“Every day I try, and yet I cannot play the flageolet; Many masters I have sought, Naught I learned from all they taught; I am dull, ’tis very true, And I know not what to do In this strait, unless it be, Great Orpheus, to come to thee; Thou who the greatest skill didst win, On flageolet and violin, Who play’st the organ, pealing far, The mandolin and the guitar, Thou wak’st the clarion’s stirring tone, The rattling drum and loud trombone; On earth there is no instrument, Whate’er it be, to mortals sent, Enchanting every sense away, Which thou, O Orpheus! canst not play; Great must thy skill in music be, Since even the demons favour thee; And since on this my heart is set, Enchant, I pray, this flageolet, And that its tones may sweetly sound, I bury it beneath the ground; Three days shall it lie hidden thus, Till thou, O mighty Orpheus! Shalt wake in it by magic spell The music which thou lov’st so well. I conjure thee by all the woe Which grieved thy soul so long ago! And pain, when thy _Auradice_ From the dark realm thou couldst not free, To grant me of thy mighty will That I may play this pipe with skill, Even as thou hast played before; For, as the story runs, of yore, Whenever thou didst wake its sound, The forest beasts came raptured round. Orpheus! Orpheus! I pray, Orpheus! teach me how to play! And when sweet music forth I bring, On every chord thy name shall ring, And every air which charms shall be A hymn of thanks, great lord, to thee! And unto all I’ll make it known, I owe it all to thee alone, And of the wondrous skill I’ll tell, Which mighty Orpheus won from hell. And by the music, and the power, Of passion in me, from this hour Henceforth in this sweet instrument I shall be ever well content; For now, I do remember well, What ’twas my father oft would tell, That all who would learn music thus Must conjure mighty Orpheus, Even as I have done to-day, So I to him will ever pray.” To which the manuscript adds in prose: “Thus the peasants do when they do not succeed in playing the shepherd’s pipe, which they esteem beyond any other instrument.” To any one who fully feels and understands what is meant to be conveyed by this incantation—and a great deal is expressed by passionate singing and a deep thrilling intonation which the text does not give—my translation will appear to be quite accurate. But, in any case, no scholar or poet can deny that there is in it a strange depth of classic feeling, or of old Roman romance, not strained at second-hand through books, but evidently drawn from rude antiquity, which is as fresh in its ring as it is marvellous.