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diff --git a/22693-h/22693-h.htm b/22693-h/22693-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cfa99f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/22693-h/22693-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14306 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + a {text-decoration: none;} + + img {border: none;} + + em {font-style: italic;} + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; padding: 1em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .lowercase {text-transform: lowercase;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 2em;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: .2em; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem hr {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i7 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i9 {display: block; margin-left: 9em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i11 {display: block; margin-left: 11em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i12 {display: block; margin-left: 12em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i13 {display: block; margin-left: 13em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + .author {text-indent: 15em; padding-bottom: 1.5em;} + + .tdl {text-align: left; vertical-align: bottom;} /* left align cell */ + .tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} /* right align cell */ + + .s1 {padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em;} /* allows spacing in text */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Book of Myths + +Author: Jean Lang + +Illustrator: Helen Stratton + +Release Date: September 21, 2007 [EBook #22693] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOK OF MYTHS *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sam W. and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 430px;"> +<a href="images/abom01.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom01th.jpg" width="430" height="600" +alt="Cover of A Book of Myths." /></a> +</div> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/abom02.png"> +<img src="images/abom02th.png" width="600" height="408" +alt="End papers: A boy sits in a chair reading. Apparitions of historical figures +stand to one side." /></a> +</div> + + + + +<h1 style="padding-bottom: 3em;">A<br /> +BOOK OF MYTHS</h1> + +<h2>BY JEAN LANG</h2> + +<p class="center" style="padding-bottom: 3em;">(MRS. JOHN LANG)</p> + +<h3 style="padding-bottom: 3em;">WITH SIXTEEN ORIGINAL<br /> +DRAWINGS IN COLOUR<br /> +BY HELEN STRATTON</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 296px;"> +<img src="images/abom03.png" width="296" height="300" +alt="Publisher's device" /> +</div> + +<p class="center" style="padding-top: 3em;">THOMAS NELSON & SONS<br /> +NEW YORK</p> + + + + +<p class="center" style="padding-top: 5em;">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 278px;"> +<a name="PAN" id="PAN"></a> +<a href="images/abom04.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom04th.jpg" width="278" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">“WHAT WAS HE DOING, THE GREAT GOD PAN,<br /> +DOWN IN THE REEDS BY THE RIVER?”<br /> +(See page <a href="#Page_209">209</a>)</span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>Just as a little child holds out its hands to catch the +sunbeams, to feel and to grasp what, so its eyes tell it, +is actually there, so, down through the ages, men have +stretched out their hands in eager endeavour to know +their God. And because only through the human was +the divine knowable, the old peoples of the earth made +gods of their heroes and not unfrequently endowed +these gods with as many of the vices as of the +virtues of their worshippers. As we read the myths of +the East and the West we find ever the same story. +That portion of the ancient Aryan race which poured +from the central plain of Asia, through the rocky defiles +of what we now call “The Frontier,” to populate the +fertile lowlands of India, had gods who must once have +been wholly heroic, but who came in time to be more +degraded than the most vicious of lustful criminals. +And the Greeks, Latins, Teutons, Celts, and Slavonians, +who came of the same mighty Aryan stock, did even as +those with whom they owned a common ancestry. +Originally they gave to their gods of their best. All +that was noblest in them, all that was strongest and +most selfless, all the higher instincts of their natures +were their endowment. And although their worship +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> +in time became corrupt and lost its beauty, there yet +remains for us, in the old tales of the gods, a wonderful +humanity that strikes a vibrant chord in the hearts +of those who are the descendants of their worshippers. +For though creeds and forms may change, human nature +never changes. We are less simple than our fathers: +that is all. And, as Professor York Powell<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> most truly +says: “It is not in a man’s creed, but in his deeds; +not in his knowledge, but in his sympathy, that there +lies the essence of what is good and of what will last in +human life.”</p> + +<p>The most usual habits of mind in our own day are +the theoretical and analytical habits. Dissection, vivisection, +analysis—those are the processes to which +all things not conclusively historical and all things +spiritual are bound to pass. Thus we find the old +myths classified into Sun Myths and Dawn Myths, +Earth Myths and Moon Myths, Fire Myths and Wind +Myths, until, as one of the most sane and vigorous +thinkers of the present day<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> has justly observed: “If +you take the rhyme of Mary and her little lamb, and call +Mary the sun and the lamb the moon, you will achieve +astonishing results, both in religion and astronomy, +when you find that the lamb followed Mary to school +one day.”</p> + +<p>In this little collection of Myths, the stories are not +presented to the student of folklore as a fresh contribution +to his knowledge. Rather is the book intended +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> +for those who, in the course of their reading, frequently +come across names which possess for them no meaning, +and who care to read some old stories, through which +runs the same humanity that their own hearts know. +For although the old worship has passed away, it is +almost impossible for us to open a book that does not +contain some mention of the gods of long ago. In our +childhood we are given copies of Kingsley’s <i>Heroes</i> and +of Hawthorne’s <i>Tanglewood Tales</i>. Later on, we find in +Shakespeare, Spenser, Milton, Keats, Shelley, Longfellow, +Tennyson, Mrs. Browning, and a host of other +writers, constant allusion to the stories of the gods. +Scarcely a poet has ever written but makes mention +of them in one or other of his poems. It would seem +as if there were no get-away from them. We might +expect in this twentieth century that the old gods of +Greece and of Rome, the gods of our Northern forefathers, +the gods of Egypt, the gods of the British race, +might be forgotten. But even when we read in a newspaper +of aeroplanes, someone is more than likely to quote +the story of Bellerophon and his winged steed, or of +Icarus, the flyer, and in our daily speech the names of +gods and goddesses continually crop up. We drive—or, +at least, till lately we drove—in Phaetons. Not only +schoolboys swear by Jove or by Jupiter. The silvery +substance in our thermometers and barometers is +named Mercury. Blacksmiths are accustomed to being +referred to as “sons of Vulcan,” and beautiful youths +to being called “young Adonises.” We accept the +names of newspapers and debating societies as being +the “Argus,” without perhaps quite realising who was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> +Argus, the many-eyed. We talk of “a panic,” and +forget that the great god Pan is father of the word. +Even in our religious services we go back to heathenism. +Not only are the crockets on our cathedral spires +and church pews remnants of fire-worship, but one of +our own most beautiful Christian blessings is probably +of Assyrian origin. “The Lord bless thee and keep +thee.... The Lord make His face to shine upon +thee.... The Lord lift up the light of His countenance +upon thee....” So did the priests of the sun-gods +invoke blessings upon those who worshipped.</p> + +<p>We make many discoveries as we study the myths +of the North and of the South. In the story of Baldur +we find that the goddess Hel ultimately gave her name +to the place of punishment precious to the Calvinistic +mind. And because the Norseman very much disliked +the bitter, cruel cold of the long winter, his heaven +was a warm, well-fired abode, and his place of punishment +one of terrible frigidity. Somewhere on the other +side of the Tweed and Cheviots was the spot selected +by the Celt of southern Britain. On the other hand, +the eastern mind, which knew the terrors of a sun-smitten +land and of a heat that was torture, had for a hell a +fiery place of constantly burning flames.</p> + +<p>In the space permitted, it has not been possible to +deal with more than a small number of myths, and the +well-known stories of Herakles, of Theseus, and of the +Argonauts have been purposely omitted. These have +been so perfectly told by great writers that to retell +them would seem absurd. The same applies to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> +Odyssey and the Iliad, the translations of which probably +take rank amongst the finest translations in any +language.</p> + +<p>The writer will feel that her object has been gained +should any readers of these stories feel that for a little +while they have left the toilful utilitarianism of the +present day behind them, and, with it, its hampering +restrictions of sordid actualities that are so murderous +to imagination and to all romance.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Great God! I’d rather be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p style="text-align: right; padding-right: 5em;">JEAN LANG.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span></p> +<h3>POSTSCRIPT</h3> + +<p>We have come, in those last long months, to date our happenings as +they have never until now been dated by those of our own generation.</p> + +<p>We speak of things that took place “<em>Before the War</em>”; and between +that time and this stands a barrier immeasurable.</p> + +<p>This book, with its Preface, was completed in 1914—“<em>Before the +War.</em>”</p> + +<p>Since August 1914 the finest humanity of our race has been enduring +Promethean agonies. But even as Prometheus unflinchingly bore the +cruelties of pain, of heat and of cold, of hunger and of thirst, and the +tortures inflicted by an obscene bird of prey, so have endured the men +of our nation and of those nations with whom we are proud to be allied. +Much more remote than they seemed one little year ago, now seem the +old stories of sunny Greece. But if we have studied the strange transmogrification +of the ancient gods, we can look with interest, if with +horror, at the Teuton representation of the <span class="smcap">God</span> in whom we believe as +a <span class="smcap">God</span> of perfect purity, of honour, and of love. According to their +interpretation of Him, the God of the Huns would seem to be as much +a confederate of the vicious as the most degraded god of ancient worship. +And if we turn with shame from the Divinity so often and so glibly +referred to by blasphemous lips, and look on a picture that tears our +hearts, and yet makes our hearts big with pride, we can understand how +it was that those heroes who fought and died in the Valley of the +Scamander came in time to be regarded not as men, but as gods.</p> + +<p>There is no tale in all the world’s mythology finer than the tale that +began in August 1914. How future generations will tell the tale, who +can say?</p> + +<p>But we, for whom Life can never be the same again, can say with all +earnestness: “It is the memory that the soldier leaves behind him, like +the long train of light that follows the sunken sun—that is all which is +worth caring for, which distinguishes the death of the brave or the +ignoble.”</p> + +<p>And, surely, to all those who are fighting, and suffering, and dying +for a noble cause, the <span class="smcap">God</span> of gods, the <span class="smcap">God</span> of battles, who is also the +<span class="smcap">God</span> of peace, and the <span class="smcap">God</span> of Love, has become an ever near and +eternally living entity.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Our little systems have their day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They have their day and cease to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are but broken lights of Thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Thou, oh Lord, art more than they.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p style="text-align: right; padding-right: 5em;">JEAN LANG.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Teutonic Heathendom.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> John Kelman, D.D., <i>Among Famous Books</i>.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="60%" summary="Table of Contents"> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"> </td> + <td class="tdr"><span class="smcap lowercase">PAGE</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">PROMETHEUS AND PANDORA</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">PYGMALION</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">PHAETON</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">ENDYMION</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">ORPHEUS</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">APOLLO AND DAPHNE</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">PSYCHE</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">THE CALYDONIAN HUNT</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">ATALANTA</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">ARACHNE</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">IDAS AND MARPESSA</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">ARETHUSA</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">PERSEUS THE HERO</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">NIOBE</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">HYACINTHUS</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">KING MIDAS OF THE GOLDEN TOUCH</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">CEYX AND HALCYONE</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">ARISTÆUS THE BEE-KEEPER</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">PROSERPINE</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">LATONA AND THE RUSTICS</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span>ECHO AND NARCISSUS</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">ICARUS</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">CLYTIE</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">THE CRANES OF IBYCUS</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">SYRINX</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">THE DEATH OF ADONIS</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">PAN</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">LORELEI</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">FREYA, QUEEN OF THE NORTHERN GODS</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">THE DEATH OF BALDUR</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">BEOWULF</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">ROLAND THE PALADIN</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">THE CHILDREN OF LÎR</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_289">289</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">DEIRDRÊ</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_306">306</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span></p> +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="60%" summary="List of Illustrations"> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">“What was he doing, the great god Pan,<br /> +Down in the reeds by the river?”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#PAN"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"> </td> + <td class="tdr"><span class="smcap lowercase">PAGE</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Then Pygmalion covered his eyes</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#PYGMALION">12</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">She checked her hounds, and stood beside Endymion</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#ENDYMION">28</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Swiftly he turned, and found his wife behind him</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#ORPHEUS">38</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Thus did Psyche lose her fear, and enter the golden doors</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#PSYCHE">52</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">She stopped, and picked up the treasure</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#ATALANTA">80</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Marpessa sat alone by the fountain</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#MARPESSA">92</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">They whimpered and begged of him</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#PERSEUS">112</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Darkness fell on the eyes of Hyacinthus</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#HYACINTHUS">132</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A grey cold morning found her on the seashore</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#HALCYONE">152</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">She haunted him like his shadow</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#ECHO">176</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Freya sat spinning the clouds</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#FREYA">228</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">“Baldur the Beautiful is dead!”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#BALDUR">240</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A stroke shivered the sword</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#BEOWULF">262</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Roland seized once more his horn</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#ROLAND">282</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">One touch for each with a magical wand of the Druids</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#LIR">294</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<h1 style="padding-bottom: 3em;">A BOOK OF MYTHS</h1> + + + +<h2>PROMETHEUS AND PANDORA</h2> + + +<p>Those who are interested in watching the mental development +of a child must have noted that when the +baby has learned to speak even a little, it begins to show +its growing intelligence by asking questions. “What +is this?” it would seem at first to ask with regard to +simple things that to it are still mysteries. Soon it +arrives at the more far-reaching inquiries—“Why is +this so?” “How did this happen?” And as the +child’s mental growth continues, the painstaking and +conscientious parent or guardian is many times faced by +questions which lack of knowledge, or a sensitive honesty, +prevents him from answering either with assurance or +with ingenuity.</p> + +<p>As with the child, so it has ever been with the human +race. Man has always come into the world asking +“How?” “Why?” “What?” and so the Hebrew, +the Greek, the Maori, the Australian blackfellow, the +Norseman—in a word, each race of mankind—has formed +for itself an explanation of existence, an answer to the +questions of the groping child-mind—“Who made the +world?” “What is God?” “What made a God +think of fire and air and water?” “Why am I, <em>I</em>?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +Into the explanation of creation and existence given +by the Greeks come the stories of Prometheus and of +Pandora. The world, as first it was, to the Greeks was +such a world as the one of which we read in the Book +of Genesis—“without form, and void.” It was a sunless +world in which land, air, and sea were mixed up together, +and over which reigned a deity called Chaos. +With him ruled the goddess of Night and their son was +Erebus, god of Darkness. When the two beautiful children +of Erebus, Light and Day, had flooded formless +space with their radiance, Eros, the god of Love, was +born, and Light and Day and Love, working together, +turned discord into harmony and made the earth, the sea, +and the sky into one perfect whole. A giant race, a race +of Titans, in time populated this newly-made earth, and +of these one of the mightiest was Prometheus. To him, +and to his brother Epimethus, was entrusted by Eros the +distribution of the gifts of faculties and of instincts to all +the living creatures in the world, and the task of making +a creature lower than the gods, something less great than +the Titans, yet in knowledge and in understanding infinitely +higher than the beasts and birds and fishes. At +the hands of the Titan brothers, birds, beasts, and fishes +had fared handsomely. They were Titanic in their +generosity, and so prodigal had they been in their gifts +that when they would fain have carried out the commands +of Eros they found that nothing was left for the equipment +of this being, to be called Man. Yet, nothing +daunted, Prometheus took some clay from the ground +at his feet, moistened it with water, and fashioned it into +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +an image, in form like the gods. Into its nostrils Eros +breathed the spirit of life, Pallas Athené endowed it with +a soul, and the first man looked wonderingly round on +the earth that was to be his heritage. Prometheus, +proud of the beautiful thing of his own creation, would +fain have given Man a worthy gift, but no gift remained +for him. He was naked, unprotected, more helpless than +any of the beasts of the field, more to be pitied than any +of them in that he had a soul to suffer.</p> + +<p>Surely Zeus, the All Powerful, ruler of Olympus, would +have compassion on Man? But Prometheus looked to +Zeus in vain; compassion he had none. Then, in infinite +pity, Prometheus bethought himself of a power +belonging to the gods alone and unshared by any living +creature on the earth.</p> + +<p>“We shall give Fire to the Man whom we have made,” +he said to Epimethus. To Epimethus this seemed an +impossibility, but to Prometheus nothing was impossible. +He bided his time and, unseen by the gods, he made his +way into Olympus, lighted a hollow torch with a spark +from the chariot of the Sun and hastened back to earth +with this royal gift to Man. Assuredly no other gift +could have brought him more completely the empire +that has since been his. No longer did he tremble and +cower in the darkness of caves when Zeus hurled his +lightnings across the sky. No more did he dread the +animals that hunted him and drove him in terror before +them.</p> + +<p>Armed with fire, the beasts became his vassals. With +fire he forged weapons, defied the frost and cold, coined +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +money, made implements for tillage, introduced the arts, +and was able to destroy as well as to create.</p> + +<p>From his throne on Olympus, Zeus looked down on +the earth and saw, with wonder, airy columns of blue-grey +smoke that curled upwards to the sky. He watched +more closely, and realised with terrible wrath that the +moving flowers of red and gold that he saw in that land +that the Titans shared with men, came from fire, that had +hitherto been the gods’ own sacred power. Speedily he +assembled a council of the gods to mete out to Prometheus +a punishment fit for the blasphemous daring of his crime. +This council decided at length to create a thing that +should for evermore charm the souls and hearts of men, +and yet, for evermore, be man’s undoing.</p> + +<p>To Vulcan, god of fire, whose province Prometheus had +insulted, was given the work of fashioning out of clay +and water the creature by which the honour of the gods +was to be avenged. “The lame Vulcan,” says Hesiod, +poet of Greek mythology, “formed out of the earth an +image resembling a chaste virgin. Pallas Athené, of the +blue eyes, hastened to ornament her and to robe her in a +white tunic. She dressed on the crown of her head a +long veil, skilfully fashioned and admirable to see; she +crowned her forehead with graceful garlands of newly-opened +flowers and a golden diadem that the lame Vulcan, +the illustrious god, had made with his own hands to +please the puissant Jove. On this crown Vulcan had +chiselled the innumerable animals that the continents +and the sea nourish in their bosoms, all endowed with a +marvellous grace and apparently alive. When he had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +finally completed, instead of some useful work, this illustrious +masterpiece, he brought into the assembly this +virgin, proud of the ornaments with which she had been +decked by the blue-eyed goddess, daughter of a powerful +sire.” To this beautiful creature, destined by the gods +to be man’s destroyer, each of them gave a gift. From +Aphrodite she got beauty, from Apollo music, from Hermes +the gift of a winning tongue. And when all that great +company in Olympus had bestowed their gifts, they named +the woman Pandora—“Gifted by all the Gods.” Thus +equipped for victory, Pandora was led by Hermes to the +world that was thenceforward to be her home. As a +gift from the gods she was presented to Prometheus.