8/17/2019 Orpheus & Eurydice by Ovid
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B U T H Y M E N H D TO
L E V E the isle o f Crete
Clad in his saffron-colored cloak, he cleaved
th e
never-ending air
u n t i l
he reached
th e
home o f the Cauconians in Thrace;
fo r he had heard the voice of Orpheus,
w h o was to wed—who pleaded for his presence
He came—but came in vain. He di d not bless
th e
r ite w i t h
sacred
utterance; his
face
displayed no joy; he brought no hope, no
grace
Even the
t orc h
he held kept sputtering:
eyes teared and smarted f r o m the smoke; no
flame,
however much he shook that brand, would blaze.
The start was sad—and sadder
s t i l l ,
the end.
The bride, just wed, met death; for even as
she crossed the meadows
w i t h
her Naiad friends,
she stepped upon a snake; the viper sank
it s teeth i n t o her ankle.
Orpheus wept
w i t h i n the upper
w o r l d ;
but when his share
o f long lament was done, the poet dared
to
cross the
gate
o f Taenarus, to seek
his wife among the
Shades
consigned to Styx
A m o n g the f l u tter i ng clouds, the
phantom forms
o f
those who had been buried, he drew
close
t o b o t h
Proserpina and Pluto, he
w h o
rules the dead, the joyless kingdom s k i
n g .
T h e n Orpheus plucked his lyre as he sang:
O
gods who rule the w o r l d beneath the
earth,
th e
w o r l d
to which all those of m o r t a l
b i rth
descend—if I may speak the t r u t h to
you,
w i t h o u t the subterfuge that liars use,
I ve not come here to see dark Tartarus,
n o r
have I come to chain the monster-son
Medusa bore, that horror whose three necks
bear b r i s t l i n g
serpents. This has brought me here:
t i n
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