"Blisful is that man that may seen the clere welle of good! Blisful is he that mai unbynden hym fro the boondes of the hevy erthe! The poete of Trace, Orpheus, that whilome hadde ryght greet sorwe for the deth of his wyf, aftir that he hadde makid by his weeply songes the wodes moevable to renne, and had makid the ryveris to stonden stille, and hadde maked the hertes and the hyndes to joynen dreedles here sydes to cruel lyouns for to herknen his song, and hadde maked that the hare was nat agast of the hound, whiche was plesed by his song; so, whanne the moste ardaunt love of his wif brende the entrayles of his breest, ne the songes that hadden overcomen alle thinges ne mighten nat asswagen hir lord Orpheus, he pleynid hym of the hevene goddis that weren cruel to hym.

He wente hym to the houses of helle, and ther he tempride his blaundysschinge (blaundysschinge: pleasant) songes by resounynge (resounynge: resounding) strenges, and spak and song in wepynge al that evere he hadde resceyved and lavyd (lavyd: scooped, drawn up (as water)) out of the noble welles of his modir Callyope the goddesse (Calyope, Calliope, chief of the Muses.) And he sang with as mochel as he myghte of wepynge (with as mochel as he myghte of wepynge: with all the added power his weeping gave him), and with as moche as love that doublide his sorwe myghte yeve hym and teche hym, and he commoevde the helle, and requyred and bysoughte by swete preyere the lordes of soules in helle of relessynge, that is to seyn, to yelden hym his wyf. Cereberus, the porter of helle, with hise thre hevedes, was caught and al abasschid of the newe song. And the thre goddesses, furiis and vengeresses of felonyes, that tormenten and agasten the soules by anoy, woxen sorweful and sory, and wepyn teeris for pite. Thos was nat the heved of Yxion(Yxion, Ixion, fastened to the ever-revolving wheel.) ytormented by the overthrowynge wheel. And Tantalus (Tantalus, tormented by perpetual thirst), that was destroied by the woodnesse of long thurst, despyseth the floodes to drynken. The foul that highte voltor, that etith the stomak or the gyser (fyser: gizzard, liver) of Tycius(Tycius: Tityus, tormented by having his liver torn by vultures.), is so fulfild of his song that it nil eten ne tiren(tiren: tear) no more. At the laste the lord and juge of soules was moevid to misericordes, and cryede: 'We ben overcomen,' quod he; 'yyve we to Orpheus his wif to beren hym compaignye; he hath wel ybought hire by his faire song and his ditee. But we wolen putten a lawe in this and covenaunt in the yifte; that is to seyn that, til he be out of helle, yif he loke byhynde hym, that his wyf schal comen ageyn unto us.' But what is he that may yeven a lawe to loverys? Love is a grettere law and a strengere to hymself thanne any lawe that men mai yyven. Allas! Whanne Orpheus and his wif weren almest at the termes of the nyght, that is to seyn, at the laste boundes of helle, Orpheus lokede abakward on Erudyce his wif, and lost hire, and was deed.

This fable apertenith to yow alle, whosoevere desireth or seketh to lede his thought into the sovereiyn day, that is to seyn, to cleernesse of sovereyn good. For whoso that evere be so overcomen that he ficche his eien into the put (put: pit) of helle, that is to seyn, whoso sette his thoughtes in erthly thinges, al that evere he hath drawen of the noble good celestial he lesith it, whanne he looketh the helles, that is to seyn, into lowe thinges of the erthe."

[The Riverside Chaucer, 3rd ed., Larry D. Benson, ed., based on The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer ed. by F.N. Robinson, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co, 1987), pp.439-440.]

'Happy the man whose eyes once could
Perceive the shining fount of good;
Happy he whose unchecked mind
Could leave the chains of earth behind.
Once when Orpheus sad did mourn
For his wife beyond death's borne,
His tearful melody begun
Made the Moveless trees to run,
Made the rivers halt their flow,
Made the lion, hind's fell foe,
Side by side with her to go,
Made the hare accept the hound
Subdued now by the music's sound.
But his passions unrepressed
Burned more fiercely in his breast;
Though his song all things subdued,
It could not clam its master's mood.
Complaining of the gods above,
Down to hell he went for love.
There on sweetly sounding strings
Songs that soothe he plays and sings;
All the draughts once drawn of song
From the springs the Muses throng,
All the strength of helpless grief,
And of love which doubled grief,
Give their weight then to his weeping,
As he stands the lords beseeching
Of the underworld for grace.
The triform porter stands amazed,
By Orpheus' singing tamed and dazed;
The Furies who avenge men's sin,
Who at the guilty's terror grin,
Let tears of sorrow from them steal;
No longer does the turning wheel
Ixion's head send whirling round;
Old Tantalus upon the sound
Forgets the waters and his thirst,
And while the music is rehearsed
The vulture ceases flesh to shred.
At last the monarch of the dead
In tearful voice, "We yield," he said:
"Let him take with him his wife,
By song redeemed and brought to life.
But let him, too, this law obey,
Look not on her by the way
Until from night she reaches day."
But who to love can give a law?
Love unto itself is law.
Alas, close to the bounds of night
Orpheus backwards turned his sight
And, looking, lost and killed her there.
For you I sing the sad affair
Whoever seek the upward way
To lift your mind into the day;
For who gives in and turns his eye
Back to darkness from the sky,
Loses while he looks below
All that up with him may go.'
 

[Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy, trans. by V.E. Watts, (New York: Penguin Books, 1969), pp. 113-114. Watts points out that three main versions of the Orpheus/Eurydice story were known to the Middle Ages: Virgil's account in the Georgics, Ovid's in the Metamorphoses, and the telling here, which had perhaps the greatest influence among medieval Europeans.]