The Works of John Sheffield :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Tis not for nothing when just Heav'n does frown;
The injur'd Orpheus calls these Judgments down;
Whose Spouse, avoiding to become thy Prey,
And all his Joys at once were snatch'd away;
The Nymph, fore-doom'd that fatal way to pass,
Spy'd not the Serpent lurking in the Grass:
A mournful Cry the spacious Valley fills,
With echoing Groans from all the neighb'ring Hills;
The Dryades roar out in deep Despair,
And with united Voice bewail the Fair.

104

For such a Loss he sought no vain Relief,
But with his Lute indulg'd the tender Grief;
Along the Shore he oft would wildly stray,
With doleful Notes begin, and end the Day.
At length to Hell a frightful Journey made,
Pass'd the wide-gaping Gulph, and disman Shade:
Visits the Ghosts, and to that King repairs,
Whose Heart's inflexible to human Pray'rs.
All Hell is ravish'd with so sweet a Song;
Light Souls and airy Spirits glide along
In Troops, like Millions of the feather'd Kind,
Driv'n home by Night, or some tempestuous Wind:
Matrons and Men, raw Youths and unripe Maids;
And mighty Heroes' more majestick Shades;
And Sons entomb'd before their Parents Face;
These the black Waves of bounding Styx embrace
Nine times circumfluent; clogg'd with noisome Weeds,
And all that Filth, which standing Water breeds.

105

Amazement reach'd ev'n the deep Caves of Death;
The Sisters with blue snaky Curls took Breath;
Ixion's Wheel awhile unmov'd remain'd,
And the fierce Dog his three-mouth'd Voice restrain'd.

When safe return'd, and all these Dangers past,
His Wife, restor'd to breathe fresh Air at last,
Following (for so Proserpina was pleas'd)
A sudden Rage th'unwary Lover seiz'd,
He, as the first bright Glimpse of Day-light shin'd,
Could not refrain to cast one Look behind;
A Fault of Love! could Hell Compassion find.
A dreadful Sound thrice shook the Stygian Coast,
His Hopes quite fled, and all his Labour lost!
Why hast thou thus undone thyself and me?
What Rage is this? Oh, I am snatch'd from thee!
(She faintly cry'd) Night and the Pow'rs of Hell
Surround my Sight; Oh, Orpheus! oh, farewel!
My Hands stretch forth to reach thee as before;
But all in vain, for I am thine no more;

106

No more allow'd to view thy Face, or Day!—
Then from his Eyes, like Smoke, she fleets away.
Much he would fain have spoke: but Fate, alas!
Would ne'er again consent to let him pass.
Thus twice undone, what Course remain'd to take,
To gain her back, already pass'd the Lake?
What Tears, what Patience could procure him Ease?
Or, ah! what Vows the angry Pow'rs appease?
'Tis said, he sev'n long Moons bewail'd his Loss
To bleak and barren Rocks, on whose cold Moss,
While languishing he sung his fatal Flame,
He mov'd ev'n Trees, and made fierce Tygers tame.

So the sad Nightingale, when childless made
By some rough Swain who stole her Young away,

Bewails her Loss beneath a Poplar Shade,
Mourns all the Night, in Murmurs wastes the Day;
Her melting Songs a doleful Pleasure yield,
And melancholy Musick fills the Field.

Marriage, nor Love, could ever move his Mind,
But all alone, beat by the northern Wind,

107

Shiv'ring on Tanais Banks the Bard remain'd,
And of the Gods' unfruitful Gift complain'd.
Ciconian Dames, enrag'd to be despis'd,
As they the Feast of Bacchus solemniz'd,
Slew the poor Youth, and strew'd about his Limbs;
His Head, torn off from the fair Body, swims
Down that swift Current where the Heber flows,
And still its Tongue in doleful Accents goes.
Ah, poor Eurydice! he dying cry'd;
Eurydice resounds from every Side.