</p> + +<p>But Prometheus, gazing in wonder at the violet blue +eyes bestowed by Aphrodite, that looked wonderingly back +into his own as if they were indeed as innocent as two +violets wet with the morning dew, hardened his great +heart, and would have none of her. As a hero—a worthy +descendant of Titans—said in later years, “Timeo +Danaos et dona ferentes,”—“I fear the Greeks, even +when they bring gifts.” And Prometheus, the greatly-daring, +knowing that he merited the anger of the gods, +saw treachery in a gift outwardly so perfect. Not only +would he not accept this exquisite creature for his own, +but he hastened to caution his brother also to refuse her.</p> + +<p>But well were they named Prometheus (Forethought) +and Epimethus (Afterthought). For Epimethus it +was enough to look at this peerless woman, sent +from the gods, for him to love her and to believe in +her utterly. She was the fairest thing on earth, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +worthy indeed of the deathless gods who had created her. +Perfect, too, was the happiness that she brought with +her to Epimethus. Before her coming, as he well knew +now, the fair world had been incomplete. Since she came +the fragrant flowers had grown more sweet for him, the +song of the birds more full of melody. He found new life +in Pandora and marvelled how his brother could ever +have fancied that she could bring to the world aught but +peace and joyousness.</p> + +<p>Now when the gods had entrusted to the Titan +brothers the endowment of all living things upon the +earth, they had been careful to withhold everything +that might bring into the world pain, sickness, anxiety, +bitterness of heart, remorse, or soul-crushing sorrow. All +these hurtful things were imprisoned in a coffer which was +given into the care of the trusty Epimethus.</p> + +<p>To Pandora the world into which she came was all +fresh, all new, quite full of unexpected joys and delightful +surprises. It was a world of mystery, but mystery +of which her great, adoring, simple Titan held the golden +key. When she saw the coffer which never was opened, +what then more natural than that she should ask Epimethus +what it contained? But the contents were known +only to the gods. Epimethus was unable to answer. +Day by day, the curiosity of Pandora increased. To her +the gods had never given anything but good. Surely +there must be here gifts more precious still. What if the +Olympians had destined her to be the one to open the +casket, and had sent her to earth in order that she might +bestow on this dear world, on the men who lived on it, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +and on her own magnificent Titan, happiness and blessings +which only the minds of gods could have conceived? +Thus did there come a day when Pandora, unconscious +instrument in the hands of a vengeful Olympian, in all +faith, and with the courage that is born of faith and of +love, opened the lid of the prison-house of evil. And as +from coffers in the old Egyptian tombs, the live plague +can still rush forth and slay, the long-imprisoned evils +rushed forth upon the fair earth and on the human beings +who lived on it—malignant, ruthless, fierce, treacherous, +and cruel—poisoning, slaying, devouring. Plague and +pestilence and murder, envy and malice and revenge and +all viciousness—an ugly wolf-pack indeed was that one +let loose by Pandora. Terror, doubt, misery, had all +rushed straightway to attack her heart, while the evils of +which she had never dreamed stung mind and soul into +dismay and horror, when, by hastily shutting the lid of +the coffer, she tried to undo the evil she had done.</p> + +<p>And lo, she found that the gods had imprisoned one good +gift only in this Inferno of horrors and of ugliness. In +the world there had never been any need of Hope. What +work was there for Hope to do where all was perfect, and +where each creature possessed the desire of body and of +heart? Therefore Hope was thrust into the chest that +held the evils, a star in a black night, a lily growing on a +dung-heap. And as Pandora, white-lipped and trembling, +looked into the otherwise empty box, courage came back +to her heart, and Epimethus let fall to his side the arm +that would have slain the woman of his love because there +came to him, like a draught of wine to a warrior spent in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +battle, an imperial vision of the sons of men through all +the aeons to come, combatting all evils of body and of +soul, going on conquering and to conquer. Thus, saved +by Hope, the Titan and the woman faced the future, and +for them the vengeance of the gods was stayed.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i9">“Yet I argue not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against Heav’n’s hand or will, nor bate a jot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right onward.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>So spoke Milton, the blind Titan of the seventeenth +century; and Shakespeare says:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Upon the earth, and on the children of men who were +as gods in their knowledge and mastery of the force of +fire, Jupiter had had his revenge. For Prometheus he +reserved another punishment. He, the greatly-daring, +once the dear friend and companion of Zeus himself, was +chained to a rock on Mount Caucasus by the vindictive +deity. There, on a dizzy height, his body thrust against +the sun-baked rock, Prometheus had to endure the torment +of having a foul-beaked vulture tear out his liver, +as though he were a piece of carrion lying on the mountain +side. All day, while the sun mercilessly smote him and the +blue sky turned from red to black before his pain-racked +eyes, the torture went on. Each night, when the filthy +bird of prey that worked the will of the gods spread its +dark wings and flew back to its eyrie, the Titan endured +the cruel mercy of having his body grow whole once more. +But with daybreak there came again the silent shadow, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +the smell of the unclean thing, and again with fierce beak +and talons the vulture greedily began its work.</p> + +<p>Thirty thousand years was the time of his sentence, and +yet Prometheus knew that at any moment he could have +brought his torment to an end. A secret was his—a +mighty secret, the revelation of which would have brought +him the mercy of Zeus and have reinstated him in the +favour of the all-powerful god. Yet did he prefer to +endure his agonies rather than to free himself by bowing +to the desires of a tyrant who had caused Man to be made, +yet denied to Man those gifts that made him nobler than +the beasts and raised him almost to the heights of the +Olympians. Thus for him the weary centuries dragged by—in +suffering that knew no respite—in endurance that +the gods might have ended. Prometheus had brought +an imperial gift to the men that he had made, and imperially +he paid the penalty.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Three thousand years of sleep-unsheltered hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And moments aye divided by keen pangs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till they seemed years, torture and solitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorn and despair,—these are mine empire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More glorious far than that which thou surveyest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thine unenvied throne, O, Mighty God!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Almighty, had I deigned to share the shame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thine ill tyranny, and hung not here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nailed to this wall of eagle-baffling mountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Black, wintry, dead, unmeasured; without herb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Insect, or beast, or shape or sound of life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, for ever!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Shelley.</span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Titan! to whose immortal eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sufferings of mortality<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seen in their sad reality,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Were not as things that gods despise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What was thy pity’s recompense?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A silent suffering, and intense;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rock, the vulture, and the chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All that the proud can feel of pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The agony they do not show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The suffocating sense of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which speaks but in its loneliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then is jealous lest the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should have a listener, nor will sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until its voice is echoless.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Byron.</span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Yet, I am still Prometheus, wiser grown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By years of solitude,—that holds apart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The past and future, giving the soul room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To search into itself,—and long commune<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With this eternal silence;—more a god,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my long-suffering and strength to meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With equal front the direst shafts of fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than thou in thy faint-hearted despotism ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore, great heart, bear up! thou art but type<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of what all lofty spirits endure that fain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would win men back to strength and peace through love:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each hath his lonely peak, and on each heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Envy, or scorn or hatred tears lifelong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With vulture beak; yet the high soul is left;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And faith, which is but hope grown wise, and love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And patience, which at last shall overcome.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lowell.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PYGMALION</h2> + + +<p>In days when the world was young and when the gods +walked on the earth, there reigned over the island of +Cyprus a sculptor-king, and king of sculptors, named +Pygmalion. In the language of our own day, we should +call him “wedded to his art.” In woman he only saw +the bane of man. Women, he believed, lured men from +the paths to which their destiny called them. While +man walked alone, he walked free—he had given no +“hostages to fortune.” Alone, man could live for his +art, could combat every danger that beset him, could +escape, unhampered, from every pitfall in life. But +woman was the ivy that clings to the oak, and throttles +the oak in the end. No woman, vowed Pygmalion, +should ever hamper him. And so at length he came to +hate women, and, free of heart and mind, his genius +wrought such great things that he became a very perfect +sculptor. He had one passion, a passion for his art, and +that sufficed him. Out of great rough blocks of marble he +would hew the most perfect semblance of men and of +women, and of everything that seemed to him most beautiful +and the most worth preserving.</p> + +<p>When we look now at the Venus of Milo, at the Diana of +Versailles, and at the Apollo Belvidere in the Vatican, we +can imagine what were the greater things that the sculptor +of Cyprus freed from the dead blocks of marble. One +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +day as he chipped and chiselled there came to him, like +the rough sketch of a great picture, the semblance of a +woman. How it came he knew not. Only he knew that +in that great mass of pure white stone there seemed to be +imprisoned the exquisite image of a woman, a woman +that he must set free. Slowly, gradually, the woman +came. Soon he knew that she was the most beautiful +thing that his art had ever wrought. All that he had +ever thought that a woman <em>should</em> be, this woman was. +Her form and features were all most perfect, and so perfect +were they, that he felt very sure that, had she been +a woman indeed, most perfect would have been the soul +within. For her he worked as he had never worked +before. There came, at last, a day when he felt that +another touch would be insult to the exquisite thing he +had created. He laid his chisel aside and sat down to +gaze at the Perfect Woman. She seemed to gaze back at +him. Her parted lips were ready to speak—to smile. +Her hands were held out to hold his hands. Then Pygmalion +covered his eyes. He, the hater of women, loved +a woman—a woman of chilly marble. The women he +had scorned were avenged.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 276px;"> +<a name="PYGMALION" id="PYGMALION"></a> +<a href="images/abom05.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom05th.jpg" width="276" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">THEN PYGMALION COVERED HIS EYES</span> +</div> + +<p>Day by day his passion for the woman of his own +creation grew and grew. His hands no longer wielded +the chisel. They grew idle. He would stand under the +great pines and gaze across the sapphire-blue sea, and +dream strange dreams of a marble woman who walked +across the waves with arms outstretched, with smiling +lips, and who became a woman of warm flesh and blood +when her bare feet touched the yellow sand, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +the bright sun of Cyprus touched her marble hair and +turned it into hair of living gold. Then he would +hasten back to his studio to find the miracle still unaccomplished, +and would passionately kiss the little cold +hands, and lay beside the little cold feet the presents he +knew that young girls loved—bright shells and exquisite +precious stones, gorgeous-hued birds and fragrant flowers, +shining amber, and beads that sparkled and flashed with +all the most lovely combinations of colour that the mind +of artist could devise. Yet more he did, for he spent vast +sums on priceless pearls and hung them in her ears and +upon her cold white breast; and the merchants wondered +who could be the one upon whom Pygmalion lavished the +money from his treasury.</p> + +<p>To his divinity he gave a name—“Galatea”; and +always on still nights the myriad silver stars would seem +to breathe to him “Galatea” ... and on those days +when the tempests blew across the sandy wastes of Arabia +and churned up the fierce white surf on the rocks of +Cyprus, the very spirit of the storm seemed to moan +through the crash of waves in longing, hopeless and unutterable—“Galatea!... +Galatea!...” For her he decked a +couch with Tyrian purple, and on the softest of pillows he +laid the beautiful head of the marble woman that he loved.</p> + +<p>So the time wore on until the festival of Aphrodite +drew near. Smoke from many altars curled out to sea, the +odour of incense mingled with the fragrance of the great +pine trees, and garlanded victims lowed and bleated as +they were led to the sacrifice. As the leader of his people, +Pygmalion faithfully and perfectly performed all his part +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +in the solemnities and at last he was left beside the altar +to pray alone. Never before had his words faltered as he +laid his petitions before the gods, but on this day he spoke +not as a sculptor-king, but as a child who was half afraid +of what he asked.</p> + +<p>“O Aphrodite!” he said, “who can do all things, give +me, I pray you, one like my Galatea for my wife!”</p> + +<p>“Give me my Galatea,” he dared not say; but Aphrodite +knew well the words he would fain have uttered, and +smiled to think how Pygmalion at last was on his knees. +In token that his prayer was answered, three times she +made the flames on the altar shoot up in a fiery point, +and Pygmalion went home, scarcely daring to hope, not +allowing his gladness to conquer his fear.</p> + +<p>The shadows of evening were falling as he went into +the room that he had made sacred to Galatea. On the +purple-covered couch she lay, and as he entered it seemed +as though she met his eyes with her own; almost it +seemed that she smiled at him in welcome. He quickly +went up to her and, kneeling by her side, he pressed +his lips on those lips of chilly marble. So many times +he had done it before, and always it was as though +the icy lips that could never live sent their chill right +through his heart, but now it surely seemed to him +that the lips were cold no longer. He felt one of the +little hands, and no more did it remain heavy and cold +and stiff in his touch, but lay in his own hand, soft +and living and warm. He softly laid his fingers on the +marble hair, and lo, it was the soft and wavy burnished +golden hair of his desire. Again, reverently as he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +had laid his offerings that day on the altar of Venus, +Pygmalion kissed her lips. And then did Galatea, with +warm and rosy cheeks, widely open her eyes, like pools in +a dark mountain stream on which the sun is shining, and +gaze with timid gladness into his own.</p> + +<p>There are no after tales of Pygmalion and Galatea. +We only know that their lives were happy and that to +them was born a son, Paphos, from whom the city sacred +to Aphrodite received its name. Perhaps Aphrodite may +have smiled sometimes to watch Pygmalion, once the +scorner of women, the adoring servant of the woman that +his own hands had first designed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PHAETON</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The road, to drive on which unskilled were Phaeton’s hands.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Dante</span>—<i>Purgatorio</i>.</p> + + +<p>To Apollo, the sun-god, and Clymene, a beautiful ocean-nymph, +there was born in the pleasant land of Greece a +child to whom was given the name of Phaeton, the Bright +and Shining One. The rays of the sun seemed to live in +the curls of the fearless little lad, and when at noon other +children would seek the cool shade of the cypress groves, +Phaeton would hold his head aloft and gaze fearlessly up +at the brazen sky from whence fierce heat beat down upon +his golden head.</p> + +<p>“Behold, my father drives his chariot across the +heavens!” he proudly proclaimed. “In a little while I, +also, will drive the four snow-white steeds.”</p> + +<p>His elders heard the childish boast with a smile, but +when Epaphos, half-brother to Apollo, had listened to it +many times and beheld the child, Phaeton, grow into an +arrogant lad who held himself as though he were indeed +one of the Immortals, anger grew in his heart. One day +he turned upon Phaeton and spoke in fierce scorn:</p> + +<p>“Dost say thou art son of a god? A shameless +boaster and a liar art thou! Hast ever spoken to thy +divine sire? Give us some proof of thy sonship! No more +child of the glorious Apollo art thou than are the vermin +his children, that the sun breeds in the dust at my feet.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +For a moment, before the cruel taunt, the lad was +stricken into silence, and then, his pride aflame, his young +voice shaking with rage and with bitter shame, he cried +aloud: “Thou, Epaphos, art the liar. I have but to ask +my father, and thou shalt see me drive his golden chariot +across the sky.”</p> + +<p>To his mother he hastened, to get balm for his hurt +pride, as many a time he had got it for the little bodily +wounds of childhood, and with bursting heart he poured +forth his story.</p> + +<p>“True it is,” he said, “that my father has never +deigned to speak to me. Yet I know, because thou hast +told me so, that he is my sire. And now my word is +pledged. Apollo must let me drive his steeds, else I +am for evermore branded braggart and liar, and shamed +amongst men.”</p> + +<p>Clymene listened with grief to his complaint. He +was so young, so gallant, so foolish.</p> + +<p>“Truly thou art the son of Apollo,” she said, “and +oh, son of my heart, thy beauty is his, and thy pride the +pride of a son of the gods. Yet only partly a god art +thou, and though thy proud courage would dare all things, +it were mad folly to think of doing what a god alone +can do.”</p> + +<p>But at last she said to him, “Naught that I can say +is of any avail. Go, seek thy father, and ask him what +thou wilt.” Then she told him how he might find the +place in the east where Apollo rested ere the labours of +the day began, and with eager gladness Phaeton set out +upon his journey. A long way he travelled, with never +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +a stop, yet when the glittering dome and jewelled turrets +and minarets of the Palace of the Sun came into view, he +forgot his weariness and hastened up the steep ascent to +the home of his father.</p> + +<p>Phœbus Apollo, clad in purple that glowed like the +radiance of a cloud in the sunset sky, sat upon his +golden throne. The Day, the Month, and the Year +stood by him, and beside them were the Hours. Spring +was there, her head wreathed with flowers; Summer, +crowned with ripened grain; Autumn, with his feet +empurpled by the juice of the grapes; and Winter, +with hair all white and stiff with hoar-frost. And when +Phaeton walked up the golden steps that led to his +father’s throne, it seemed as though incarnate Youth had +come to join the court of the god of the Sun, and that +Youth was so beautiful a thing that it must surely live +forever. Proudly did Apollo know him for his son, +and when the boy looked in his eyes with the arrogant +fearlessness of boyhood, the god greeted him kindly +and asked him to tell him why he came, and what +was his petition.</p> + +<p>As to Clymene, so also to Apollo, Phaeton told his +tale, and his father listened, half in pride and amusement, +half in puzzled vexation. When the boy stopped, and +then breathlessly, with shining eyes and flushed cheeks, +ended up his story with: “And, O light of the boundless +world, if I am indeed thy son, let it be as I have said, and for +one day only let me drive thy chariot across the heavens!” +Apollo shook his head and answered very gravely:</p> + +<p>“In truth thou art my dear son,” he said, “and by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +the dreadful Styx, the river of the dead, I swear that I will +give thee any gift that thou dost name and that will give +proof that thy father is the immortal Apollo. But never +to thee nor to any other, be he mortal or immortal, shall +I grant the boon of driving my chariot.”</p> + +<p>But the boy pled on:</p> + +<p>“I am shamed for ever, my father,” he said. “Surely +thou wouldst not have son of thine proved liar and +braggart?”</p> + +<p>“Not even the gods themselves can do this thing,” +answered Apollo. “Nay, not even the almighty Zeus. +None but I, Phœbus Apollo, may drive the flaming chariot +of the sun, for the way is beset with dangers and none +know it but I.”</p> + +<p>“Only tell me the way, my father!” cried Phaeton. +“So soon I could learn.”</p> + +<p>Half in sadness, Apollo smiled.</p> + +<p>“The first part of the way is uphill,” he said. “So +steep it is that only very slowly can my horses climb it. +High in the heavens is the middle, so high that even I +grow dizzy when I look down upon the earth and the sea. +And the last piece of the way is a precipice that rushes +so steeply downward that my hands can scarce check +the mad rush of my galloping horses. And all the while, +the heaven is spinning round, and the stars with it. By +the horns of the Bull I have to drive, past the Archer whose +bow is taut and ready to slay, close to where the Scorpion +stretches out its arms and the great Crab’s claws +grope for a prey....”</p> + +<p>“I fear none of these things, oh my father!” cried +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +Phaeton. “Grant that for one day only I drive thy +white-maned steeds!”</p> + +<p>Very pitifully Apollo looked at him, and for a little +space he was silent.</p> + +<p>“The little human hands,” he said at length, “the +little human frame!—and with them the soul of a god. +The pity of it, my son. Dost not know that the boon +that thou dost crave from me is Death?”</p> + +<p>“Rather Death than Dishonour,” said Phaeton, and +proudly he added, “For once would I drive like the god, +my father. I have no fear.”</p> + +<p>So was Apollo vanquished, and Phaeton gained his +heart’s desire.</p> + +<p>From the courtyard of the Palace the four white +horses were led, and they pawed the air and neighed aloud +in the glory of their strength. They drew the chariot +whose axle and pole and wheels were of gold, with spokes +of silver, while inside were rows of diamonds and of +chrysolites that gave dazzling reflection of the sun. Then +Apollo anointed the face of Phaeton with a powerful +essence that might keep him from being smitten by the +flames, and upon his head he placed the rays of the sun. +And then the stars went away, even to the Daystar that +went last of all, and, at Apollo’s signal, Aurora, the rosy-fingered, +threw open the purple gates of the east, and +Phaeton saw a path of pale rose-colour open before him.