And now his yearly race the circling sun Had thrice complete through watery Pisces run, Since Orpheus fled the face of womankind, And all soft union with the sex declined. Whether his ill success this change had bred, Or binding vows made to his former bed, Whate’er the cause, in vain the nymphs contest, With rival eyes, to warm his frozen breast; For every nymph with love his lays inspired, But every nymph, repulsed, with grief retired.