Catches, canons and drinking songs
No longer Orpehus shall thy sacred strains
lead stones, and trees, and beasts along the plains,
no longer soothe the boist’rous wind to sleep,
or still the billows of the raging deep,
for thou art gone, the Muses mourned thy fall
in solemn strains, thy mother most of all,
ye mortals idly for your sons ye moan,
if thus a Goddess could not save her own.