</p> + +<p>With a cry of exultation, the boy leapt into the +chariot and laid hold of the golden reins. Barely did he +hear Apollo’s parting words: “Hold fast the reins, and +spare the whip. All thy strength will be wanted to hold +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +the horses in. Go not too high nor too low. The middle +course is safest and best. Follow, if thou canst, in the +old tracks of my chariot wheels!” His glad voice of +thanks for the godlike boon rang back to where Apollo +stood and watched him vanishing into the dawn that still +was soft in hue as the feathers on the breast of a dove.</p> + +<p>Uphill at first the white steeds made their way, and +the fire from their nostrils tinged with flame-colour the +dark clouds that hung over the land and the sea. With +rapture, Phaeton felt that truly he was the son of a god, +and that at length he was enjoying his heritage. The +day for which, through all his short life, he had longed, +had come at last. He was driving the chariot whose +progress even now was awaking the sleeping earth. The +radiance from its wheels and from the rays he wore round +his head was painting the clouds, and he laughed aloud +in rapture as he saw, far down below, the sea and the +rivers he had bathed in as a human boy, mirroring the +green and rose and purple, and gold and silver, and fierce +crimson, that he, Phaeton, was placing in the sky. The +grey mist rolled from the mountain tops at his desire. The +white fog rolled up from the valleys. All living things +awoke; the flowers opened their petals; the grain grew +golden; the fruit grew ripe. Could but Epaphos see him +now! Surely he must see him, and realise that not +Apollo but Phaeton was guiding the horses of his father, +driving the chariot of the Sun.</p> + +<p>Quicker and yet more quick grew the pace of the +white-maned steeds. Soon they left the morning breezes +behind, and very soon they knew that these were not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +the hands of the god, their master, that held the golden +reins. Like an air-ship without its accustomed ballast, +the chariot rolled unsteadily, and not only the boy’s light +weight but his light hold on their bridles made them grow +mad with a lust for speed. The white foam flew from +their mouths like the spume from the giant waves of a +furious sea, and their pace was swift as that of a bolt +that is cast by the arm of Zeus.</p> + +<p>Yet Phaeton had no fear, and when they heard +him shout in rapture, “Quicker still, brave ones! more +swiftly still!” it made them speed onwards, madly, +blindly, with the headlong rush of a storm. There was +no hope for them to keep on the beaten track, and soon +Phaeton had his rapture checked by the terrible realisation +that they had strayed far out of the course and that +his hands were not strong enough to guide them. Close +to the Great Bear and the Little Bear they passed, and +these were scorched with heat. The Serpent which, torpid, +chilly and harmless, lies coiled round the North Pole, felt +a warmth that made it grow fierce and harmful again. +Downward, ever downward galloped the maddened horses, +and soon Phaeton saw the sea as a shield of molten brass, +and the earth so near that all things on it were visible. +When they passed the Scorpion and only just missed +destruction from its menacing fangs, fear entered into the +boy’s heart. His mother had spoken truth. He was +only partly a god, and he was very, very young. In +impotent horror he tugged at the reins to try to check the +horses’ descent, then, forgetful of Apollo’s warning, he +smote them angrily. But anger met anger, and the fury +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +of the immortal steeds had scorn for the wrath of a mortal +boy. With a great toss of their mighty heads they had +torn the guiding reins from his grasp, and as he stood, +giddily swaying from side to side, Phaeton knew that the +boon he had craved from his father must in truth be +death for him.</p> + +<p>And, lo, it was a hideous death, for with eyes that +were like flames that burned his brain, the boy beheld +the terrible havoc that his pride had wrought. That +blazing chariot of the Sun made the clouds smoke, and +dried up all the rivers and water-springs. Fire burst +from the mountain tops, great cities were destroyed. +The beauty of the earth was ravished, woods and +meadows and all green and pleasant places were laid +waste. The harvests perished, the flocks and they who +had herded them lay dead. Over Libya the horses took +him, and the desert of Libya remains a barren wilderness +to this day, while those sturdy Ethiopians who survived +are black even now as a consequence of that cruel heat. +The Nile changed its course in order to escape, and nymphs +and nereids in terror sought for the sanctuary of some +watery place that had escaped destruction. The face of +the burned and blackened earth, where the bodies of +thousands of human beings lay charred to ashes, cracked +and sent dismay to Pluto by the lurid light that penetrated +even to his throne.</p> + +<p>All this Phaeton saw, saw in impotent agony of soul. +His boyish folly and pride had been great, but the excruciating +anguish that made him shed tears of blood, +was indeed a punishment even too heavy for an erring god.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +From the havoc around her, the Earth at last looked +up, and with blackened face and blinded eyes, and in a +voice that was harsh and very, very weary, she called +to Zeus to look down from Olympus and behold the ruin +that had been wrought by the chariot of the Sun. And +Zeus, the cloud-gatherer, looked down and beheld. And +at the sight of that piteous devastation his brow grew +dark, and terrible was his wrath against him who had +held the reins of the chariot. Calling upon Apollo and +all the other gods to witness him, he seized a lightning +bolt, and for a moment the deathless Zeus and all the +dwellers in Olympus looked on the fiery chariot in which +stood the swaying, slight, lithe figure of a young lad, +blinded with horror, shaken with agony. Then, from +his hand, Zeus cast the bolt, and the chariot was dashed +into fragments, and Phaeton, his golden hair ablaze, fell, +like a bright shooting star, from the heavens above, +into the river Eridanus. The steeds returned to their +master, Apollo, and in rage and grief Apollo lashed them. +Angrily, too, and very rebelliously did he speak of the +punishment meted to his son by the ruler of the Immortals. +Yet in truth the punishment was a merciful one. +Phaeton was only half a god, and no human life were fit +to live after the day of dire anguish that had been his.</p> + +<p>Bitter was the mourning of Clymene over her beautiful +only son, and so ceaselessly did his three sisters, the +Heliades, weep for their brother, that the gods turned +them into poplar trees that grew by the bank of the river, +and, when still they wept, their tears turned into precious +amber as they fell. Yet another mourned for Phaeton—Phaeton +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +“dead ere his prime.” Cycnus, King of Liguria, +had dearly loved the gallant boy, and again and yet again +he dived deep in the river and brought forth the charred +fragments of what had once been the beautiful son of a +god, and gave to them honourable burial. Yet he could +not rest satisfied that he had won all that remained of his +friend from the river’s bed, and so he continued to haunt +the stream, ever diving, ever searching, until the gods +grew weary of his restless sorrow and changed him into a +swan.</p> + +<p>And still we see the swan sailing mournfully along, +like a white-sailed barque that is bearing the body of a +king to its rest, and ever and anon plunging deep into +the water as though the search for the boy who would +fain have been a god were never to come to an end.</p> + +<p>To Phaeton the Italian Naiades reared a tomb, and +inscribed on the stone these words:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Driver of Phœbus’ chariot, Phaëton,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Struck by Jove’s thunder, rests beneath this stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could not rule his father’s car of fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet was it much, so nobly to aspire.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Ovid.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<h2>ENDYMION</h2> + + +<p>To the modern popular mind perhaps none of the goddesses +of Greece—not even Venus herself—has more +appeal than has the huntress goddess, Diana. Those +who know but little of ancient statuary can still brighten +to intelligent recognition of the huntress with her quiver +and her little stag when they meet with them in picture +gallery or in suburban garden. That unlettered sportsman +in weather-worn pink, slowly riding over the fragrant +dead leaves by the muddy roadside on this chill, grey +morning, may never have heard of Artemis, but he is +quite ready to make intelligent reference to Diana to the +handsome young sportswoman whom he finds by the +covert side; and Sir Walter’s Diana Vernon has helped +the little-read public to realise that the original Diana was +a goddess worthy of being sponsor to one of the finest +heroines of fiction.</p> + +<p>But not to the sportsman alone, but also to the youth +or maid who loves the moon—they know not why—to +those whom the shadows of the trees on a woodland path +at night mean a grip of the heart, while “pale Dian” +scuds over the dark clouds that are soaring far beyond +the tree-tops and is peeping, chaste and pale, through the +branches of the firs and giant pines, there is something +arresting, enthralling, in the thought of the goddess +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +Diana who now has for hunting-ground the blue firmament +of heaven where the pale Pleiades</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Tennyson.</span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“She gleans her silvan trophies; down the wold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She hears the sobbing of the stags that flee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mixed with the music of the hunting roll’d,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But her delight is all in archery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And naught of ruth and pity wotteth she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More than her hounds that follow on the flight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The goddess draws a golden bow of might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thick she rains the gentle shafts that slay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She tosses loose her locks upon the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the dim wood Dian threads her way.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Andrew Lang.</span></p> + +<p>Again and again in mythological history we come on +stories of the goddess, sometimes under her best known +name of Diana, sometimes under her older Greek name +of Artemis, and now and again as Selene, the moon-goddess, +the Luna of the Romans. Her twin brother was +Apollo, god of the sun, and with him she shared the +power of unerringly wielding a bow and of sending grave +plagues and pestilences, while both were patrons of music +and of poetry.</p> + +<p>When the sun-god’s golden chariot had driven down +into the west, then would his sister’s noiseless-footed silver +steeds be driven across the sky, while the huntress shot +from her bow at will silent arrows that would slay without +warning a joyous young mother with her newly-born babe, +or would wantonly pierce, with a lifelong pain, the heart +of some luckless mortal.</p> + +<p>Now one night as she passed Mount Latmos, there +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +chanced to be a shepherd lad lying asleep beside his +sleeping flock. Many times had Endymion watched the +goddess from afar, half afraid of one so beautiful and +yet so ruthless, but never before had Diana realised the +youth’s wonderful beauty. She checked her hounds when +they would have swept on in their chase through the +night, and stood beside Endymion. She judged him to +be as perfect as her own brother, Apollo—yet more +perfect, perhaps, for on his upturned sleeping face +was the silver glamour of her own dear moon. Fierce +and burning passion could come with the sun’s burning +rays, but love that came in the moon’s pale light was +passion mixed with gramarye. She gazed for long, and +when, in his sleep, Endymion smiled, she knelt beside +him and, stooping, gently kissed his lips. The touch of a +moonbeam on a sleeping rose was no more gentle than was +Diana’s touch, yet it was sufficient to wake Endymion. +And as, while one’s body sleeps on, one’s half-waking mind, +now and again in a lifetime seems to realise an ecstasy +of happiness so perfect that one dares not wake lest, by +waking, the wings of one’s realised ideal should slip +between grasping fingers and so escape forever, so did +Endymion realise the kiss of the goddess. But before +his sleepy eyes could be his senses’ witnesses, Diana had +hastened away. Endymion, springing to his feet, saw +only his sleeping flock, nor did his dogs awake when he +heard what seemed to him to be the baying of hounds in +full cry in a forest far up the mountain. Only to his own +heart did he dare to whisper what was this wonderful +thing that he believed had befallen him, and although he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +laid himself down, hoping that once again this miracle +might be granted to him, no miracle came; nor could +he sleep, so great was his longing.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 273px;"> +<a name="ENDYMION" id="ENDYMION"></a> +<a href="images/abom06.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom06th.jpg" width="273" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">SHE CHECKED HER HOUNDS, AND STOOD BESIDE ENDYMION</span> +</div> + +<p>All the next day, through the sultry hours while Apollo +drove his chariot of burnished gold through the land, +Endymion, as he watched his flocks, tried to dream his +dream once more, and longed for the day to end and the +cool, dark night to return. When night came he tried to +lie awake and see what might befall, but when kind sleep +had closed his tired eyes,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“There came a lovely vision of a maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who seemed to step as from a golden car<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the low-hung moon.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lewis Morris.</span></p> + +<p>Always she kissed him, yet when her kiss awoke him +he never could see anything more tangible than a shaft +of silver moonlight on the moving bushes of the mountain +side, never hear anything more real than the far-away +echo of the baying of pursuing hounds, and if, with eager, +greatly-daring eyes, he looked skywards, a dark cloud, +so it seemed to him, would always hasten to hide the moon +from his longing gaze.</p> + +<p>In this manner time passed on. The days of Endymion +were filled by longing day-dreams. His sleeping +hours ever brought him ecstasy. Ever, too, to the goddess, +the human being that she loved seemed to her to +grow more precious. For her all the joy of day and of +night was concentrated in the moments she spent by the +side of the sleeping Endymion. The flocks of the shepherd +flourished like those of no other herd. No wild +beast dared come near them; no storm nor disease +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +assailed them. Yet for Endymion the things of earth no +longer held any value. He lived only for his dear dream’s +sake. Had he been permitted to grow old and worn and +tired, and still a dreamer, who knows how his story might +have ended? But to Diana there came the fear that with +age his beauty might wane, and from her father, Zeus, +she obtained for the one she loved the gifts of unending +youth and of eternal sleep.</p> + +<p>There came a night when the dreams of Endymion +had no end. That was a night when the moon made +for herself broad silver paths across the sea, from far +horizon to the shore where the little waves lapped and +curled in a radiant, ever-moving silver fringe. Silver +also were the leaves of the forest trees, and between the +branches of the solemn cypresses and of the stately +dark pines, Diana shot her silver arrows. No baying +of hounds came then to make Endymion’s flocks move +uneasily in their sleep, but the silver stars seemed +to sing in unison together. While still those gentle +lips touched his, hands as gentle lifted up the sleeping +Endymion and bore him to a secret cave in Mount Latmos. +And there, for evermore, she came to kiss the +mouth of her sleeping lover. There, forever, slept Endymion, +happy in the perfect bliss of dreams that have no +ugly awaking, of an ideal love that knows no ending.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<h2>ORPHEUS</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Orpheus with his lute made trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mountain tops that freeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bow themselves when he did sing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his music plants and flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ever sprung, as sun and showers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There had made a lasting spring.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Everything that heard him play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even the billows of the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung their heads, and then lay by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sweet music is such art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Killing care and grief of heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall asleep, or hearing die.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Shakespeare.</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Are we not all lovers as Orpheus was, loving what is gone from +us forever, and seeking it vainly in the solitudes and wilderness of +the mind, and crying to Eurydice to come again? And are we not +all foolish as Orpheus was, hoping by the agony of love and the +ecstasy of will to win back Eurydice; and do we not all fail, as Orpheus +failed, because we forsake the way of the other world for the way +of this world?”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod.</span></p> + + +<p>It is the custom nowadays for scientists and for other +scholarly people to take hold of the old myths, to take +them to pieces, and to find some deep, hidden meaning in +each part of the story. So you will find that some will +tell you that Orpheus is the personification of the winds +which “tear up trees as they course along, chanting their +wild music,” and that Eurydice is the morning “with its +short-lived beauty.” Others say that Orpheus is “the +mythological expression of the delight which music gives +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +to the primitive races,” while yet others accept without +hesitation the idea that Orpheus is the sun that, when day +is done, plunges into the black abyss of night, in the vain +hope of overtaking his lost bride, Eurydice, the rosy dawn. +And, whether they be right or wrong, it would seem that +the sadness that comes to us sometimes as the day dies +and the last of the sun’s rays vanish to leave the hills and +valleys dark and cold, the sorrowful feeling that we cannot +understand when, in country places, we hear music coming +from far away, or listen to the plaintive song of the bird, +are things that very specially belong to the story of +Orpheus.</p> + +<p>In the country of Thrace, surrounded by all the best +gifts of the gods, Orpheus was born. His father was +Apollo, the god of music and of song, his mother the +muse Calliope. Apollo gave his little son a lyre, and himself +taught him how to play it. It was not long before +all the wild things in the woods of Thrace crept out from +the green trees and thick undergrowth, and from the holes +and caves in the rocks, to listen to the music that the +child’s fingers made. The coo of the dove to his mate, +the flute-clear trill of the blackbird, the song of the lark, +the liquid carol of the nightingale—all ceased when the +boy made music. The winds that whispered their secrets +to the trees owned him for their lord, and the proudest +trees of the forest bowed their heads that they might not +miss one exquisite sigh that his fingers drew from the +magical strings. Nor man nor beast lived in his day that +he could not sway by the power of his melody. He played +a lullaby, and all things slept. He played a love-lilt, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +the flowers sprang up in full bloom from the cold earth, +and the dreaming red rosebud opened wide her velvet +petals, and all the land seemed full of the loving echoes of +the lilt he played. He played a war-march, and, afar off, +the sleeping tyrants of the forest sprang up, wide awake, +and bared their angry teeth, and the untried youths of +Thrace ran to beg their fathers to let them taste battle, +while the scarred warriors felt on their thumbs the sharpness +of their sword blades, and smiled, well content. +While he played it would seem as though the very stones +and rocks gained hearts. Nay, the whole heart of the +universe became one great, palpitating, beautiful thing, +an instrument from whose trembling strings was drawn +out the music of Orpheus.</p> + +<p>He rose to great power, and became a mighty prince +of Thrace. Not his lute alone, but he himself played on +the heart of the fair Eurydice and held it captive. It +seemed as though, when they became man and wife, all +happiness must be theirs. But although Hymen, the god of +marriage, himself came to bless them on the day they wed, +the omens on that day were against them. The torch that +Hymen carried had no golden flame, but sent out pungent +black smoke that made their eyes water. They feared +they knew not what; but when, soon afterwards, as Eurydice +wandered with the nymphs, her companions, through +the blue-shadowed woods of Thrace, the reason was discovered. +A bold shepherd, who did not know her for a +princess, saw Eurydice, and no sooner saw her than he +loved her. He ran after her to proclaim to her his love, +and she, afraid of his wild uncouthness, fled before him. She +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +ran, in her terror, too swiftly to watch whither she went, +and a poisonous snake that lurked amongst the fern bit the +fair white foot that flitted, like a butterfly, across it. In +agonised suffering Eurydice died. Her spirit went to the +land of the Shades, and Orpheus was left broken-hearted.</p> + +<p>The sad winds that blow at night across the sea, the +sobbing gales that tell of wreck and death, the birds that +wail in the darkness for their mates, the sad, soft whisper +of the aspen leaves and the leaves of the heavy clad blue-black +cypresses, all now were hushed, for greater than all, +more full of bitter sorrow than any, arose the music of +Orpheus, a long-drawn sob from a broken heart in the +Valley of the Shadow of Death.</p> + +<p>Grief came alike to gods and to men as they listened, +but no comfort came to him from the expression of his +sorrow. At length, when to bear his grief longer was +impossible for him, Orpheus wandered to Olympus, and +there besought Zeus to give him permission to seek his +wife in the gloomy land of the Shades. Zeus, moved +by his anguish, granted the permission he sought, but +solemnly warned him of the terrible perils of his undertaking.</p> + +<p>But the love of Orpheus was too perfect to know any +fear; thankfully he hastened to the dark cave on the +side of the promontory of Taenarus, and soon arrived at +the entrance of Hades. Stark and grim was the three-headed +watchdog, Cerberus, which guarded the door, and +with the growls and the furious roaring of a wild beast +athirst for its prey it greeted Orpheus. But Orpheus +touched his lute, and the brute, amazed, sank into silence. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +And still he played, and the dog would gently have licked +the player’s feet, and looked up in his face with its savage +eyes full of the light that we see in the eyes of the dogs of +this earth as they gaze with love at their masters. On, +then, strode Orpheus, playing still, and the melody he drew +from his lute passed before him into the realms of Pluto.</p> + +<p>Surely never were heard such strains. They told of +perfect, tender love, of unending longing, of pain too +great to end with death. Of all the beauties of the earth +they sang—of the sorrow of the world—of all the world’s +desire—of things past—of things to come. And ever, +through the song that the lute sang, there came, like a +thread of silver that is woven in a black velvet pall, a +limpid melody. It was as though a bird sang in the mirk +night, and it spoke of peace and of hope, and of joy that +knows no ending.