The Song of Orpheus
And the harpist walked throughout the lands,
Of the poets, before none could stand,
But a drunken god's rabble thought ill,
The lad Orpheus, thought they should kill.
Poor sweet Orpheus paid them no heed,
For of darkest despair did the young
Poet sing, of love gained, and love lost
And insufferable pain was the cost.
And then stirred into pity for he,
Did the world and her creatures all weep,
They gave way, and gave food, so not weak
Would he grow, and forever would speak.
But the rabble knew nought of his dirge,
So they thought he made jest of their fun,
And so mindless did they do their wrong,
To bring end to the good poet's song.
But as hard as they tried not a stone
Would adhere, for the song was too sweet
To be killed, can such madness be real?
This dark task did they take up with zeal.
If sweet music can savage beast yield,
Then perhaps they heard not what he sang
For such beauty's in music to see,
In his sorrow and deep misery.
But in volume did they raise their pitch,
And soon nothing could hear what he cried
So the rocks flew unmissing, and done
Like St. Stephen, he died for the one.
But the pastures are greener in death,
With his love, now united at last,
With the one who he'll now never miss,
Thus immortal, in undying bliss.
So his song at last came to a close,
With his sorrow, an end to all woes,
But new music shall Orpheus sing,
Of sweet Joy, and of love conquering.
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