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Updated: June 2, 2025
When the Thracian women had torn him to pieces they threw his head and lyre into the river Hebrus, down which they floated to the Euxine sea as far as the island of Lesbos; the head continually uttering a doleful song, as it were lamenting the death of Orpheus, and the lyre, with the wind's impulse moving its strings and harmoniously accompanying the voice.
Now under hanging mountains, Beside the falls of fountains, Or where Hebrus wanders, Rolling in meanders, All alone, He makes his moan, And calls her ghost, Forever, ever, ever lost! Now with furies surrounded, Despairing, confounded, He trembles, he glows, Amidst Rhodope's snows See, wild as the winds o'er the desert he flies; Hark! Haemus resounds with the Bacchanals' cries; Ah, see, he dies!
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