Orpheus overcame them in their own art; for he sang the praises of the gods, accompanying himself upon his lyre, and made such divine melody that the music of the Sirens attracted no attention. […] They sang of the happiness enjoyed by the pure of heart, of the good man whose dwelling was never darkened by their shadow. […] Thus they sang in measured cadence, and passed from view, while a solemn stillness settled on the vast assembly.

One of them, adorned with a crown, sang the praises of Ceres; and after they had offered an oblation of wine mixed with honey and milk, before they began to reap, they sacrificed the sow. […] Here, a blest train advance along the meads, And snowy wreaths adorn their graceful heads: Patriots, who perish’d for their country’s right, Or nobly triumph’d in the field of fight: There, holy priests, and sacred poets stood, Who sang with all the raptures of a God: Worthies, -who life by useful arts refin’d; With those, who leave a deathless name behind, Friends of the world, and fathers of mankind.