</p> + +<p>Into the blackest depths of Hades the sounds sped on +their way, and the hands of Time stood still. From his +bitter task of trying to quaff the stream that ever receded +from the parched and burning lips, Tantalus ceased for a +moment. The ceaseless course of Ixion’s wheel was stayed, +the vulture’s relentless beak no longer tore at the Titan’s +liver; Sisyphus gave up his weary task of rolling the stone +and sat on the rock to listen, the Danaïdes rested from their +labour of drawing water in a sieve. For the first time, the +cheeks of the Furies were wet with tears, and the restless +shades that came and went in the darkness, like dead +autumn leaves driven by a winter gale, stood still to gaze +and listen. Before the throne where Pluto and his queen +Proserpine were seated, sable-clad and stern, the relentless +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +Fates at their feet, Orpheus still played on. And to +Proserpine then came the living remembrance of all the +joys of her girlhood by the blue Ægean Sea in the fair +island of Sicily. Again she knew the fragrance and the +beauty of the flowers of spring. Even into Hades the scent +of the violets seemed to come, and fresh in her heart was +the sorrow that had been hers on the day on which the +ruthless King of Darkness tore her from her mother and +from all that she held most dear. Silent she sat beside +her frowning, stern-faced lord, but her eyes grew dim.</p> + +<p>When, with a quivering sigh, the music stopped, +Orpheus fearlessly pled his cause. To let him have Eurydice, +to give him back his more than life, to grant that he +might lead her with him up to “the light of Heaven”—that +was his prayer.</p> + +<p>The eyes of Pluto and Proserpine did not dare to meet, +yet with one accord was their answer given. Eurydice +should be given back to him, but only on one condition. +Not until he had reached the light of earth again was he +to turn round and look upon the face for a sight of which +his eyes were tired with longing. Eagerly Orpheus complied, +and with a heart almost breaking with gladness he +heard the call for Eurydice and turned to retrace his way, +with the light footfall of the little feet that he adored +making music behind him. Too good a thing it seemed—too +unbelievable a joy. She was there—quite close to +him. Their days of happiness were not ended. His love +had won her back, even from the land of darkness. All +that he had not told her of that love while yet she was on +earth he would tell her now. All that he had failed in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +before, he would make perfect now. The little limping +foot—how it made his soul overflow with adoring tenderness. +So near she was, he might even touch her were he +to stretch back his hand....</p> + +<p>And then there came to him a hideous doubt. What +if Pluto had played him false? What if there followed +him not Eurydice, but a mocking shade? As he climbed +the steep ascent that led upwards to the light, his fear grew +more cruelly real. Almost he could imagine that her +footsteps had stopped, that when he reached the light he +would find himself left once more to his cruel loneliness. +Too overwhelming for him was the doubt. So nearly there +they were that the darkness was no longer that of night, +but as that of evening when the long shadows fall upon +the land, and there seemed no reason for Orpheus to wait.</p> + +<p>Swiftly he turned, and found his wife behind him, but +only for a moment she stayed. Her arms were thrown +open and Orpheus would fain have grasped her in his +own, but before they could touch each other Eurydice +was borne from him, back into the darkness.</p> + +<p>“Farewell!” she said—“Farewell!” and her voice +was a sigh of hopeless grief. In mad desperation Orpheus +sought to follow her, but his attempt was vain. At the +brink of the dark, fierce-flooded Acheron the boat with its +boatman, old Charon, lay ready to ferry across to the +further shore those whose future lay in the land of Shades. +To him ran Orpheus, in clamorous anxiety to undo the +evil he had wrought. But Charon angrily repulsed +him. There was no place for such as Orpheus in his +ferry-boat. Those only who went, never to return, could +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +find a passage there. For seven long days and seven +longer nights Orpheus waited beside the river, hoping +that Charon would relent, but at last hope died, and he +sought the depths of the forests of Thrace, where trees +and rocks and beasts and birds were all his friends.</p> + +<p>He took his lyre again then and played:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Such strains as would have won the ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Pluto, to have quite set free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His half-regained Eurydice.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></p> + +<p>Day and night he stayed in the shadow of the woodlands, +all the sorrow of his heart expressing itself in +the song of his lute. The fiercest beasts of the forest +crawled to his feet and looked up at him with eyes full +of pity. The song of the birds ceased, and when the +wind moaned through the trees they echoed his cry, +“Eurydice! Eurydice!”</p> + +<p>In the dawning hours it would seem to him that he +saw her again, flitting, a thing of mist and rising sun, +across the dimness of the woods. And when evening +came and all things rested, and the night called out +the mystery of the forest, again he would see her. +In the long blue shadows of the trees she would stand—up +the woodland paths she walked, where her little +feet fluttered the dry leaves as she passed. Her face +was white as a lily in the moonlight, and ever she held +out her arms to Orpheus:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“At that elm-vista’s end I trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dimly thy sad leave-taking face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eurydice! Eurydice!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tremulous leaves repeat to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eurydice! Eurydice!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lowell.</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 276px;"> +<a name="ORPHEUS" id="ORPHEUS"></a> +<a href="images/abom07.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom07th.jpg" width="276" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">SWIFTLY HE TURNED, AND FOUND HIS WIFE BEHIND HIM</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +For Orpheus it was a good day when Jason, chief of +the Argonauts, sought him out to bid him come with the +other heroes and aid in the quest of the Golden Fleece.</p> + +<p>“Have I not had enough of toil and of weary wandering +far and wide,” sighed Orpheus. “In vain is the +skill of the voice which my goddess mother gave me; +in vain have I sung and laboured; in vain I went down +to the dead, and charmed all the kings of Hades, to win +back Eurydice, my bride. For I won her, my beloved, +and lost her again the same day, and wandered away +in my madness even to Egypt and the Libyan sands, +and the isles of all the seas.... While I charmed in +vain the hearts of men, and the savage forest beasts, +and the trees, and the lifeless stones, with my magic +harp and song, giving rest, but finding none.”<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> + +<p>But in the good ship <i>Argo</i>, Orpheus took his place +with the others and sailed the watery ways, and the +songs that Orpheus sang to his shipmates and that tell +of all their great adventures are called the Songs of +Orpheus, or the Orphics, to this day.</p> + +<p>Many were the mishaps and disasters that his music +warded off. With it he lulled monsters to sleep; more +powerful to work magic on the hearts of men were his +melodies than were the songs of the sirens when they tried +to capture the Argonauts by their wiles, and in their +downward, destroying rush his music checked mountains.</p> + +<p>When the quest of the Argonauts was ended, Orpheus +returned to his own land of Thrace. As a hero he had +fought and endured hardship, but his wounded soul +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +remained unhealed. Again the trees listened to the +songs of longing. Again they echoed, “Eurydice! +Eurydice!”</p> + +<p>As he sat one day near a river in the stillness of the +forest, there came from afar an ugly clamour of sound. +It struck against the music of Orpheus’ lute and slew +it, as the coarse cries of the screaming gulls that fight +for carrion slay the song of a soaring lark. It was the +day of the feast of Bacchus, and through the woods +poured Bacchus and his Bacchantes, a shameless rout, +satyrs capering around them, centaurs neighing aloud. +Long had the Bacchantes hated the loyal poet-lover of +one fair woman whose dwelling was with the Shades. +His ears were ever deaf to their passionate voices, his +eyes blind to their passionate loveliness as they danced +through the green trees, a riot of colour, of fierce beauty, +of laughter and of mad song. Mad they were indeed +this day, and in their madness the very existence of +Orpheus was a thing not to be borne. At first they +stoned him, but his music made the stones fall harmless +at his feet. Then in a frenzy of cruelty, with the +maniac lust to cause blood to flow, to know the joy of +taking life, they threw themselves upon Orpheus and +did him to death. From limb to limb they tore him, +casting at last his head and his blood-stained lyre into +the river. And still, as the water bore them on, the +lyre murmured its last music and the white lips of +Orpheus still breathed of her whom at last he had gone +to join in the shadowy land, “Eurydice! Eurydice!”</p> + +<p>“Combien d’autres sont morts de même! C’est la +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +lutte éternelle de la force brutale contre l’intelligence +douce et sublime inspirée du ciel, dont le royaume n’est +pas de ce monde.”</p> + +<p>In the heavens, as a bright constellation called +Lyra, or Orpheus, the gods placed his lute, and to the +place of his martyrdom came the Muses, and with loving +care carried the fragments of the massacred body to +Libetlera, at the foot of Mount Olympus, and there buried +them. And there, unto this day, more sweetly than at +any other spot in any other land, the nightingale sings. +For it sings of a love that knows no ending, of life +after death, of a love so strong that it can conquer even +Death, the all-powerful.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Kingsley.</p></div> +</div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<h2>APOLLO AND DAPHNE</h2> + + +<p>Conqueror of all conquerable earth, yet not always victorious +over the heart of a maid was the golden-locked +Apollo.</p> + +<p>As mischievous Eros played one day with his bow +and arrows, Apollo beheld him and spoke to him mockingly.</p> + +<p>“What hast thou to do with the weapons of war, +saucy lad?” he said. “Leave them for hands such as +mine, that know full well how to wield them. Content +thyself with thy torch, and kindle flames, if indeed thou +canst, but such bolts as thy white young arms can +drive will surely not bring scathe to god nor to man.”</p> + +<p>Then did the son of Aphrodite answer, and as he +made answer he laughed aloud in his glee. “With +thine arrows thou mayst strike all things else, great +Apollo, a shaft of mine shall surely strike thy heart!”</p> + +<p>Carefully, then, did Eros choose two arrows from his +quiver. One, sharp-pointed and of gold, he fitted carefully +to his bow, drew back the string until it was taut, +and then let fly the arrow, that did not miss its mark, +but flew straight to the heart of the sun-god. With +the other arrow, blunt, and tipped with lead, he smote +the beautiful Daphne, daughter of Peneus, the river-god. +And then, full joyously did the boy-god laugh, for his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +roguish heart knew well that to him who was struck by +the golden shaft must come the last pangs that have +proved many a man’s and many a god’s undoing, while +that leaden-tipped arrow meant to whomsoever it struck, +a hatred of Love and an immunity from all the heart +weakness that Love can bring. Those were the days +when Apollo was young. Never before had he loved.</p> + +<p>But as the first fierce storm that assails it bends the +young, supple tree with its green budding leaves before +its furious blast, so did the first love of Apollo bend low +his adoring heart. All day as he held the golden reins +of his chariot, until evening when its fiery wheels were +cooled in the waters of the western seas, he thought of +Daphne. All night he dreamed of her. But never did +there come to Daphne a time when she loved Love for +Love’s sake. Never did she look with gentle eye on +the golden-haired god whose face was as the face of all +the exquisite things that the sunlight shows, remembered +in a dream. Her only passion was a passion for +the chase. One of Diana’s nymphs was she, cold and +pure and white in soul as the virgin goddess herself.</p> + +<p>There came a day when Apollo could no longer put +curbing hands on his fierce longing. The flames from +his chariot still lingered in reflected glories on sea and +hill and sky. The very leaves of the budding trees of +spring were outlined in gold. And through the dim +wood walked Daphne, erect and lithe and living as a +sapling in the early spring.</p> + +<p>With beseeching hands, Apollo followed her. A +god was he, yet to him had come the vast humility of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +passionate intercession for the gift of love to a little +nymph. She heard his steps behind her and turned +round, proud and angry that one should follow her +when she had not willed it.</p> + +<p>“Stay!” he said, “daughter of Peneus. No foe am +I, but thine own humble lover. To thee alone do I bow +my head. To all others on earth am I conqueror and +king.”</p> + +<p>But Daphne, hating his words of passionate love, sped +on. And when his passion lent wings to his feet and she +heard him gaining on her as she fled, not as a lover did +Daphne look on deathless Apollo, but as a hateful foe. +More swiftly than she had ever run beside her mistress +Diana, leaving the flying winds behind her as she sped, +ran Daphne now. But ever did Apollo gain upon her, +and almost had he grasped her when she reached the +green banks of the river of which her father, Peneus, was +god.</p> + +<p>“Help me, Peneus!” she cried. “Save me, oh my +father, from him whose love I fear!”</p> + +<p>As she spoke the arms of Apollo seized her, yet, +even as his arms met around her waist, lissome and +slight as a young willow, Daphne the nymph was Daphne +the nymph no longer. Her fragrant hair, her soft white +arms, her tender body all changed as the sun-god +touched them. Her feet took root in the soft, damp +earth by the river. Her arms sprouted into woody +branches and green leaves. Her face vanished, and the +bark of a big tree enclosed her snow-white body. Yet +Apollo did not take away his embrace from her who had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +been his dear first love. He knew that her cry to Peneus +her father had been answered, yet he said, “Since thou +canst not be my bride, at least thou shalt be my tree; +my hair, my lyre, my quiver shall have thee always, oh +laurel tree of the Immortals!”</p> + +<p>So do we still speak of laurels won, and worn by those +of deathless fame, and still does the first love of Apollo +crown the heads of those whose gifts have fitted them +to dwell with the dwellers on Olympus.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">“I espouse thee for my tree:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be thou the prize of honour and renown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deathless poet, and the poem, crown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, after poets, be by victors worn.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Ovid</span> (<i>Dryden’s translation</i>).</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PSYCHE</h2> + + +<p>Those who read for the first time the story of Psyche +must at once be struck by its kinship to the fairy +tales of childhood. Here we have the three sisters, the +two elder jealous and spiteful, the youngest beautiful +and gentle and quite unable to defend herself against +her sisters’ wicked arts. Here, too, is the mysterious +bridegroom who is never seen and who is lost to his +bride because of her lack of faith. Truly it is an old, +old tale—older than all fairy tales—the story of love +that is not strong enough to believe and to wait, and so +to “win through” in the end—the story of seeds of suspicion +sown by one full of malice in an innocent heart, +and which bring to the hapless reaper a cruel harvest.</p> + +<p>Once upon a time, so goes the tale, a king and queen +had three beautiful daughters. The first and the second +were fair indeed, but the beauty of the youngest was +such that all the people of the land worshipped it as a +thing sent straight from Olympus. They awaited her +outside the royal palace, and when she came, they +threw chaplets of roses and violets for her little feet to +tread upon, and sang hymns of praise as though she were +no mortal maiden but a daughter of the deathless gods.</p> + +<p>There were many who said that the beauty of +Aphrodite herself was less perfect than the beauty of +Psyche, and when the goddess found that men were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +forsaking her altars in order to worship a mortal maiden, +great was her wrath against them and against the princess +who, all unwittingly, had wrought her this shameful +harm.</p> + +<p>In her garden, sitting amongst the flowers and idly +watching his mother’s fair white doves as they preened +their snowy feathers in the sun, Aphrodite found her +son Eros, and angrily poured forth to him the story +of her shame.</p> + +<p>“Thine must be the task of avenging thy mother’s +honour,” she said. “Thou who hast the power of +making the loves of men, stab with one of thine arrows +the heart of this presumptuous maiden, and shame her +before all other mortals by making her love a monster +from which all others shrink and which all despise.” +With wicked glee Eros heard his mother’s commands. +His beautiful face, still the face of a mischievous boy, +lit up with merriment. This was, in truth, a game after +his own heart. In the garden of Aphrodite is a fountain +of sweet, another of bitter water, and Eros filled two +amber vases, one from each fountain, hung them from +his quiver, and</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Straight he rose from earth and down the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went glittering ’twixt the blue sky and the sea.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>In her chamber Psyche lay fast asleep, and swiftly, +almost without a glance at her, Eros sprinkled some of +the bitter drops upon her lips, and then, with one of +his sharpest arrows, pricked her snowy breast. Like a +child who half awakes in fear, and looks up with puzzled, +wondering eyes, Psyche, with a little moan, opened +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +eyes that were bluer than the violets in spring and gazed +at Eros. He knew that he was invisible, and yet her +gaze made him tremble.</p> + +<p>“They spoke truth!” said the lad to himself. “Not +even my mother is as fair as this princess.”</p> + +<p>For a moment her eyelids quivered, and then dropped. +Her long dark lashes fell on her cheeks that were pink as +the hearts of the fragile shells that the waves toss up on +western beaches, her red mouth, curved like the bow of +Eros, smiled happily, and Psyche slept again. With +heart that beat as it had never beaten before, Eros +gazed upon her perfect loveliness. With gentle, pitying +finger he wiped away the red drop where his arrow had +wounded her, and then stooped and touched her lips with +his own, so lightly that Psyche in her dreams thought +that they had been brushed by a butterfly’s wings. Yet +in her sleep she moved, and Eros, starting back, pricked +himself with one of his arrows. And with that prick, +for Eros there passed away all the careless ease of the +heart of a boy, and he knew that he loved Psyche with +the unquenchable love of a deathless god. Now, with +bitter regret, all his desire was to undo the wrong he +had done to the one that he loved. Speedily he sprinkled +her with the sweet water that brings joy, and when +Psyche rose from her couch she was radiant with the +beauty that comes from a new, undreamed-of happiness.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“From place to place Love followed her that day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever fairer to his eyes she grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So that at last when from her bower he flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And underneath his feet the moonlit sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went shepherding his waves disorderly,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He swore that of all gods and men, no one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should hold her in his arms but he alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That she should dwell with him in glorious wise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like to a goddess in some paradise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, he would get from Father Jove this grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That she should never die, but her sweet face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wonderful fair body should endure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the foundations of the mountains sure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were molten in the sea; so utterly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did he forget his mother’s cruelty.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">William Morris.</span></p> + +<p>Meantime it came to be known all over that land, +and in other lands to which the fame of the fair Psyche +had spread, that the mighty goddess Aphrodite had +declared herself the enemy of the princess. Therefore +none dared seek her in marriage, and although many a +noble youth sighed away his heart for love of her, she +remained in her father’s palace like an exquisite rose +whose thorns make those who fain would have it +for their own, fear to pluck it from the parent stem. +Her sisters married, and her father marvelled why so +strange a thing should come about and why the most +beautiful by far of his three daughters should remain +unwed.</p> + +<p>At length, laden with royal gifts, an embassy was +sent by the king to the oracle of Apollo to inquire what +might be the will of the dwellers on Olympus concerning +his fairest daughter. In a horror of anxiety the king +and his queen and Psyche awaited the return of the +ambassadors. And when they returned, before ever a +word was spoken, they knew that the oracle had spoken +Psyche’s doom.</p> + +<p>“No mortal lover shall fair Psyche know,” said the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +oracle. “For bridegroom she shall have a monster +that neither man nor god can resist. On the mountain +top he awaits her coming. Woe unutterable shall come +to the king and to all the dwellers in his land if he dares +to resist the unalterable dictum of the deathless gods!”</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“... Of dead corpses shalt thou be the king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stumbling through the dark land shalt thou go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howling for second death to end thy woe.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">William Morris.</span></p> + +<p>Only for a little while did the wretched king strive +to resist the decrees of fate. And in her own chamber, +where so short a time before the little princess had +known the joy of something inexpressible—something +most exquisite—intangible—unknown—she sat, like a +flower broken by the ruthless storm, sobbing pitifully, +dry-eyed, with sobs that strained her soul, for the +shameful, hideous fate that the gods had dealt her.</p> + +<p>All night, until her worn-out body could no longer +feel, her worn-out mind think, and kind sleep came to +bring her oblivion, Psyche faced the horror for the sake +of her father and of his people, that she knew she could +not avoid. When morning came, her handmaids, white-faced +and red-eyed, came to deck her in all the bridal +magnificence that befitted the most beautiful daughter +of a king, and when she was dressed right royally, and +as became a bride, there started up the mountain a +procession at sight of which the gods themselves must +have wept. With bowed heads the king and queen +walked before the litter upon which lay their daughter +in her marriage veil of saffron colour, with rose wreath +on her golden hair. White, white were the faces of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +maidens who bore the torches, and yet rose red were +they by the side of Psyche. Minstrels played wedding +hymns as they marched onwards, and it seemed as though +the souls of unhappy shades sobbed through the reeds +and moaned through the strings as they played.</p> + +<p>At length they reached the rocky place where they +knew they must leave the victim bride, and her father +dared not meet her eyes as he turned his head to go. +Yet Psyche watched the procession wending its way +downhill. No more tears had she to shed, and it seemed +to her that what she saw was not a wedding throng, but +an assembly of broken-hearted people who went back +to their homes with heavy feet after burying one that +they loved. She saw no sign of the monster who was to +be her bridegroom, yet at every little sound her heart +grew sick with horror, and when the night wind swept +through the craggy peaks and its moans were echoed in +loneliness, she fell on her face in deadly fear and lay on +the cold rock in a swoon.