that every soul must pay. For Orpheus sang. There in the Underworld the
song of Apollo would not have moved the poor ghosts so much. It would
have amazed them, like a star far off that no one understands. But here
was a human singer, and he sang of things that grow in every human
heart, youth and love and death, the sweetness of the Earth, and the
bitterness of losing aught that is dear to us.

Now the dead, when they go to the Underworld, drink of the pool of
Lethe; and forgetfulness of all that has passed comes upon them like a
sleep, and they lose their longing for the world, they lose their
memory of pain, and live content with that cool twilight. But not the
pool of Lethe itself could withstand the song of Orpheus; and in the
hearts of the Shades all the old dreams awoke wondering. They
remembered once more the life of men on Earth, the glory of the sun and
moon, the sweetness of new grass, the warmth of their homes, all the
old joy and grief that they had known. And they wept.

Even the Furies were moved to pity. Those, too, who were suffering
punishment for evil deeds ceased to be tormented for themselves, and
grieved only for the innocent Orpheus who had lost Eurydice. Sisyphus,
that fraudulent king (who is doomed to roll a monstrous boulder uphill
forever), stopped to listen. The daughters of Danaus left off their
task of drawing water in a sieve. Tantalus forgot hunger and thirst,
though before his eyes hung magical fruits that were wont to vanish out
of his grasp, and just beyond reach bubbled the water that was a
torment to his ears; he did not hear it while Orpheus sang.

So, among a crowd of eager ghosts, Orpheus came, singing with all his
heart, before the king and queen of Hades. And the queen Proserpina
wept as she listened and grew homesick, remembering the fields of Enna