No longer, Orpheus, shall thy sacred strains
Lead stones, and trees,and beasts along the plains:
No longer soothe the boisterous winds to sleep,
Or still the billows of the raging deep:
For thou art gone. The muses mourn thy fall
In solemn strains, thy mother most of all.
Ye mortals, idly for your sons ye moan,
If thus a goddess could not save her own.