</p> + +<p>Yet, had Psyche known it, the wind was her friend. +For Eros had used Zephyrus as his trusty messenger +and sent him to the mountain top to find the bride of +him “whom neither man nor god could resist.” Tenderly—very +tenderly—he was told, must he lift her in his +arms, and bear her to the golden palace in that green +and pleasant land where Eros had his home. So, with +all the gentleness of a loving nurse to a tired little child +Zephyrus lifted Psyche, and sped with her in his strong +arms to the flowery meadows behind which towered the +golden palace of Eros, like the sun behind a sky of green +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +and amber and blue and rose. Deeply, in the weariness +of her grief, Psyche slept, and when she awoke it was +to start up with the chill hands of the realisation of +terrible actualities on her heart. But when her eyes +looked round to find the barren rocks, the utter forsakenness, +the coming of an unnameable horror, before her +she saw only fair groves with trees bedecked with fruit +and blossom, fragrant meadows, flowers whose beauty +made her eyes grow glad. And from the trees sang +birds with song more sweet than any that Psyche had +ever known, and with brilliant plumage which they +preened caressingly when they had dipped their wings +in crystal-sparkling fountains. There, too, stood a +noble palace, golden fronted, and with arcades of stainless +marble that shone like snow in the sun. At first +all seemed like part of a dream from which she dreaded +to awake, but soon there came to her the joy of knowing +that all the exquisite things that made appeal to her +senses were indeed realities. Almost holding her breath, +she walked forward to the open golden doors. “It is a +trap,” she thought. “By this means does the monster +subtly mean to lure me into his golden cage.” Yet, +even as she thought, there seemed to be hovering round +her winged words, like little golden birds with souls. +And in her ears they whispered, “Fear not. Doubt not. +Recall the half-formed dreams that so short a time ago +brought to thy heart such unutterable joy. No evil +shall come to thee—only the bliss of loving and of being +loved.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 278px;"> +<a name="PSYCHE" id="PSYCHE"></a> +<a href="images/abom08.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom08th.jpg" width="278" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">THUS DID PSYCHE LOSE HER FEAR, AND ENTER THE GOLDEN DOORS</span> +</div> + +<p>Thus did Psyche lose her fear, and enter the golden +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +doors. And inside the palace she found that all the +beautiful things of which she had ever dreamed, all the +perfect things for which she had ever longed, were there +to greet her. From one to another she flitted, like a +humming-bird that sucks honey from one and then +from another gorgeous flower. And then, when she was +tired with so much wearing out of her thankful mind, +she found a banquet ready spread for her, with all the +dainties that her dainty soul liked best; and, as +she ate, music so perfect rejoiced her ears that all her +soul was soothed and joyous and at peace. When she +had refreshed herself, a soft couch stood before +her, ready for her there to repose, and when that +strange day had come to an end, Psyche knew that, +monster or not, she was beloved by one who had +thought for her every thought, and who desired only +her desire.</p> + +<p>Night came at last, and when all was dark and still, +and Psyche, wide awake, was full of forebodings and fears +lest her happy dreams might only be misleading fancies, +and Horror incarnate might come to crown her peaceful +day, Eros softly entered the palace that was his own. +Even as he had gone to the palace of her father he went +now, and found Psyche lying with violet eyes that +stared into the velvety darkness, seeking something +that she hoped for, trembling before something that +brought her dread.</p> + +<p>His voice was as the voice of spring when it breathes +on the sleeping earth; he knew each note in Love’s +music, every word in the great thing that is Love’s +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +vocabulary. Love loved, and Psyche listened, and soon +she knew that her lover was Love himself.</p> + +<p>Thus, for Psyche, did a time of perfect happiness +begin. All through the day she roamed in her Love’s +dominion, and saw on every side the signs of his passion +and of his tenderness. All through the night he stayed +by her, and satisfied all the longing of her heart. Yet +always, ere daybreak, Eros left her, and when she begged +him to stay he only made answer:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I am with thee only while I keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My visage hidden; and if thou once shouldst see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My face, I must forsake thee; the high gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Link Love with Faith, and he withdraws himself<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the full gaze of knowledge.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lewis Morris.</span></p> + +<p>So did time glide past for Psyche, and ever she grew +more in love with Love; always did her happiness become +more complete. Yet, ever and again, there +returned to her the remembrance of those sorrowful days +when her father and mother had broken their hearts +over her martyrdom, and her sisters had looked askance +at her as at one whose punishment must assuredly +have come from her own misdoing. Thus at length she +asked Eros to grant her, for love’s sake, a boon—to +permit her to have her sisters come to see for themselves +the happiness that was hers. Most unwillingly +was her request granted, for the heart of Eros told him +that from their visit no good could come. Yet he was +unable to deny anything to Psyche, and on the following +day Zephyrus was sent to bring the two sisters to +the pleasant valley where Psyche had her home. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +Eagerly, as she awaited them, Psyche thought she +might make the princely palace wherein she dwelt yet +fairer than it was. And almost ere she could think, +her thoughts became realities. When the two sisters +came, they were bewildered with the beauty and the +magnificence of it all. Beside this, their own possessions +were paltry trifles indeed. Quickly, in their little +hearts, black envy grew. They had always been jealous of +their younger sister, and now that they found her, whom +all the world believed to have been slain by a horrible +monster, more beautiful than ever, decked with rare +jewels, radiant in her happiness, and queen of a palace +fit for the gods, their envy soon turned to hatred, and +they sought how best to wreak their malice upon the +joyous creature who loaded them with priceless gifts. +They began to ply Psyche with questions. He who was +her lord, to whom she owed all her happiness, where was +he? Why did he stay away when her sisters came to be +presented to him? What manner of man was he? +Was he fair or dark? Young or old? And as they +questioned her, Psyche grew like a bewildered child +and answered in frightened words that contradicted one +another. And well the wicked sisters, who brooded evil +in their hearts, knew that this husband whom Psyche +had never seen must indeed be one of the deathless gods. +Wily words they spoke to her then.</p> + +<p>“Alas! unhappy one,” they said, “dost think to +escape the evil fate the gods meted out for thee? Thy +husband is none other than the monster of which the +oracle spake! Oh, foolish Psyche! canst not understand +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +that the monster fears the light? Too great horror would +it mean for thee to see the loathsome thing that comes in +the blackness of night and speaks to thee words of love.”</p> + +<p>White-lipped and trembling, Psyche listened. Drop +by drop the poisonous words passed into her soul. She +had thought him king of all living things—worthy to +rule over gods as well as men. She was so sure that his +body was worthy sheath for the heart she knew so +well.... She had pictured him beautiful as Eros, +son of Aphrodite—young and fair, with crisp, golden +locks—a husband to glory in—a lover to adore. And +now she knew, with shame and dread, that he who had +won her love between the twilight and the dawn was a +thing to shame her, a monster to be shunned of men.</p> + +<p>“What, then, shall I do?” piteously she asked of +her sisters. And the women, pitilessly, and well content, +answered:</p> + +<p>“Provide thyself with a lamp and a knife sharp +enough to slay the man or monster. And when this +creature to whom, to thy undying shame, thou belongest, +sleeps sound, slip from thy couch and in the +rays of the lamp have courage to look upon him in all +his horror. Then, when thou hast seen for thyself that +what we say is truth, with thy knife swiftly slay him. +Thus shalt thou free thyself from the pitiless doom +meted out by the gods.”</p> + +<p>Shaking with sobs, Psyche made answer:</p> + +<p>“I love him so!... I love him so!”</p> + +<p>And her sisters turned upon her with furious scorn +and well-simulated wrath.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +“Shameless one!” they cried; “and does our +father’s daughter confess to a thing so unutterable! +Only by slaying the monster canst thou hope to regain +thy place amongst the daughters of men.”</p> + +<p>They left her when evening fell, carrying with them +their royal gifts. And while she awaited the coming of +her lord, Psyche, provided with knife and lamp, crouched +with her head in her hands, a lily broken by a cruel storm. +So glad was Eros to come back to her, to find her safely +there—for greatly had he feared the coming of that +treacherous pair—that he did not note her silence. Nor +did the dark night show him that her eyes in her sad +face looked like violets in a snow wreath. He wanted +only to hold her safely in his arms, and there she lay, +passive and still, until sleep came to lay upon him an +omnipotent hand. Then, very gently, she withdrew +herself from his embrace, and stole to the place where +her lamp was hidden. Her limbs shook under her as +she brought it to the couch where he lay asleep; her +arm trembled as she held it aloft.</p> + +<p>As a martyr walks to death, so did she walk. And +when the yellow light fell upon the form of him who lay +there, still she gazed steadily.</p> + +<p>And, lo, before her she saw the form of him who had +ever been the ideal of her dreams. Love himself, incarnate +Love, perfect in beauty and in all else was he +whom her sisters had told her was a monster—he, of +whom the oracle had said that neither gods nor men +could resist him. For a moment of perfect happiness +she gazed upon his beauty. Then he turned in his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +sleep, and smiled, and stretched out his arms to find +the one of his love. And Psyche started, and, starting, +shook the lamp; and from it fell a drop of burning oil +on the white shoulder of Eros. At once he awoke, and +with piteous, pitying eyes looked in those of Psyche. +And when he spoke, his words were like daggers that +pierced deep into her soul. He told her all that had +been, all that might have been. Had she only had +faith and patience to wait, an immortal life should have +been hers.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Farewell! though I, a god, can never know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How thou canst lose thy pain, yet time will go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over thine head, and thou mayst mingle yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bitter and the sweet, nor quite forget,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor quite remember, till these things shall seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wavering memory of a lovely dream.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">William Morris.</span></p> + +<p>He left her alone then, with her despair, and as the +slow hours dragged by, Psyche, as she awaited the +dawn, felt that in her heart no sun could ever rise again. +When day came at last, she felt she could no longer +endure to stay in the palace where everything spoke to +her of the infinite tenderness of a lost love. Through +the night a storm had raged, and even with the day +there came no calm. And Psyche, weary and chill, +wandered away from the place of her happiness, onward +and ever on, until she stood on the bank of a +swift-flowing river. For a little she stayed her steps +and listened to the sound of its wash against the rocks +and tree roots as it hurried past, and to her as she waited +came the thought that here had she found a means by +which to end her woe.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +“I have lost my Love,” she moaned. “What +is Life to me any longer! Come to me then, O +Death!”</p> + +<p>So then she sprang into the wan water, hoping that +very swiftly it might bear her grief-worn soul down to +the shades. But the river bore her up and carried her +to its shallows in a fair meadow where Pan himself sat +on the bank and merrily dabbled his feet in the flowing +water. And when Psyche, shamed and wet, looked at +him with sad eyes, the god spoke to her gently and +chid her for her folly. She was too young and much too +fair to try to end her life so rudely, he said. The river +gods would never be so unkind as to drive so beautiful +a maiden in rough haste down to the Cocytus valley.</p> + +<p>“Thou must dree thy weird like all other daughters of +men, fair Psyche,” he said. “He or she who fain would +lose their lives, are ever held longest in life. Only when +the gods will it shall thy days on earth be done.”</p> + +<p>And Psyche, knowing that in truth the gods had +spared her to endure more sorrow, looked in his face +with a very piteous gaze, and wandered on. As she +wandered, she found that her feet had led her near the +place where her two sisters dwelt.</p> + +<p>“I shall tell them of the evil they have wrought,” +she thought. “Surely they must sorrow when they +know that by their cruel words they stole my faith from +me and robbed me of my Love and of my happiness.”</p> + +<p>Gladly the two women saw the stricken form of +Psyche and looked at her face, all marred by grief. +Well, indeed, had their plot succeeded; their malice +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +had drunk deep, yet deeper still they drank, for with +scornful laughter they drove her from their palace doors. +Very quickly, when she had gone, the elder sought the +place where she had stood when Zephyrus bore her in +safety to that palace of pleasure where Psyche dwelt +with her Love. Now that Psyche was no longer there, +surely the god by whom she had been beloved would +gladly have as her successor the beautiful woman who +was now much more fair than the white-faced girl with +eyes all red with weeping. And such certainty did the +vengeful gods put in her heart that she held out her +arms, and calling aloud:</p> + +<p>“Bear me to him in thine arms, Zephyrus! Behold +I come, my lord!” she sprang from the high cliff on +which she stood, into space. And the ravens that night +feasted on her shattered body. So also did it befall the +younger sister, deluded by the Olympians to her own +destruction, so that her sin might be avenged.</p> + +<p>For many a weary day and night Psyche wandered, +ever seeking to find her Love, ever longing to do something +by which to atone for the deed that had been her +undoing. From temple to temple she went, but nowhere +did she come near him, until at length in Cyprus +she came to the place where Aphrodite herself had her +dwelling. And inasmuch as her love had made her very +bold, and because she no longer feared death, nor could +think of pangs more cruel than those that she already +knew, Psyche sought the presence of the goddess who +was her enemy, and humbly begged her to take her +life away.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +With flaming scorn and anger Aphrodite received her.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“O thou fool,” she said, “I will not let thee die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou shalt reap the harvest thou hast sown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a day that wretched lot bemoan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art my slave, and not a day shall be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I will find some fitting task for thee.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>There began then for Psyche a time of torturing +misery of which only those could speak who have knowledge +of the merciless stripes with which the goddess +can scourge the hearts of her slaves. With cruel ingenuity, +Aphrodite invented labours for her.</p> + +<p>In uncountable quantity, and mingled in inextricable +and bewildering confusion, there lay in the granary of +the goddess grains of barley and of wheat, peas and +millet, poppy and coriander seed. To sort out each +kind and lay them in heaps was the task allotted for one +day, and woe be to her did she fail. In despair, Psyche +began her hopeless labour. While the sun shone, +through a day that was for her too short, she strove to +separate the grains, but when the shadows of evening +made it hard for her to distinguish one sort from another, +only a few very tiny piles were the result of her weary +toil. Very soon the goddess would return, and Psyche +dared not think what would be the punishment meted +out to her. Rapidly the darkness fell, but while the +dying light still lingered in some parts of the granary, +it seemed to Psyche as though little dark trickles of +water began to pour from underneath the doors and +through the cracks in the wall. Trembling she watched +the ceaseless motion of those long, dark lines, and then, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +in amazement, realised that what she saw were unending +processions of ants. And as though one who loved her +directed their labours, the millions of busy little toilers +swiftly did for Psyche what she herself had failed to do. +When at length they went away, in those long dark +lines that looked like the flow of a thread-like stream, +the grains were all piled up in high heaps, and the sad +heart of Psyche knew not only thankful relief, but had +a thrill of gladness.</p> + +<p>“Eros sent them to me:” she thought. “Even +yet his love for me is not dead.”</p> + +<p>And what she thought was true.</p> + +<p>Amazed and angry, Aphrodite looked at the task +she had deemed impossible, well and swiftly performed. +That Psyche should possess such magic skill only incensed +her more, and next day she said to her new +slave:</p> + +<p>“Behold, on the other side of that glittering stream, +my golden-fleeced sheep crop the sweet flowers of the +meadow. To-day must thou cross the river and bring +me back by evening a sample of wool pulled from each +one of their shining fleeces.”</p> + +<p>Then did Psyche go down to the brink of the river, +and even as her white feet splashed into the water, she +heard a whisper of warning from the reeds that bowed +their heads by the stream.</p> + +<p>“Beware! O Psyche,” they said. “Stay on the +shore and rest until the golden-fleeced sheep lie under +the shade of the trees in the evening and the murmur +of the river has lulled them to sleep.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +But Psyche said, “Alas, I must do the bidding of the +goddess. It will take me many a weary hour to pluck +the wool that she requires.”</p> + +<p>And again the reeds murmured, “Beware! for the +golden-fleeced sheep, with their great horns, are evil +creatures that lust for the lives of mortals, and will slay +thee even as thy feet reach the other bank. Only when +the sun goes down does their vice depart from them, +and while they sleep thou canst gather of their wool +from the bushes and from the trunks of the trees.”</p> + +<p>And again the heart of Psyche felt a thrill of happiness, +because she knew that she was loved and cared for +still. All day she rested in the wood by the river and +dreamt pleasant day-dreams, and when the sun had set +she waded to the further shore and gathered the golden +wool in the way that the reeds had told her. When in +the evening she came to the goddess, bearing her shining +load, the brow of Aphrodite grew dark.</p> + +<p>“If thou art so skilled in magic that no danger is +danger to thee, yet another task shall I give thee that is +worthy of thy skill,” she said, and laid upon Psyche her +fresh commands.</p> + +<p>Sick with dread, Psyche set out next morning to seek +the black stream out of which Aphrodite had commanded +her to fill a ewer. Part of its waters flowed into the +Styx, part into the Cocytus, and well did Psyche know +that a hideous death from the loathly creatures that +protected the fountain must be the fate of those who +risked so proud an attempt. Yet because she knew +that she must “dree her weird,” as Pan had said, she +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +plodded onward, towards that dark mountain from +whose side gushed the black water that she sought. +And then, once again, there came to her a message of +love. A whirring of wings she heard, and</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“O’er her head there flew the bird of Jove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bearer, of his servant, friend of Love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, when he saw her, straightway towards her flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And asked her why she wept, and when he knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who she was, he said, ‘Cease all thy fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For to the black waves I thy ewer will bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fill it for thee; but, remember me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou art come unto thy majesty.’”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>And, yet once again, the stricken heart of Psyche was +gladdened, and when at nightfall she came with her +ewer full of water from the dread stream and gave +it to Aphrodite, although she knew that a yet more +arduous task was sure to follow, her fear had all passed +away.</p> + +<p>With beautiful, sullen eyes, Aphrodite received her +when she brought the water. And, with black brow, +she said: “If thou art so skilled in magic that no +danger is known to thee, I shall now give thee a task +all worthy of thy skill.”</p> + +<p>Thereon she told her that she must seek that dark +valley where no silver nor golden light ever strikes on +the black waters of Cocytus and of the Styx; and where +Pluto reigns in gloomy majesty over the restless shades. +From Proserpine she was to crave for Aphrodite the +gift of a box of magical ointment, the secret of which +was known to the Queen of Darkness alone, and which +was able to bring to those who used it, beauty more +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +exquisite than any that the eyes of gods or of men had +as yet looked upon.</p> + +<p>“I grow weary and careworn,” said Aphrodite, and +she looked like a rose that has budded in Paradise as she +spoke. “My son was wounded by a faithless slave in +whom, most weakly, he put his trust, and in tending +to his wound, my beauty has faded.”</p> + +<p>And at these scornful words, the heart of Psyche +leaped within her.</p> + +<p>“In helping his mother, I shall help him!” she +thought. And again she thought, “I shall atone.” And +so, when day was come, she took her way along the +weary road that leads to that dark place from whence +no traveller can ever hope to return, and still with +gladness in her heart. But, as she went onward, “cold +thoughts and dreadful fears” came to her.</p> + +<p>“Better were it for me to hasten my journey to the +shades,” she thought.</p> + +<p>And when she came to an old grey tower, that seemed +like an old man that Death has forgotten, she resolved to +throw herself down from it, and thus swiftly to find herself +at her journey’s end. But as she stood on the top of +the tower, her arms outstretched, like a white butterfly +that poises its wings for flight, a voice spoke in her ear.</p> + +<p>“Oh, foolish one,” it said, “why dost thou strive +to stay the hope that is not dead?” And while she held +her breath, her great eyes wide open, the voice spoke on, +and told her by what means she might speedily reach +Hades and there find means to face with courage the +King of Darkness himself and his fair wife, Proserpine.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +All that she was bidden to do, Psyche did, and so +at last did she come before the throne of Proserpine, +and all that Psyche endured, all that she saw, all that +through which she came with bleeding heart and yet +with unscathed soul, cannot here be written.</p> + +<p>To her Proserpine gave the box of precious ointment +that Aphrodite described, and gladly she hastened homeward. +Good, indeed, it was to her when again she +reached the fair light of day. Yet, when she had won +there, there came to Psyche a winged thought, that +beat against the stern barriers of her mind like a little +moth against a window.