Note 184 — Chapter XXI · THE ANTHOLOGY.
Reading edition
Orpheus! No more the rocks, the woods no more, Thy strains shall lure; no more the savage herds, Nor hail, nor driving clouds, nor tempest's roar, Nor chafing billows list thy lulling words; For thou art dead: and all the Muses mourn, But most Calliope, thy mother dear. Shall we then, reft of sons, lament forlorn, When e'en the gods must for their offspring fear?
J. A. Symonds, M.D.