After they burst their mortal shell;

A region that in the deepest shade is,

And known by the classical name of Hades, —

Now having a heart uncommonly stout,
Sir Orpheus didn't go whining about,
But made up his mind to fiddle her out!

And then he played so remarkably fine
That it really might be called divine, -
For who can show on earth or below,
Such wonderful feats in the musical line?

And still Sir Orpheus chanted his song,
Sweet and clear and strong and long,

66

Eurydice! Eurydice!"

He cried as loud as loud could be ;
And Echo, taking up the word,

Kept it up till the lady heard,

And came with joy to meet her lord.
And he led her along the infernal route
Until he had almost got her out,
When, suddenly turning his head about
(To take a peep at his wife, no doubt),
He gave a groan, for the lady was gone,
And had left him standing there all alone!
For by an oath the gods had bound¦
Sir Orpheus not to look around
Till he was clear of the sacred ground,
If he'd have Eurydice safe and sound;

A STORY TOLD BY MERCURY TO ARGUS.

THERE was a certain nymph whose name was Syrinx, - much beloved by the satyrs and spirits of the wood. She favored none of them, for she was a faithful worshipper of Diana, and followed the chase. Pan, meeting her one day, wooed her with many compliments, likening her to Diana of the silver bow. Without stopping to hear him, she ran away; but on the bank of a river he overtook her. She called for help on her friends, the water-nymphs, who heard and saved her; for when Pan threw his arms around what he supposed to be the form of the nymph, he found only a tuft of reeds.

As he breathed a sigh, the air sounded through the reeds, and produced a plaintive melody. Whereupon, the god, charmed with the novelty and with the sweet ness of the music, said, “Thus, then, at least, you shall be mine." Taking some of the reeds of unequal lengths, and placing them together side by side, he made an instrument, and called it Syrinx in honor of the nymph.

NOTE. This instrument is also called the Pandean Pipes.

A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT.

MRS. BROWNING.

I.

What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?

Spreading ruin and scattering ban,

Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat
And breaking the golden lilies afloat.

With the dragon-fly on the river?

II.

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river.
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.

III.

High on the shore sate the great god Pan,
While turbidly flowed the river,

And hacked and hewed as a great god can
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.

IV.

He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river !)

Then drew the pith like the heart of a man
Steadily from the outside ring,

Then notched the poor, dry, empty thing

In holes as he sate by the river.

V.

"This is the way," laughed the great god Pan, (Laughed while he sate by the river!)

"The only way since gods began

To make sweet music, they could succeed."

Then dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,

He blew in power by the river!

VI.

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan,

Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.

VII.

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man.

The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain
For the reed that grows never more again
As a reed with the reeds of the river.

The musical instrument most used by the Greeks was the lyre, to which frequent allusions are made by all poets. The origin of this famous instrument is of course mythical, and is very prettily told by James Russell Lowell in the following poem:

THE FINDING OF THE LYRE.

There lay upon the ocean's shore
What once a tortoise served to cover.

A

year and more, with rush and roar,
The surf had rolled it over,

Had played with it, and flung it by,
As wind and weather might decide it,
Then tossed it high where sand-drifts dry
Cheap burial might provide it.