</p> + +<p>“This ointment that I carry with me,” said Psyche +to herself, “is an ointment that will bring back to those +all faded by time, or worn by suffering, a beauty greater +than any beauty that has joyed the Immortals!” +And then she thought:</p> + +<p>“For my beauty, Eros—<em>Love</em>—loved me; and now +my beauty is worn and wasted and well-nigh gone. +Were I to open this box and make use of the ointment +of Proserpine, then indeed I should be fair enough to be +the bride of him who, even now, believes that he loves +me—of Eros whose love is my life!”</p> + +<p>So it came to pass that she opened the fateful box. +And out of it there came not Beauty, but Sleep, that +put his gyves upon her limbs, and on her eyelids laid +heavy fingers. And Psyche sank down by the wayside, +the prisoner of Sleep.</p> + +<p>But Eros, who had loved her ever, with a love that +knew the ebb and flow of no tides, rose from his bed and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +went in search of her who had braved even the horrors +of Hades for his dear sake. And by the wayside he +found her, fettered by sleep. Her little oval face was white +as a snowdrop. Like violets were her heavy eyelids, +and underneath her sleeping eyes a violet shadow lay. +Once had her mouth been as the bow of Eros, painted +in carmine. Now either end of the bow was turned +downwards, and its colour was that of a faded rose-leaf.</p> + +<p>And as Eros looked at her that he loved, pity stirred +his heart, as the wind sweeps through the sighing, +grey leaves of the willow, or sings through the bowing +reeds.</p> + +<p>“My <em>Belovèd</em>!” he said, and he knew that Psyche +was indeed his beloved. It was her fair soul that he +loved, nor did it matter to him whether her body +was like a rose in June or as a wind-scourged tree in +December. And as his lips met hers, Psyche awoke, +and heard his soft whisper:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">“Dear, unclose thine eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou mayst look on me now. I go no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But am thine own forever.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lewis Morris.</span></p> + +<p>Then did there spring from the fair white shoulders +of Psyche, wings of silver and of gold, and, hand in +hand with Eros, she winged her way to Olympus.</p> + +<p>And there all the deathless gods were assembled, +and Aphrodite no longer looked upon her who had +once been her slave with darkened brows, but smiled +upon her as the sun smiles upon a new-born flower. And +when into the hand of Psyche there was placed a cup +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +of gold, the voice of the great Father and King of +Olympus rang out loud and clear:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Drink now, O beautiful, and have no fear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For with this draught shalt thou be born again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And live for ever free from care and pain.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">William Morris.</span></p> + +<p>In this wise did Psyche, a human soul, attain by bitter +suffering to the perfect happiness of purified love.</p> + +<p>And still do we watch the butterfly, which is her +emblem, bursting from its ugly tomb in the dark soil, +and spreading joyous white and gold-powdered wings +in the caressing sunshine, amidst the radiance and the +fragrance of the summer flowers. Still, too, do we sadly +watch her sister, the white moth, heedlessly rushing +into pangs unutterable, thoughtlessly seeking the anguish +that brings her a cruel death.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE CALYDONIAN HUNT</h2> + + +<p>Œneus and Althæa were king and queen of Calydon, and +to them was born a son who was his mother’s joy and +yet her bitterest sorrow. Meleager was his name, and +ere his birth his mother dreamed a dream that the child +that she bore was a burning firebrand. But when the +baby came he was a royal child indeed, a little fearless +king from the first moment that his eyes, like unseeing +violets, gazed steadily up at his mother. To the chamber +where he lay by his mother’s side came the three Fates, +spinning, ceaselessly spinning.</p> + +<p>“He shall be strong,” said one, as she span her +thread. “He shall be fortunate and brave,” said the +second. But the third laid a billet of wood on the +flames, and while her withered fingers held the fatal +threads, she looked with old, old, sad eyes at the new-born +child.</p> + +<p>“To thee, O New-Born,” she said, “and to this wood +that burns, do we give the same span of days to +live.”</p> + +<p>From her bed sprang Althæa, and, heedless of the +flames, she seized the burning wood, trod on it with her +fair white feet, and poured on it water that swiftly +quenched its red glow. “Thou shalt live forever, O +Beloved,” she said, “for never again shall fire char the +brand that I have plucked from the burning.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +And the baby laughed.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Those grey women with bound hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who fright the gods frighted not him; he laughed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeing them, and pushed out hands to feel and haul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distaff and thread.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The years sped on, and from fearless and beautiful +babyhood, Meleager grew into gallant boyhood, and +then into magnificent youth. When Jason and his +heroes sailed away into a distant land to win the Golden +Fleece, Meleager was one of the noble band. From all +men living he won great praise for his brave deeds, and +when the tribes of the north and west made war upon +Ætolia, he fought against their army and scattered it as +a wind in autumn drives the fallen leaves before it.</p> + +<p>But his victory brought evil upon him. When his father +Œneus, at the end of a fruitful year, offered sacrifices to +the gods, he omitted to honour the goddess Diana by +sacrificing to her, and to punish his neglect, she had sent +this destroying army. When Meleager was victor, her +wrath against his father grew yet more hot, and she +sent a wild boar, large as the bulls of Epirus, and fierce +and savage to kill and to devour, that it might ravage +and lay waste the land of Calydon. The fields of corn +were trampled under foot, the vineyards laid waste, and +the olive groves wrecked as by a winter hurricane. +Flocks and herds were slaughtered by it, or driven +hither and thither in wild panic, working havoc as they +fled. Many went out to slay it, but went only to find +a hideous death. Then did Meleager resolve that he +would rid the land of this monster, and called on all his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +friends, the heroes of Greece, to come to his aid. Theseus +and his friend Pirithous came; Jason; Peleus, afterwards +father of Achilles; Telamon, the father of Ajax; +Nestor, then but a youth; Castor and Pollux, and Toxeus +and Plexippus, the brothers of Althæa, the fair queen-mother. +But there came none more fearless nor more +ready to fight the monster boar of Calydon than Atalanta, +the daughter of the king of Arcadia. When +Atalanta was born, her father heard of her birth with +anger. He desired no daughter, but only sturdy sons +who might fight for him, and in the furious rage of bitter +disappointment he had the baby princess left on the +Parthenian Hill that she might perish there. A she-bear +heard the baby’s piteous cries, and carried it off +to its lair, where she suckled it along with her young, +and there the little Atalanta tumbled about and played +with her furry companions and grew strong and vigorous +as any other wild young creature of the forest.</p> + +<p>Some hunters came one day to raid the den and kill +the foster-mother, and found, amazed, a fearless, white-skinned +thing with rosy cheeks and brave eyes, who +fought for her life and bit them as did her fierce foster-brothers, +and then cried human tears of rage and sorrow +when she saw the bear who had been her mother lying +bloody and dead. Under the care of the hunters +Atalanta grew into a maiden, with all the beauty of a +maid and all the strength and the courage of a man. +She ran as swiftly as Zephyrus runs when he rushes up +from the west and drives the white clouds before him +like a flock of timid fawns that a hound is pursuing. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +The shafts that her strong arm sped from her bow smote +straight to the heart of the beast that she chased, and +almost as swift as her arrow was she there to drive her +spear into her quarry. When at length her father +the king learned that the beautiful huntress, of whom +all men spoke as of one only a little lower than Diana, +was none other than his daughter, he was not slow to +own her as his child. So proud was he of her beauty +and grace, and of her marvellous swiftness of foot and skill +in the chase, that he would fain have married her to one +of the great ones of Greece, but Atalanta had consulted +an oracle. “Marry not,” said the oracle. “To thee +marriage must bring woe.”</p> + +<p>So, with untouched heart, and with the daring and +the courage of a young lad, Atalanta came along with the +heroes to the Calydonian Hunt. She was so radiantly +lovely, so young, so strong, so courageous, that straightway +Meleager loved her, and all the heroes gazed at her +with eyes that adored her beauty. And Diana, looking +down at her, also loved the maiden whom from childhood +she had held in her protection—a gallant, fearless virgin +dear to her heart.</p> + +<p>The grey mist rose from the marshes as the hunt +began, and the hunters of the boar had gone but a +little way when they came upon traces of the hated +boar. Disembowelled beasts marked its track. Here, +in a flowery meadow, had it wallowed. There, in rich +wheat land, had it routed, and the marks of its bestial +tusks were on the gashed grey trunks of the trees that +had once lived in the peace of a fruitful olive grove.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +In a marsh they found their enemy, and all the reeds +quivered as it heaved its vast bulk and hove aside the weed +in which it had wallowed, and rooted with its tusks +amongst the wounded water-lilies before it leapt with a +snort to meet and to slay the men who had come against +it. A filthy thing it was, as its pink snout rose above +the green ooze of the marshes, and it looked up lustingly, +defying the purity of the blue skies of heaven, to bring +to those who came against it a cruel, shameful death.</p> + +<p>Upon it, first of all, Jason cast his spear. But the +sharp point only touched it, and unwounded, the boar +rushed on, its gross, bristly head down, to disembowel, +if it could, the gallant Nestor. In the branches of a tree +Nestor found safety, and Telamon rushed on to destroy +the filthy thing that would have made carrion of the sons +of the gods. A straggling cypress root caught his fleeting +foot and laid him prone, a helpless prey for the rooting +brute. His hounds fell before it, but ere it could reach +him, Atalanta, full of vengeful rage—the pure angered +against the filthy and cruel—let draw her bow, with a +prayer to Diana to guide her shaft aright. Into the +boar’s smoking flank sped the arrow.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i7">“The sudden string<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rang, and sprang inward, and the waterish air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hissed, and the moist plumes of the songless reeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moved as a wave which the wind moves no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the boar heaved half out of ooze and slime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His tense flank trembling round the barbed wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hateful; and fiery with invasive eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bristling with intolerable hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plunged, and the hounds clung, and green flowers and white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reddened and broke all round them where they came.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And charging with sheer tusk he drove, and smote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hyleus; and sharp death caught his sudden soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And violent sleep shed night upon his eyes.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Swinburne.</span></p> + +<p>More than ever terrible was the monster now that +it was wounded. One after the other the hunters +fell before its mad rage, and were sent to the shades +by a bloody and merciless death.</p> + +<p>Before its furious charge even the heart of a hero +might have been stricken. Yet Meleager, like a mighty +oak of the forest that will not sway even a little before +the rush of a storm, stood full in its way and met its +onslaught.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Aimed on the left side his well-handled spear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grasped where the ash was knottiest hewn, and smote,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with no missile wound, the monstrous boar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right in the hairiest hollow of his hide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the last rib, sheer through bulk and bone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in; and deeply smitten, and to death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heavy horror with his hanging shafts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leapt, and fell furiously, and from raging lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foamed out the latest wrath of all his life.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Great was the shout that rose from those who still +lived when that grim hunt thus came to an end. And +when, with his keen blade, Meleager struck off the head, +even as the quivering throat drew its last agonised +breath, louder still shouted the men of Greece. But +not for himself did Meleager despoil the body of his foe. +He laid the ugly thing at the feet of Atalanta.</p> + +<p>“This is thy spoil, not mine,” he said. “The +wounding shaft was sped by thee. To thee belongs the +praise.”</p> + +<p>And Atalanta blushed rosily, and laughed low and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +gladly, not only because Diana had heard her prayer +and helped her slay the beast, but for happiness that +Meleager was so noble in his giving.</p> + +<p>At that the brows of the heroes grew dark, and +angrily one cried:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">“Lo, now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall not the Arcadian shoot out lips at us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saying all we were despoiled by this one girl.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Like a spark that kindles the dry grass, their kindling +anger spread, and they rushed against Atalanta, seized +the trophy she had been given, and smote her as though +she were but a shameless wanton and not the noble +daughter of a king.</p> + +<p>And because the heart of Meleager was given very +wholly to the fair huntress, and because those whom he +deemed his friends had not only dishonoured her, but had +done him a very grievous wrong, a great rage seized him. +Right and left he smote, and they who had been most +bitter in their jealousy of Atalanta, the two brothers of +his own mother, were laid low in death.</p> + +<p>Tidings of the slaying of the boar had been brought +to Althæa by swift messengers, and she was on her way +to the temples bearing gifts to the gods for the victory +of her son, when she beheld the slow-footed procession +of those who bore the bodies of the dead. And when +she saw the still faces of her two dear brothers, quickly +was her joy turned into mourning. Terrible was her +grief and anger when she learned by whose hand they +were slain, and her mother’s love and pride dried up in +her heart like the clear water of a fountain before the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +scorching of a devouring fire. No sacrifices to the gods +would she offer, but her dead brothers should have the +greatest sacrifice that mother could make to atone for +the guilt of her son. Back to the palace she went, and +from its safe hiding-place drew out the brand that she +had rescued from the flames when Meleager the hero +was but a babe that made his mother’s heart sing for +joy. She commanded a fire to be prepared, and four +times, as its flames blazed aloft, she tried to lay the brand +upon the pile. Yet four times she drew back, and then +at last she threw into the reddest of the ashes the charred +brand that for a little she held so close to her breast +that it seemed as though she fondled her child.</p> + +<p>A wreath of leaves as sign of victory was being +placed on Atalanta’s beautiful head by the adoring +hands of Meleager when his mother gave him his doom. +Through his body there rushed a pang of mortal agony. +His blood turned to fire, and the hand of Death that +smote him was as a hand of molten lead. In torture his +gallant spirit passed away, uncomplaining, loving through +his pain the maid for whose dear sake he had brought +woe upon himself. As the last white ashes in the fire +crumbled and fell away into nothingness, the soul of +Meleager departed. Swiftly through the dark valley his +mother’s shade followed him, for she fell upon a sword +and so perished. And Diana, looking down on the grief-stricken +sisters of Meleager and on the bitter sorrow of +his father, had compassion on them and turned them +into birds.</p> + +<p>So ended the Calydonian Hunt, and Atalanta +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +returned to Arcadia, heavy at heart for the evil she had +wrought unwittingly. And still the Three Fates span +on, and the winds caught up the cold wood ashes and +blew them across the ravaged land that Meleager had +saved and that quickly grew fertile again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<h2>ATALANTA</h2> + + +<p>Atalanta, daughter of the king of Arcadia, returned +sad at heart to her own land. Only as comrades, as +those against whose skill in the chase she was wont to pit +her own skill, had she looked upon men. But Meleager, +the hero who loved her and her fair honour more than +life itself, and whose love had made him haste in all his +gallant strength and youthful beauty to the land of the +Shades, was one to touch her as never before had she +been touched. Her father, proud of her triumph in +Calydon, again besought her to marry one of her many +noble suitors.</p> + +<p>“If indeed they love me as thou sayest,” said +Atalanta to her father, “then must they be ready to +face for my sake even the loss of dear life itself. I shall +be the prize of him who outruns me in a foot-race. But +he who tries and fails, must pay to Death his penalty.”</p> + +<p>Thereafter, for many days, a strange sight was to be +seen in Arcadia. For one after another the suitors came +to race with the maiden whose face had bewitched them, +though truly the race was no more fair to him who +ran than would be a race with Death. No mortal man +was as fleet as Atalanta, who had first raced with the +wild things of the mountains and the forests, and who +had dared at last to race with the winds and leave even +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +them behind. To her it was all a glorious game. Her +conquest was always sure, and if the youths who entered +in the contest cared to risk their lives, why should they +blame her? So each day they started, throbbing hope +and fierce determination to win her in the heart of him +who ran—fading hope and despairing anger as he saw +her skimming ahead of him like a gay-hued butterfly +that a tired child pursues in vain. And each day, as the +race ended, another man paid the price of his defeat.</p> + +<p>Daily, amongst those who looked on, stood her +cousin Milanion. He would fain have hated Atalanta +for her ruthlessness and her joyousness as he saw his +friends die for her sake, yet daily her beauty, her purity, +and her gallant unconsciousness took a firmer hold upon +his heart. To himself he vowed that he would win +Atalanta, but not without help from the gods was this +possible. Therefore he sought Aphrodite herself and +asked her aid.</p> + +<p>Milanion was a beautiful youth, and to Aphrodite, who +loved beauty, he pled his cause as he told her how Atalanta +had become to him more than life, so that he had +ceased to pity the youths, his friends, who had died for +love of her. The goddess smiled upon him with gentle +sympathy.</p> + +<p>In the garden of her temple grew a tree with branches +and twigs of gold, and leaves as yellow as the little leaves +of the silver birch when the autumn sun kisses them as +it sets. On this tree grew golden apples, and Aphrodite +plucked three of them and gave them to the youth who +had not feared to ask her to aid him to win the maid he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +loved. How he was to use the apples she then told +him, and, well content, Milanion returned home.</p> + +<p>Next day he spoke to Atalanta.</p> + +<p>“So far has victory been thine, Fairest on earth,” +he said, “but so far have thy little winged white feet had +only the heavy-footed laggards to outrun. Wilt have me +run a race with thee? for assuredly I shall win thee for +my own.”</p> + +<p>And Milanion looked into the eyes of Atalanta with +a smile as gay and fearless as that with which a hero is +wont to look in the eyes of his fellow.</p> + +<p>Look for look did the virgin huntress give him.</p> + +<p>Then her cheeks grew red, as though the rosy-fingered +dawn had touched them, and the dawning of +love came into her heart.</p> + +<p>Even Meleager was not quite so goodly a youth as +this. Not even Meleager had been so wholly fearless.</p> + +<p>“Thou art tempted by the deathless gods,” she +said, but her long lashes drooped on her cheek as she +spoke. “I pity you, Milanion, for when thou dost race +with me, the goal is assuredly the meadows of asphodel +near where sit Pluto and Persephone on their gloomy +thrones.”</p> + +<p>But Milanion said, “I am ready, Atalanta. Wilt +race with me now?” And steadily he looked in her +eyes until again they fell as though at last they had +found a conqueror.</p> + +<p>Like two swallows that skim across a sunny sea, +filled with the joyousness of the coming of spring, +Atalanta and Milanion started. Scarcely did their feet +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +seem to touch the solid earth, and all those who stood +by vowed that now, at length, was a race indeed, a race +worthy for the gods to behold.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 276px;"> +<a name="ATALANTA" id="ATALANTA"></a> +<a href="images/abom09.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom09th.jpg" width="276" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">SHE STOPPED, AND PICKED UP THE TREASURE</span> +</div> + +<p>But as they ran, almost abreast, so that none could +tell which was the gainer, Milanion obeyed the bidding +of Aphrodite and let fall one of the golden apples. Never +before had Atalanta dreamed of such a thing—an apple +of glistening gold! She stopped, poised on one foot as a +flying bird poises for a moment on the wing, and picked +up the treasure. But Milanion had sped several paces +ahead ere she was again abreast of him, and even as she +gained on him, he dropped the second apple. Again +Atalanta was tempted. Again she stopped, and again +Milanion shot ahead of her. Her breath came short +and fast, as once more she gained the ground that she +had lost. But, yet a third time, Milanion threw in her +way one of the golden illusions of the gods. And, yet +again, Atalanta stooped to pick up the apple of gold.</p> + +<p>Then a mighty shout from those who watched rent +the air, and Atalanta, half fearful, half ashamed, yet +wholly happy, found herself running, vanquished, into +the arms of him who was indeed her conqueror. For +not only had Milanion won the race, but he had won +the heart of the virgin huntress, a heart once as cold +and remote as the winter snow on the peak of Mount +Olympus.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<h2>ARACHNE</h2> + + +<p>The hay that so short a time ago was long, lush grass, +with fragrant meadow-sweet and gold-eyed marguerites +growing amongst it in the green meadow-land by the +river, is now dry hay—fragrant still, though dead, and +hidden from the sun’s warm rays underneath the dark +wooden rafters of the barn. Occasionally a cat on a +hunting foray comes into the barn to look for mice, or +to nestle cosily down into purring slumber. Now and +then a hen comes furtively tip-toeing through the open +door and makes for itself a secret nest in which to lay +the eggs which it subsequently heralds with such loud +clucks of proud rejoicing as to completely undo all its +previous precautions. Sometimes children come in, pursuing +cat or hen, or merely to tumble each other over +amongst the soft hay which they leave in chaotic confusion, +and when they have gone away, a little more of +the sky can be seen through the little window in the roof, +and through the wooden bars of the window lower down. +Yet, whatever other living creatures may come or go, by +those windows of the barn, and high up on its dark +rafters, there is always a living creature working, ceaselessly +working. When, through the skylight, the sun-god +drives a golden sunbeam, and a long shaft of dancing +dust-atoms passes from the window to what was once a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +part of the early summer’s glory, the work of the unresting +toiler is also to be seen, for the window is hung +with shimmering grey tapestries made by Arachne, the +spider, and from rafter to rafter her threads are suspended +with inimitable skill.