For the Greeks, music (mousike) was connected to properties of speech itself (language, rhythm, and melody); the task of a poet (poietes, literally “maker”) was to enhance one or more of those properties by craft. Our modern distinction between poetry and music is alien to Greek thought, and even dance is connected with both as a form of mousike. Music, broadly speaking, meant anything presided over by the Muses (mousai): this included not only poetry and song, but also other elements of culture and education. It is easier to appreciate the ethical arguments about music in Plato and Aristotle when we consider how much broader their concept was than our own.
Later admirers of Greek music were no “slavish imitators” of it, Klavan notes. True enough, but how could it be otherwise? Few traces of real Greek music survived after the height of the Roman Empire, at which point slavish imitation was no option. Faced with this absence, artists and intellectuals—even classical scholars—are all forced to fall back on their various powers of imagination. Herein lies the paradox of Greek music: its influence in absentia has surely been greater than if we could simply hear it. Like the celestial music, it is silent—but its silence seems to fire the imagination. Keats wrote that “Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard/ Are sweeter.” So, too, with the music of antiquity. Unheard, its melody resonates all the more.
https://newcriterion.com/issues/2022/12/melodies-unheard