The glorified of love! But she--she look'd Only on him for whom 'twas joy to die, Deep--deepest, holiest joy!--or if a thought Of the warm sunlight, and the scented breeze, And the sweet Dorian songs, o'erswept the tide Of her unswerving soul--'twas but a thought That owned the summer loveliness of life To him a worthy offering--so she stood Wrapt in bright silence, as entranced awhile, Till her eye kindled, and her quivering frame With the swift breeze of inspiration shook, As the pale priestess trembles to the breath {213} Of unborn oracles! then flushed her cheek, And all the triumph, all the agony, Born on the battling waves of love and death All from her woman's heart, in sudden song Burst like a fount of fire, 'I go, I go, Thou sun, thou golden sun, I go Far from thy light to dwell: Thou shalt not find my place below, Dim is that world--bright sun of Greece, farewell!

The laurel and the glorious rose Thy glad beam yet may see, But where no purple summer glows O'er the dark wave I haste from them and thee.

Yet doth my spirit faint to part, I mourn thee not, O sun!

Joy, solemn joy, o'erflows my heart, Sing me triumphant songs! my crown is won.

Let not a voice of weeping rise--, My heart is girt with power Let the green earth and festal skies Laugh, as to grace a conqueror's closing hour!

For thee, for thee, my bosom's lord!

Thee, my soul's loved! I die; Thine is the torch of life restored, Mine, mine the rapture, mine the victory.

Now may the boundless love, that lay Unfathomed still before In one consuming burst find way, In one bright flood all, all its riches pour.

Thou knowest--thou knowest what love is now!

Its glory and its might-- Are they not written on my brow?

And will that image ever quit thy sight?

No! deathless in thy faithful breast, There shall my memory keep Its own bright altar place of rest, While o'er my grave the cypress branches weep.

Oh, the glad light! the light is fair, The soft breeze warm and free; And rich notes fill the scented air, And all are gifts, my love's last gifts to thee!

Take me to thy warm heart once more!

Night falls, my pulse beats low; Seek not to quicken, to restore-- Joy is in every pang,--I go, I go!

I feel thy tears, I feel thy breath, I meet thy fond look, still Keen is the strife of love and death; Faint and yet frantic grows my bosom's thrill.

Yet swells the tide of rapture strong, Though mists o'ershade mine eye!

Sing Paeans! sing a Conqueror's song!

For thee, for thee, my spirit's lord, I die!'"

HEMANS.