</p> + +<p>She was a nymph once, they say—the daughter of +Idmon the dyer, of Colophon, a city of Lydia. In all +Lydia there was none who could weave as wove the +beautiful Arachne. To watch her card the wool of the +white-fleeced sheep until in her fingers it grew like the +soft clouds that hang round the hill tops, was pleasure +enough to draw nymphs from the golden river Pactolus +and from the vineyards of Tymolus. And when she +drove her swift shuttle hither and thither, still it was +joy to watch her wondrous skill. Magical was the +growth of the web, fine of woof, that her darting fingers +span, and yet more magical the exquisite devices that +she then wrought upon it. For birds and flowers and +butterflies and pictures of all the beautiful things on +earth were limned by Arachne, and old tales grew alive +again under her creative needle.</p> + +<p>To Pallas Athené, goddess of craftsmen, came tidings +that at Colophon in Lydia lived a nymph whose skill +rivalled that of the goddess herself, and she, ever jealous +for her own honour, took on herself the form of a woman +bent with age, and, leaning on her staff, joined the little +crowd that hung round Arachne as she plied her busy +needle. With white arms twined round each other the +eager nymphs watched the flowers spring up under her +fingers, even as flowers spring from the ground on the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +coming of Demeter, and Athené was fain to admire, while +she marvelled at the magic skill of the fair Arachne.</p> + +<p>Gently she spoke to Arachne, and, with the persuasive +words of a wise old woman, warned her that she +must not let her ambition soar too high. Greater than +all skilled craftswomen was the great goddess Athené, +and were Arachne, in impious vanity, to dream that one +day she might equal her, that were indeed a crime for +any god to punish.</p> + +<p>Glancing up for a moment from the picture whose +perfect colours grew fast under her slim fingers, Arachne +fixed scornful eyes on the old woman and gave a merry +laugh.</p> + +<p>“Didst say <em>equal</em> Athené? old mother,” she said. +“In good sooth thy dwelling must be with the goat-herds +in the far-off hills and thou art not a dweller in our +city. Else hadst thou not spoken to Arachne of <em>equalling</em> +the work of Athené; <em>excelling</em> were the better +word.”</p> + +<p>In anger Pallas Athené made answer.</p> + +<p>“Impious one!” she said, “to those who would +make themselves higher than the gods must ever come +woe unutterable. Take heed what thou sayest, for +punishment will assuredly be thine.”</p> + +<p>Laughing still, Arachne made reply:</p> + +<p>“I fear not, Athené, nor does my heart shake +at the gloomy warning of a foolish old crone.” And +turning to the nymphs who, half afraid, listened to +her daring words, she said: “Fair nymphs who watch +me day by day, well do ye know that I make no idle +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +boast. My skill is as great as that of Athené, and greater +still it shall be. Let Athené try a contest with me if she +dare! Well do I know who will be the victor.”</p> + +<p>Then Athené cast off her disguise, and before the +frightened nymphs and the bold Arachne stood the +radiant goddess with eyes that blazed with anger and +insulted pride.</p> + +<p>“Lo, Athené is come!” she said, and nymphs and +women fell on their knees before her, humbly adoring. +Arachne alone was unabashed. Her cheeks showed how +fast her heart was beating. From rosy red to white +went the colour in them, yet, in firm, low voice she +spoke.</p> + +<p>“I have spoken truth,” she said. “Not woman, +nor goddess, can do work such as mine. Ready am I to +abide by what I have said, and if I did boast, by my +boast I stand. If thou wilt deign, great goddess, to try +thy skill against the skill of the dyer’s daughter and dost +prove the victor, behold me gladly willing to pay the +penalty.”</p> + +<p>The eyes of Athené, the grey-eyed goddess, grew dark +as the sea when a thunder-cloud hangs over it and a +mighty storm is coming. Not for one moment did she +delay, but took her place by the side of Arachne. On +the loom they stretched out two webs with a fine warp, +and made them fast on the beam.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“The sley separates the warp, the woof is inserted in the middle +with sharp shuttles, which the fingers hurry along, and, being drawn +within the warp, the teeth notched in the moving sley strike it. Both +hasten on, and girding up their garments to their breasts, they move +their skilful arms, their eagerness beguiling their fatigue. There both +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +the purple is being woven, which is subjected to the Tyrian brazen +vessel, and fine shades of minute difference; just as the rainbow, with +its mighty arch, is wont to tint a long tract of sky by means of the +rays reflected by the shower; in which, though a thousand different +colours are shining, yet the very transition eludes the eyes that look +upon it.... There, too, the pliant gold is mixed with the threads.”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Ovid.</span></p> + +<p>Their canvases wrought, then did Athené and Arachne +hasten to cover them with pictures such as no skilled +worker of tapestry has ever since dreamed of accomplishing. +Under the fingers of Athené grew up pictures +so real and so perfect that the watchers knew not whether +the goddess was indeed creating life. And each picture +was one that told of the omnipotence of the gods and of +the doom that came upon those mortals who had dared +in their blasphemous presumption to struggle as equals +with the immortal dwellers in Olympus. Arachne glanced +up from her web and looked with eyes that glowed with +the love of beautiful things at the creations of Athené. +Yet, undaunted, her fingers still sped on, and the goddess +saw, with brow that grew yet more clouded, how the +daughter of Idmon the dyer had chosen for subjects +the tales that showed the weaknesses of the gods. One +after another the living pictures grew beneath her hand, +and the nymphs held their breath in mingled fear and +ecstasy at Arachne’s godlike skill and most arrogant +daring. Between goddess and mortal none could have +chosen, for the colour and form and exquisite fancy of +the pictures of the daughter of Zeus were equalled, +though not excelled, by those of the daughter of the +dyer of Colophon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +Darker and yet more dark grew the eyes of Athené +as they looked on the magical beauty of the pictures, +each one of which was an insult to the gods. What +picture had skilful hand ever drawn to compare with +that of Europa who,</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“riding on the back of the divine bull, with one hand clasped the +beast’s great horn, and with the other caught up her garment’s purple +fold, lest it might trail and be drenched in the hoar sea’s infinite spray. +And her deep robe was blown out in the wind, like the sail of a ship, +and lightly ever it wafted the maiden onward.”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Moschus.</span></p> + +<p>Then at last did the storm break, and with her +shuttle the enraged goddess smote the web of Arachne, +and the fair pictures were rent into motley rags and +ribbons. Furiously, too, with her shuttle of boxwood +she smote Arachne. Before her rage, the nymphs +fled back to their golden river and to the vineyards of +Tymolus, and the women of Colophon in blind terror +rushed away. And Arachne, shamed to the dust, knew +that life for her was no longer worth possessing. She +had aspired, in the pride of her splendid genius, to a +contest with a god, and knew now that such a contest +must ever be vain. A cord hung from the weaver’s +beam, and swiftly she seized it, knotted it round her +white neck, and would have hanged herself. But ere +the life had passed out of her, Athené grasped the cord, +loosened it, and spoke Arachne’s doom:</p> + +<p>“Live!” she said, “O guilty and shameless one! +For evermore shalt thou live and hang as now, thou and +thy descendants, that men may never forget the punishment +of the blasphemous one who dared to rival a god.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +Even as she spoke, Arachne’s fair form dried up and +withered. Her straight limbs grew grey and crooked +and wiry, and her white arms were no more. And from +the beam where the beautiful weaver of Lydia had been +suspended, there hung from a fine grey thread the +creature from which, to this day, there are but few who +do not turn with loathing. Yet still Arachne spins, and +still is without a compeer.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Not anie damzell, which her vaunteth most<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dieper, in damaske, or in lyne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor anie skil’d in workmanship embost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor anie skil’d in loupes of fingring fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might in their divers cunning ever dare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With this so curious networke to compare.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Spenser.</span></p> + +<p>Thus, perhaps, does Arachne have her compensations, +and in days that followed long after the twilight of the +gods, did she not gain eternal honour in the heart of +every Scot by the tale of how she saved a national hero? +Kindly, too, are her labours for men as she slays their +mortal enemies, the household flies, and when the +peasant—practical, if not favoured by Æsculapius and +Hygeia—runs to raid the loom of Arachne in order to +staunch the quick-flowing blood from the cut hand of +her little child, much more dear to her heart is Arachne +the spider than the unknown Athené.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Also in spinners be tokens of divination, and of knowing what +weather shall fall—for oft by weathers that shall fall, some spin or +weave higher or lower. Also multitude of spinners is token of much +rain.”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Bartholomew.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +The sun has not long enough shown his face to dry up +the dew in the garden, and behold on the little clipped +tree of boxwood, a great marvel! For in and out, and +all over its twigs and leaves, Arachne has woven her +web, and on the web the dew has dropped a million +diamond drops. And, suddenly, all the colours in the +sky are mirrored dazzlingly on the grey tapestry of her +making. Arachne has come to her own again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<h2>IDAS AND MARPESSA</h2> + + +<p>By day, while the sun-god drove his chariot in the high +heavens and turned the blue-green Ægean Sea into the +semblance of a blazing shield of brass, Idas and Marpessa +sat together in the trees’ soft shades, or walked in +shadowy valleys where violets and wild parsley grew, +and where Apollo rarely deigned to come. At eventide, +when, in royal splendour of purple and crimson and +gold, Apollo sought his rest in the western sky, Idas and +Marpessa wandered by the seashore watching the little +wavelets softly kissing the pebbles on the beach, or +climbed to the mountain side from whence they could +see the first glimpse of Diana’s silver crescent and the +twinkling lights of the Pleiades breaking through the +blue canopy of the sky. While Apollo sought in heaven +and on earth the best means to gratify his imperial whims, +Idas, for whom all joys had come to mean but one, +sought ever to be by the side of Marpessa. Shadowy +valley, murmuring sea, lonely mountain side, or garden +where grew the purple amaranth and where roses of pink +and amber-yellow and deepest crimson dropped their +radiant petals on the snowy marble paths, all were the +same to Idas—Paradise for him, were Marpessa by his +side; without her, dreary desert.</p> + +<p>More beautiful than any flower that grew in the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +garden was Marpessa. No music that Apollo’s lute +could make was as sweet in the ears of Idas as her dear +voice. Its music was ever new to him—a melody to +make his heart more quickly throb. New, too, ever was +her beauty. For him it was always the first time that +they met, always the same fresh ravishment to look in +her eyes. And when to Idas came the knowledge that Marpessa +gave him love for love, he had indeed won happiness +so great as to draw upon him the envy of the gods.</p> + +<p>“The course of true love never did run smooth,” +and, like many and many another father since his day, +Evenos, the father of Marpessa, was bitterly opposed to +a match where the bridegroom was rich only in youth, +in health, and in love. His beautiful daughter naturally +seemed to him worthy of something much more high. +Thus it was an unhappy day for Marpessa when, as she +sat alone by the fountain which dripped slowly down on +the marble basin, and dreamed of her lover, Idas, Apollo +himself, led by caprice, noiselessly walked through the +rose bushes, whose warm petals dropped at his feet as +he passed, and beheld a maiden more fair than the +fairest flower that grew. The hum of bees, the drip, +drip of the fountain, these lulled her mind and heart +and soothed her day-dreams, and Marpessa’s red lips, +curved like the bow of Eros, smiled as she thought of +Idas, the man she loved. Silently Apollo watched her. +This queen of all the roses was not fit to be the bride of +mortal man—Marpessa must be his.</p> + +<p>To Evenos Apollo quickly imparted his desire. He +was not used to having his imperial wishes denied, nor +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +was Evenos anxious to do so. Here, indeed, was a +match for his daughter. No insignificant mortal, but +the radiant sun-god himself! And to Marpessa he +told what Apollo wished, and Marpessa shyly looked +at her reflection in the pool of the fountain, and wondered +if she were indeed beautiful enough to win the love of +a god.</p> + +<p>“Am I in truth so wondrous fair?” she asked her +father.</p> + +<p>“Fair enough to mate with Apollo himself!” +proudly answered Evenos.</p> + +<p>And joyously Marpessa replied, “Ah, then am I +happy indeed! I would be beautiful for my Idas’ sake!”</p> + +<p>An angry man was her father. There was to be no +more pleasant dallying with Idas in the shadowy wood +or by the seashore. In the rose garden Apollo took his +place and charmed Marpessa’s ears with his music, +while her eyes could not but be charmed by his beauty. +The god had no doubts or fears. Only a little time he +would give her, for a very little only would he wait, and +then undoubtedly this mortal maiden would be his, her +heart conquered as assuredly as the rays from his chariot +conquered the roses, whose warm crimson petals they +strewed at his feet. Yet as Marpessa looked and listened, +her thoughts were often far away and always her heart +was with Idas. When Apollo played most exquisitely +to her it seemed that he put her love for Idas into music. +When he spoke to her of his love she thought, “Thus, +and thus did Idas speak,” and a sudden memory of the +human lad’s halting words brought to her heart a little +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +gush of tenderness, and made her eyes sparkle so that +Apollo gladly thought, “Soon she will be mine.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 278px;"> +<a name="MARPESSA" id="MARPESSA"></a> +<a href="images/abom10.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom10th.jpg" width="278" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">MARPESSA SAT ALONE BY THE FOUNTAIN</span> +</div> + +<p>And all this while Idas schemed and plotted and +planned a way in which he could save his dear one +from her obdurate father, and from the passion of a god. +He went to Neptune, told his tale, and begged him to +lend him a winged chariot in which he could fly away +with Marpessa. Neptune good-naturedly consented, and +when Idas flew up from the seashore one day, like a +great bird that the tempests have blown inland, Marpessa +joyously sprang up beside her lover, and swiftly +they took flight for a land where in peace they might +live and love together. No sooner did Evenos realise +that his daughter was gone, than, in furious anger +against her and her lover, he gave chase. One has +watched a hawk in pursuit of a pigeon or a bird of the +moors and seen it, a little dark speck at first, gradually +growing larger and more large until at length it dominated +and conquered its prey, swooping down from +above, like an arrow from a bow, to bring with it sudden +death.</p> + +<p>So at first it seemed that Evenos must conquer Idas +and Marpessa in the winged chariot of Neptune’s lending. +But onwards Idas drove the chariot, ever faster and +faster, until before the eyes of Marpessa the trees of the +forest grew into blurs of blue and brown, and the streams +and rivers as they flew past them were streaks of silver. +Not until he had reached the river Lycormas did the +angry father own that his pursuit had been in vain. +Over the swift-flowing stream flew the chariot driven +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +by Idas, but Evenos knew that his horses, flecked with +white foam, pumping each breath from hearts that were +strained to breaking-point, no longer could go on with +the chase. The passage of that deep stream would +destroy them. The fierce water would sweep the wearied +beasts down in its impelling current, and he with them. +A shamed man would he be forever. Not for a moment +did he hesitate, but drew his sharp sword from his belt +and plunged it into the breast of one steed and then of +the other who had been so willing and who yet had +failed him in the end. And then, as they, still in their +traces, neighed shrilly aloud, and then fell over and died +where they lay, Evenos, with a great cry, leaped into the +river. Over his head closed the eddies of the peat-brown +water. Once only did he throw up his arms to ask the +gods for mercy; then did his body drift down with the +stream, and his soul hastened downwards to the Shades. +And from that day the river Lycormas no more was +known by that name, but was called the river <em>Evenos</em> +forever.</p> + +<p>Onwards, triumphantly, drove Idas, but soon he +knew that a greater than Evenos had entered in the +chase, and that the jealous sun-god’s chariot was in +pursuit of the winged car of Neptune. Quickly it gained +on him—soon it would have swept down on him—a +hawk indeed, this time, striking surely its helpless prey—but +even as Apollo saw the white face of Marpessa and +knew that he was the victor, a mighty thunderbolt that +made the mountains shake, and rolled its echoes through +the lonely fastnesses of a thousand hills, was sent to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +earth by Jupiter. While the echoes still re-echoed, there +came from Olympus the voice of Zeus himself.</p> + +<p>“<em>Let her decide!</em>” he said.</p> + +<p>Apollo, like a white flame blown backward by the +wind, withheld his hands that would have seized from +Idas the woman who was his heart’s desire.</p> + +<p>And then he spoke, and while his burning gaze was +fixed upon her, and his face, in beautiful fury, was more +perfect than any exquisite picture of her dreams, his +voice was as the voice of the sea as it calls to the shore +in the moonlit hours, as the bird that sings in the darkness +of a tropic night to its longing mate.</p> + +<p>“Marpessa!” he cried, “Marpessa! wilt thou not +come to me? No woe nor trouble, never any pain can +touch me. Yet woe indeed was mine when first I saw thy +fairest face. For even now dost thou hasten to sorrow, +to darkness, to the dark-shadowed tomb. Thou art but +mortal! thy beauty is short-lived. Thy love for mortal +man shall quickly fade and die. Come to me, Marpessa, +and my kisses on your lips shall make thee immortal! +Together we shall bring the sunbeams to a cold, dark +land! Together shall we coax the spring flowers from the +still, dead earth! Together we shall bring to men the +golden harvest, and deck the trees of autumn in our liveries +of red and gold. I love thee, Marpessa—not as mere mortal +loves do I love thee. Come to me, Marpessa—my Love—my +Desire!”</p> + +<p>When his voice was silent, it seemed as if the very +earth itself with all its thousand echoes still breathed his +words: “Marpessa—my Love—my Desire.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +Abashed before the god’s entreaties stood Idas. And +the heart of Marpessa was torn as she heard the burning +words of the beautiful Apollo still ringing through her +head, and saw her mortal lover, silent, white-lipped, +gazing first at the god and then into her own pale face. +At length he spoke:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“After such argument what can I plead?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or what pale promise make? Yet since it is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In woman to pity rather than to aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little I will speak. I love thee then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not only for thy body packed with sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all this world, that cup of brimming June,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That jar of violet wine set in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That palest rose sweet in the night of life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor for that stirring bosom all besieged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By drowsing lovers, or thy perilous hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor for that face that might indeed provoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invasion of old cities; no, nor all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy freshness stealing on me like strange sleep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor for this only do I love thee, but<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because Infinity upon thee broods;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou art full of whispers and of shadows.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou meanest what the sea has striven to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So long, and yearned up the cliffs to tell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art what all the winds have uttered not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What the still night suggesteth to the heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy voice is like to music heard ere birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some spirit lute touched on a spirit sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy face remembered is from other worlds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It has been died for, though I know not when,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It has been sung of, though I know not where.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It has the strangeness of the luring West,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of sad sea-horizons; beside thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am aware of other times and lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of birth far-back, of lives in many stars.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O beauty lone and like a candle clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this dark country of the world! Thou art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My woe, my early light, my music dying.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Stephen Phillips.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +Then Idas, in the humility that comes from perfect +love, drooped low his head, and was silent. In silence +for a minute stood the three—a god, a man, and a +woman. And from on high the watching stars looked +down and marvelled, and Diana stayed for a moment +the course of her silver car to watch, as she thought, the +triumph of her own invincible brother.</p> + +<p>From man to god passed the eyes of Marpessa, and +back from god to man. And the stars forgot to twinkle, +and Diana’s silver-maned horses pawed the blue floor of +the sky, impatient at the firm hand of the mistress on the +reins that checked their eager course.</p> + +<p>Marpessa spoke at last, in low words that seemed to +come “remembered from other worlds.”</p> + +<p>For all the joys he offered her she thanked Apollo. +What grander fate for mortal woman than to rule the +sunbeams—to bring bliss to the earth and to the sons of +men? What more could mortal woman crave than the +gift of immortality shared with one whose power ruled +the vast universe, and who still had stooped to lay the +red roses of his passionate love at her little, human feet? +And yet—and yet—in that sorrow-free existence that +he promised, might there not still be something awanting +to one who had once known tears?</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Yet I, being human, human sorrow miss.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Then were he indeed to give her the gift of immortal +life, what value were life to one whose beauty had +withered as the leaves in autumn, whose heart was tired +and dead? What uglier fate than this, to endure an +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +endless existence in which no life was, yoked to one whose +youth was immortal, whose beauty was everlasting?