Upon this lyre Orpheus would play as he sang. […] He sang of it to the people of Thrace, but they could only weep with him. […] “I pray you, let her go,” he sang to the dark ruler. […] Where she walked, the roses and violets sprang up about her feet and all the birds sang with joy. […] Youths and maidens danced and sang before it as it moved, and children scattered flowers in the way.