The Story of Orpheus and Eurydice

With thanks to Apollonius of Rhodes, Virgil, Ovid, and Edith Hamilton



I.

Orpheus. His music could make the rocks dance.
He was the son of a Muse and a mortal from Thrace,
Place famous for musical people,
The most musical people in all of Greece,
And Orpheus was the best of them.

Orpheus and his lyre and his voice
And his words—when he played
High in the mountains, the trees danced,
The wild beasts danced. Animals,
Rocks. Even the rivers would dance
On their way down to the sea.

Orpheus roamed from place to place,
Cheering all he met with his song.


II.


It was among the mountain villages
That Orpheus met Euridice,
A shepherdess charmed by his song.
And she charmed Orpheus in turn,
Such beauty, a beauty born
Of the mountains and farms,
A beauty bound in dark earth.

Orpheus sang of his love.
And the people of the hills;
The animals and trees;
Yes, even the rivers and stones
Danced and sang to his music.


They married, and so it was that,
Even as they joyed at the wedding,
Even as she danced in her wedding gown,
That Euridice trod upon a snake,
A poisonous snake that bit her.
And so, Euridice died,
Just so, in her wedding gown.


III.

The music stopped.
Orpheus could sing no more.
And the people of the hills;
The animals and trees;
Yes, even the rivers and stones
Wept at the silence.

“I will go down to Hades,”
Orpheus said to himself.
“I will go even the Hell,
Where I will sing for
Persephone,
Queen of the Dead.
I will sing for her.
And she will understand.”


IV.

And so it was,
Down he went,
Orpheus and his lyre,
Down and down far below
Into the place the living
Dare not go. He went,
For love, confident in his song.

In the darkness and the depths,
Amid the silence of a stunned place,
Orpheus tuned his lyre
And began to sing,
Began words from his heart:

“Oh, dark world,
Place where all
Born of woman come,

Place that swallows
All beauty, all love.

Place of the debt
All the living must pay;
Place eternal

Where passing flesh
Waits forever,
Place of all lovely things,

I come to you;
I come seeking one
Who came here too soon.

I come seeking a bud
Cut before the flower
In its loveliness could bloom.

I come, for this was
A loss too great to bear.

I come, King of the Dead,
Knowing well the old poetry
Of a girl raped among spring flowers,

Beautiful young Persephone,
Daughter of the corn,
Daughter of Demeter,

Your wife now when
Winter comes to earth.

I come singing the old poetry,
Knowing that you know beauty,
Oh, King of the Dead.

Knowing you too know loss
When spring is on the earth
And your dear wife flies away.
I come singing of a loss too great.
I come, asking for oh, so little.

Asking not to keep my dear love
Forever. No. only to keep her
For a little, little while.

Give her back to me, I implore,
For this little, little while.
Only so long as a human life
Passes in its natural course.”

And the shades of the dead
Spread across the airless plain,
Yes, the shadows of the passed,
People, animals, trees,
Even the cold gray stones,
Even the River of Death
Danced a little, weeping
At time and life gone away.

No thing and no one
Could resist his song.
No, not even Hades,
King of the Dead.
Hades himself wept
At the beauty of the song,
Hugging to himself
His dear Persephone
Who left him each spring,
Weeping at time passing
And the beauty of life.

“You may have her back,”
The King of the Dead declared,
“On only one condition—
She will follow you back
To your world of light,
But on that dark journey,
You may never, never once,
Look back at your love.”


V.


And so it was that Orpheus
Turned his back on his love
And began the long, dark trip
Back into the living world.

And Orpheus knew she was there,
There behind him, and he longed,
Longed so to see her. But no.

They climbed the darkness.
They climbed and climbed
Until the black had turned gray.

They climbed until at last
Orpheus stepped into the green world,
Turning to greet his love.

But it was too soon.

Too soon. Euridice still
Lingered in the darkness.
He had turned too soon,

And so her form shrank back,
Faded back into shadow.
Gone. To be gone forever.

Yes, the decree
Of the Lord of the Dead
Is final. And so Orpheus
Left the hills of Thrace.

Left the joys of human company
Going far into the desolate
Crags of the lonely mountains.


VI.

There Orpheus played his lyre,
Singing songs of his eternal love
For his dear, lost Euridice.

And the animals danced;
And the trees and the stones
Danced a slow, delicate
Dance for the dead Euridice.

On he played and played,
Weeping all the while,
Until his poems drew
A band of Maenads,
A band of crazed ones
Worshiping Dionysus,
Mad ones who danced
Their frenzied dance
In rising and rising rhythm
Around Orpheus
Until in their madness

They tore him
Limb from limb
And threw his shreds
Into the river.


VII.


And the shreds of Orpheus
Floated down to the sea,

Down to the edge of Olympus
Where his mother buried him

And where the nightingales
Still can be heard singing his tunes.