Orpheus and Eurydice- A Myth

This is the story of a godlike man,
Of Orpheus the poet, who sang songs,
Who, born of Thrace and who, by his own gifts,
Could charm the hearts of Hades and his wife
The cold Persephone, down past the Styx,
Who did all this when he was still alive.

The singer, as a child, did display
The artwork of a god—for even he,
The shining one, Apollo, made a gift
To Calliope's son—he gave the boy
A lyre, golden-strung and gilt in bronze;
He taught the boy to play the harp with grace.

And Orpheus, with music, charmed the world;
He called together all the birds and beasts.
And even trees and flowers, so entranced
By Orpheus's lyre, followed him.
The golden instrument could even calm
The hated furies, who were never calm,
And still the waters of the greatest seas
So all could hear the beauty of its voice.

So Orpheus, the son of that wise muse
Of epic poetry became most praised
Throughout his native land of Thrace, where soon
He met the kind Eurydice, the nymph,
Who, playing with her sisters in the trees,
Was drawn to him by the musician's lyre.

They fell in love and in their harmony
Their happiness bloomed like a withy tree.
The perfect couple soon prepared to wed,
With sparkling eyes and blossoms in their hair.

It was the morning of that happy day—
Eurydice was dancing with her maids
Out in the meadow, in the tall green grass,
Rejoicing, for the day that soon arrived
Would bring the lovely maiden greatest joy.

And so the women, praying with their feet
And smiling up off'rings to that god
Who rules the morning with a shining face,
By accident trod down upon a snake.
And Orpheus's wife, Eurydice,
Was bitten in her ankle—so she fell
And died before her bright blue eyes could close.

Eurydice's companions called out loud
With grief so great that words of their lament
Reached up to Mount Olympus and the gods.
And Orpheus, just risen with the sun,
And hearing the laments, fled to the fields.
But his own grief, seeing Eurydice,
Was greater and more terrible than theirs.
His voice, so often lined with beauty's grace,
Could only croak the word: “Eurydice!”
The name that would not be his lovely bride.

Three times he called that name, with no response.
The fields were still but for a westward wind.
The lyre by the side of Orpheus
Had now, for once, been stilled of tender songs.

After some time a messenger appeared.
By bidding of the gods on their high home
She came to Orpheus inside his dreams.
She said, “My dear musician, come from Thrace,
Hail to me now, because my name is Love,
And I can help you to regain your own.
If only you will follow me with trust,
I'll lead you to the start of Hades' realm,
And there you may descend and bring her out,
Your bride-to-be, the sweet Eurydice,
If you can find her in those hated depths.
But take your hope, for you have so been blessed
by your great god Apollo, of the sun.”

So Orpheus awoke with joyful tears,
And followed Eros down to find his bride

They came upon that river called the Styx
That, filled with hate, would only pass the dead.
Here Love left Orpheus and made him go
To win back his beloved wife alone.

The singer then approached the ferryman
But Charon, with a greedy grin, would not
Permit the poet passage cross the Styx—
He needs a coin from every passenger.
So Orpheus, the keeper of the lyre,
Drew out his golden harp that shone like stars
Despite the blackness of the Styx's depths,
And with his voice and lyre, Orpheus
Reduced Charon the ferryman, to tears.
So he, so moved by Orpheus's love,
Took him to Hades, cross the River Styx.

That brave musician reached a palace wall.
Inside he saw Persephone's great room
Where she and the tall Hades ruled their land.
The two immortals stood with blackened eyes,
So unrelenting to their people's pleas.
But Orpheus knelt down onto his knees.
With all his skill in music, and with love,
He sang his sorrows and his hopes to see
That lovely bride, his wife Eurydice,
Who, taken by the dark king when too young
Had not lived life and worse, had not known love.
And Orpheus, by that same awesome force,
Was there to bring her back into the sun,
If only Hades would concede a chance.

The singer broke his heart with his lament.

His plea, made earnestly and with his love,
And guided by his song and gifts from gods
Left cold Persephone with eyes of tears.
Tall Hades, standing straight, said from above,
“Oh Orpheus, you may retrieve your bride,
But only given my conditions first.
Your steps will guide your kind Eurydice,
And bring her back into the upper world,
But you, so occupied by hearing noise,
May not look at her, only hear the sounds
She makes as she ascends behind yourself.
You'll take her blindly, hoping that your love
Is great enough to bring you from this trial.
But you may not look at Eurydice
Until Apollo's rays shine on your hair.”

So Orpheus, his lyre ready, turned.
Persephone called kind Eurydice.
And thus the poet set up on the way
And played his harp to lead him to the sun.

Alas, when Orpheus and thus his bride
Had almost reached the upper world at last,
The great musician caught sight of the sky
And turned too hastily around, to cry
“Eurydice, I see Apollo's rays!”
He had forgotten of dark Hades' words:
“Until the rays shine down upon your hair”
And sure enough, Eurydice's blond locks
Were bathed in shadows, even as she fell
Descending once again to Hades' realms.

The poet's horror was so great that when
He stepped out to the sunlight, to the grass,
To fields where honey bees were singing songs,
To where the wars of heroes lasted long,
To places filled with mystery and love,
He could not even face the setting sun.
His grief filled Orpheus and left him dry
Of music, which could calm the furies strong.

He lay beneath the blooming laurel tree,
Still grieving for his love, Eurydice,
When great Apollo, shining like the sun,
Appeared to Orpheus and said to him,
“You, singer of the mountains and the sky,
You, poet who is known throughout the land,
You grieve without your love, and though you live,
Your magic harp is silent, golden so.
You have no use for it, so let me take
Its shape and place it in the sky,
So everyone, yes, even those who see
Only the blackest night, the underworld,
Can marvel at your lyre in their sight.”
So great Apollo placed that golden harp
Into the sky, proudly displaying love.
And Orpheus, though now long dead and sent
Down to tall Hades' realm to meet his wife
Is able still to serenade the world.

Eurydice and Orpheus are gone,
But stars are always there to look upon.