</p> + +<p>Then did she turn to Idas, who stood as one who +awaits the judgment of the judge in whose hands lies the +power of meting out life or death. Thus she spoke:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“But if I live with Idas, then we two<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the low earth shall prosper hand in hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In odours of the open field, and live<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In peaceful noises of the farm, and watch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pastoral fields burned by the setting sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he shall give me passionate children, not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some radiant god that will despise me quite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But clambering limbs and little hearts that err.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">... So shall we live,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though the first sweet sting of love be past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweet that almost venom is; though youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tender and extravagant delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first and secret kiss by twilight hedge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The insane farewell repeated o’er and o’er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass off; there shall succeed a faithful peace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beautiful friendship tried by sun and wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Durable from the daily dust of life.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The sun-god frowned as her words fell from her lips. +Even now, as she looked at him, he held out his arms. +Surely she only played with this poor mortal youth. +To him she must come, this rose who could own no lesser +god than the sun-god himself.</p> + +<p>But Marpessa spoke on:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“And thou beautiful god, in that far time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in thy setting sweet thou gazest down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his grey head, wilt thou remember then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That once I pleased thee, that I once was young?”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>So did her voice cease, and on the earth fell sudden +darkness. For to Apollo had come the shame of love +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +rejected, and there were those who said that to the earth +that night there came no sunset, only the sullen darkness +that told of the flight of an angry god. Yet, later, the +silver moonbeams of Diana seemed to greet the dark earth +with a smile, and, in the winged car of Neptune, Idas and +Marpessa sped on, greater than the gods, in a perfect +harmony of human love that feared nor time, nor pain, +nor Death himself.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<h2>ARETHUSA</h2> + + +<p>“We have victualled and watered,” wrote Nelson from +Syracuse in 1798, “and surely, watering at the fountain +of Arethusa, we must have victory. We shall sail with +the first breeze; and be assured I will return either +crowned with laurel or covered with cypress.” Three +days later, he won the Battle of the Nile, one of the +greatest sea-fights of history.</p> + +<p>Here in our own land the tales of the Greek gods +seem very remote. Like the colours in an old, old portrait, +the humanity of the stories seems to have faded. +But in Sicily they grow vivid at once. Almost, as we +stand above Syracuse, that long yellow town by the sea—a +blue-green sea, with deep purple shadows where the +clouds above it grow dark, and little white-sailed boats, +like white butterflies, wing their way across to the far +horizon—can we</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Have glimpse of Proteus rising from the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Here, to this day, one of the myths most impossible +of acceptance to the scientific modern mind lives on, +and Arethusa is not yet forgotten. “In Ortygia,” says +Cicero, “is a fountain of sweet water, the name of which +is Arethusa, of incredible flow, very full of fish, which +would be entirely overwhelmed by the sea, were its +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +waters not protected from the waves by a rampart and +a wall of stone.” White marble walls have taken the +place of the protecting barrier, but the spring bubbles up +to this day, and Ortygia (Quail Island) is the name still +given to that part of Syracuse. Fluffy-headed, long, +green stalks of papyrus grow in the fountain, and red and +golden fish dart through its clear water. Beyond lie +the low shores of Plemmgrium, the fens of Lysimeleia, +the hills above the Anapus, and above all towers Etna, +in snowy and magnificent serenity and indifference +to the changes wrought by the centuries to gods and to +men. Yet here the present is completely overshadowed +by the past, and even the story of Arethusa knocks loudly +at the well-barricaded doors of twentieth-century incredulity.</p> + +<p>The beautiful Arethusa was a nymph in Diana’s train, +and many a time in the chase did she thread her way +through the dim woodland, as a stream flows down +through the forest from the mountains to the sea. But +to her, at last, there came a day when she was no longer +the huntress but the hunted.</p> + +<p>The flaming wheels of the chariot of Apollo had made +the whole land scintillate with heat, and the nymph +sought the kind shelter of a wood where she might bathe +in the exquisite coolness of the river that still was chilled +by the snows of the mountain. On the branch of a tree +that bent over the stream she hung her garments, and +joyously stepped into the limpid water. A ray of the +sun glanced through the leaves above her and made the +soft sand in the river’s bed gleam like gold and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +beautiful limbs of the nymph seem as though carved from +pure white marble by the hand of Pygmalion himself. +There was no sound there but the gentle sound of the +stream that murmured caressingly to her as it slowly +moved on through the solitude, and so gently it flowed +that almost it seemed to stand still, as though regretful +to leave for the unknown forest so beautiful a thing as +Arethusa.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The Earth seemed to love her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Heaven smiled above her.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>But suddenly the stillness of the stream was ruffled. +Waves, like the newly-born brothers of the billows of +the sea, swept both down-stream and up-stream upon +her, and the river no longer murmured gently, but spoke +to her in a voice that thrilled with passionate longing. +Alpheus, god of the river, had beheld her, and, beholding +her, had loved her once and forever. An uncouth +creature of the forest was he, unversed in all the arts of +love-making. So not as a supplicant did he come to her, +but as one who demanded fiercely love for love. Terror +came upon Arethusa as she listened, and hastily she +sprang from the water that had brought fear upon her, +and hastened to find shelter in the woodlands. Then +the murmur, as of the murmur of a river before a mighty +flood comes to seize it and hold it for its own, took form +in a voice that pled with her, in tones that made her +tremble as she heard.</p> + +<p>“Hear me, Arethusa!” it said. “I am Alpheus, god +of the river that now thou hast made sacred. I am the +god of the rushing streams—the god of the thundering +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +cataracts. Where the mountain streams crash over the +rocks and echo through the shadowy hollows of the hills, +I hold my kingship. Down from Etna I come, and the +fire of Etna is in my veins. I love thee! I love but +thee, and thou shalt be mine, and I thine forever.”</p> + +<p>Then Arethusa, in blind panic, fled before the god +who loved her. Through the shadowy forest she sped, +while he swiftly gained upon her. The asphodel bent +under her flying feet, and the golden flowers of the <i>Fiori +Maggio</i> were swept aside as she fled. Yet ever Alpheus +gained upon her, until at length she felt that the chase +was ended, and cried to Diana to save her. Then a +cloud, grey and thick and blinding as the mist that +wraps the mountain tops, suddenly descended and +enfolded her, and Alpheus groped for her in vain.</p> + +<p>“Arethusa!” she heard him cry, in a voice of +piteous longing—“Arethusa!—my belovèd!”</p> + +<p>Patiently he waited, with the love that makes uncouth +things beautiful, until at length a little breath +from Zephyrus blew aside the soft grey veil that hid his +beloved from his sight, and he saw that the nymph had +been transformed into a fountain. Not for a moment +did Alpheus delay, but, turning himself into a torrent +in flood, he rushed on in pursuit of Arethusa. Then did +Diana, to save her votary, cleave a way for her through +the dark earth even into the gloomy realm of Pluto +himself, and the nymph rushed onward, onward still, +and then upward, until at length she emerged again to +the freedom of the blue sky and green trees, and beheld +the golden orange groves and the grey olives, the burning +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +red geranium flowers and the great snow-capped +mountain of Sicily.</p> + +<p>But Alpheus had a love for her that cast out all +fear. Through the terrible blackness of the Cocytus +valley he followed Arethusa, and found a means of +bursting through the encumbering earth and joining her +again. And in a spring that rises out of the sea near +the shore he was able at last to mingle his waters with +those of the one for whom he had lost his godship.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">“And now from their fountains<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In Enna’s mountains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down one vale where the morning basks,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like friends once parted<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Grown single-hearted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They ply their watery tasks,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At sunrise they leap<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From their cradles steep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the cave of the shelving hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At noontide they flow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the woods below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the meadows of asphodel;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And at night they sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the rocking deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the Ortygian shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like spirits that lie<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the azure sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they love but live no more.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Shelley.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PERSEUS THE HERO</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“We call such a man a hero in English to this day, and call it a +‘heroic’ thing to suffer pain and grief, that we may do good to our +fellow-men.”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Charles Kingsley.</span></p> + + +<p>In the pleasant land of Argos, now a place of unwholesome +marshes, once upon a time there reigned a king +called Acrisius, the father of one fair daughter. Danaë +was her name, and she was very dear to the king until a +day when he longed to know what lay hid for him in the +lap of the gods, and consulted an oracle. With hanging +head he returned from the temple, for the oracle had told +him that when his daughter Danaë had borne a son, by +the hand of that son death must surely come upon him. +And because the fear of death was in him more strong +than the love of his daughter, Acrisius resolved that by +sacrificing her he would baffle the gods and frustrate +Death itself. A great tower of brass was speedily built +at his command, and in this prison Danaë was placed, +to drag out her weary days.</p> + +<p>But who can escape the designs of the gods? From +Olympus great Zeus himself looked down and saw the +air princess sighing away her youth. And, full of pity +and of love, he himself entered the brazen tower in a +golden shower, and Danaë became the bride of Zeus and +happily passed with him the time of her imprisonment.</p> + +<p>To her at length was born a son, a beautiful and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +kingly child, and great was the wrath of her father when +he had tidings of the birth. Did the gods in the high +heavens laugh at him? The laugh should yet be on his +side. Down to the seashore he hurried Danaë and her +newly-born babe, the little Perseus, put them in a great +chest, and set them adrift to be a plaything for winds and +waves and a prey for the cruel and hungry sea.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“When in the cunningly-wrought chest the raging blast and the +stirred billow and terror fell upon her, with tearful cheeks she cast her +arm around Perseus and spake, ‘Alas, my child, what sorrow is mine! +But thou slumberest, in baby-wise sleeping in this woeful ark; midst the +darkness of the brazen rivet thou shinest and in the swart gloom sent +forth; thou heedest not the deep foam of the passing wave above thy +locks nor the voice of the blast as thou liest in thy purple covering, a +sweet face. If terror had terrors for thee, and thou wert giving ear to +my gentle words—I bid thee sleep, my babe, and may the sea sleep and +our measureless woe; and may change of fortune come forth, Father +Zeus, from thee. For that I make my prayer in boldness and beyond +right, forgive me.’”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Simonides of Keos.</span></p> + +<p>For days and nights the mother and child were +tossed on the billows, but yet no harm came near them, +and one morning the chest grounded on the rocky beach +of Seriphos, an island in the Ægean Sea. Here a fisherman +came on this strange flotsam and jetsam of the +waves and took the mother and child to Polydectes, the +king, and the years that followed were peaceful years +for Danaë and for Perseus. But as Perseus grew up, +growing each day more goodly to look upon, more fearless, +more ready to gaze with serene courage into the +eyes of gods and of men, an evil thing befell his mother. +She was but a girl when he was born, and as the years +passed she grew ever more fair. And the crafty eyes of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +old Polydectes, the king, ever watched her more eagerly, +always more hotly desired her for his wife. But Danaë, +the beloved of Zeus himself, had no wish to wed the old +king of the Cyclades, and proudly she scorned his suit. +Behind her, as she knew well, was the stout arm of her +son Perseus, and while Perseus was there, the king could +do her no harm. But Perseus, unwitting of the danger +his mother daily had to face, sailed the seas unfearingly, +and felt that peace and safety surrounded him on every +side. At Samos one day, while his ship was lading, +Perseus lay down under the shade of a great tree, and +soon his eyelids grew heavy with sleep, and there came +to him, like butterflies that flit over the flowers in a sunlit +garden, pleasant, light-winged dreams. But yet another +dream followed close on the merry heels of those that +went before. And before Perseus there stood one whose +grey eyes were as the fathomless sea on the dawn of a +summer day. Her long robes were blue as the hyacinths +in spring, and the spear that she held in her hand was of +a polished brightness, as the dart with which the gods +smite the heart of a man, with joy inexpressible, with +sorrow that is scarcely to be borne. To Perseus she +spoke winged words.</p> + +<p>“I am Pallas Athené,” she said, “and to me the +souls of men are known. Those whose fat hearts are as +those of the beasts that perish do I know. They live at +ease. No bitter sorrow is theirs, nor any fierce joy that +lifts their feet free from the cumbering clay. But dear +to my heart are the souls of those whose tears are tears +of blood, whose joy is as the joy of the Immortals. Pain +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +is theirs, and sorrow. Disappointment is theirs, and +grief. Yet their love is as the love of those who dwell on +Olympus. Patient they are and long-suffering, and +ever they hope, ever do they trust. Ever they fight, +fearless and unashamed, and when the sum of their days +on earth is accomplished, wings, of whose existence they +have never had knowledge, bear them upwards, out of +the mist and din and strife of life, to the life that has no +ending.”</p> + +<p>Then she laid her hand on the hand of Perseus. +“Perseus,” she said, “art thou of those whose dull souls +forever dwell in pleasant ease, or wouldst thou be as one +of the Immortals?”</p> + +<p>And in his dream Perseus answered without hesitation:</p> + +<p>“Rather let me die, a youth, living my life to the +full, fighting ever, suffering ever,” he said, “than live +at ease like a beast that feeds on flowery pastures and +knows no fiery gladness, no heart-bleeding pain.”</p> + +<p>Then Pallas Athené, laughing for joy, because she +loved so well a hero’s soul, showed him a picture that +made even his brave heart sick for dread, and told him +a terrible story.</p> + +<p>In the dim, cold, far west, she said, there lived three +sisters. One of them, Medusa, had been one of her +priestesses, golden-haired and most beautiful, but when +Athené found that she was as wicked as she was lovely, +swiftly had she meted out a punishment. Every lock +of her golden hair had been changed into a venomous +snake. Her eyes, that had once been the cradles of love, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +were turned into love’s stony tombs. Her rosy cheeks +were now of Death’s own livid hue. Her smile, which +drew the hearts of lovers from their bosoms, had become +a hideous thing. A grinning mask looked on the +world, and to the world her gaping mouth and protruding +tongue meant a horror before which the world +stood terrified, dumb. There are some sadnesses too +terrible for human hearts to bear, so it came to pass +that in the dark cavern in which she dwelt, and in the +shadowy woods around it, all living things that had met +the awful gaze of her hopeless eyes were turned into +stone. Then Pallas Athené showed Perseus, mirrored +in a brazen shield, the face of one of the tragic things of +the world. And as Perseus looked, his soul grew chill +within him. But when Athené, in low voice, asked +him:</p> + +<p>“Perseus, wilt even end the sorrow of this piteous +sinful one?” he answered, “Even that will I do—the +gods helping me.”</p> + +<p>And Pallas Athené, smiling again in glad content, +left him to dream, and Perseus awoke, in sudden fear, +and found that in truth he had but dreamed, yet held +his dream as a holy thing in the secret treasure-house of +his heart.</p> + +<p>Back to Seriphos he sailed, and found that his mother +walked in fear of Polydectes the king. She told her +son—a strong man now, though young in years—the +story of his cruel persecution. Perseus saw red blood, +and gladly would he have driven his keen blade +far home in the heart of Polydectes. But his vengeance +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +was to be a great vengeance, and the vengeance was +delayed.</p> + +<p>The king gave a feast, and on that day every one in +the land brought offerings of their best and most costly +to do him honour. Perseus alone came empty-handed, +and as he stood in the king’s court as though he were a +beggar, the other youths mocked at him of whom they +had ever been jealous.</p> + +<p>“Thou sayest that thy father is one of the gods!” +they said. “Where is thy godlike gift, O Perseus!”</p> + +<p>And Polydectes, glad to humble the lad who was +keeper of his mother’s honour, echoed their foolish +taunt.</p> + +<p>“Where is the gift of the gods that the noble son of +the gods has brought me?” he asked, and his fat +cheeks and loose mouth quivered with ugly merriment.</p> + +<p>Then Perseus, his head thrown back, gazed in the +bold eyes of Polydectes.</p> + +<p>Son of Zeus he was indeed, as he looked with royal +scorn at those whom he despised.</p> + +<p>“A godlike gift thou shalt have, in truth, O king,” he +said, and his voice rang out as a trumpet-call before the +battle. “The gift of the gods shall be thine. The gods +helping me, thou shalt have the head of Medusa.”</p> + +<p>A laugh, half-born, died in the throats of Polydectes +and of those who listened, and Perseus strode out of the +palace, a glow in his heart, for he knew that Pallas +Athené had lit the fire that burned in him now, and that +though he should shed the last drop of his life’s blood +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +to win what he sought, right would triumph, and wrong +must be worsted.</p> + +<p>Still quivering with anger, Perseus went down to the +blue sea that gently whispered its secrets to the shore on +which he stood.</p> + +<p>“If Pallas Athené would but come,” he thought—“if +only my dreams might come true.”</p> + +<p>For, like many a boy before and since, Perseus had +dreamed of gallant, fearless deeds. Like many a boy +before and since, he had been the hero of a great adventure.</p> + +<p>So he prayed, “Come to me! I pray you, Pallas +Athené, come! and let me dream true.”</p> + +<p>His prayer was answered.</p> + +<p>Into the sky there came a little silver cloud that grew +and grew, and ever it grew nearer, and then, as in his +dream, Pallas Athené came to him and smiled on him as +the sun smiles on the water in spring. Nor was she +alone. Beside her stood Hermes of the winged shoes, +and Perseus knelt before the two in worship. Then, very +gently, Pallas Athené gave him counsel, and more than +counsel she gave.</p> + +<p>In his hand she placed a polished shield, than which +no mirror shone more brightly.</p> + +<p>“Do not look at Medusa herself; look only on her +image here reflected—then strike home hard and swiftly. +And when her head is severed, wrap it in the goatskin +on which the shield hangs. So wilt thou return in safety +and in honour.”</p> + +<p>“But how, then, shall I cross the wet grey fields of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +this watery way?” asked Perseus. “Would that I +were a white-winged bird that skims across the waves.”</p> + +<p>And, with the smile of a loving comrade, Hermes laid +his hand on the shoulder of Perseus.</p> + +<p>“My winged shoes shall be thine,” he said, “and the +white-winged sea-birds shalt thou leave far, far behind.”</p> + +<p>“Yet another gift is thine,” said Athené. “Gird +on, as gift from the gods, this sword that is immortal.”</p> + +<p>For a moment Perseus lingered. “May I not bid +farewell to my mother?” he asked. “May I not offer +burnt-offerings to thee and to Hermes, and to my father +Zeus himself?”</p> + +<p>But Athené said Nay, at his mother’s weeping his +heart might relent, and the offering that the Olympians +desired was the head of Medusa.</p> + +<p>Then, like a fearless young golden eagle, Perseus +spread out his arms, and the winged shoes carried him +across the seas to the cold northern lands whither +Athené had directed him.</p> + +<p>Each day his shoes took him a seven days’ journey, +and ever the air through which he passed grew more +chill, till at length he reached the land of everlasting +snow, where the black ice never knows the conquering +warmth of spring, and where the white surf of the moaning +waves freezes solid even as it touches the shore.</p> + +<p>It was a dark grim place to which he came, and in a +gloomy cavern by the sea lived the Graeæ, the three grey +sisters that Athené had told him he must seek. Old and +grey and horrible they were, with but one tooth amongst +them, and but one eye. From hand to hand they passed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +the eye, and muttered and shivered in the blackness and +the cold.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 278px;"> +<a name="PERSEUS" id="PERSEUS"></a> +<a href="images/abom11.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom11th.jpg" width="278" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">THEY WHIMPERED AND BEGGED OF HIM</span> +</div> + +<p>Boldly Perseus spoke to them and asked them to +guide him to the place where Medusa and her sisters +the Gorgons dwelt.</p> + +<p>“No others know where they dwell,” he said. “Tell +me, I pray thee, the way that I may find them.”</p> + +<p>But the Grey Women were kin to the Gorgons, and +hated all the children of men, and ugly was their evil +mirth as they mocked at Perseus and refused to tell him +where Medusa might be found.</p> + +<p>But Perseus grew wily in his desire not to fail, and +as the eye passed from one withered, clutching hand to +another, he held out his own strong young palm, and in +her blindness one of the three placed the eye within it.</p> + +<p>Then the Grey Women gave a piteous cry, fierce and +angry as the cry of old grey wolves that have been robbed +of their prey, and gnashed upon him with their toothless +jaws.</p> + +<p>And Perseus said: “Wicked ye are and cruel at +heart, and blind shall ye remain forever unless ye tell +me where I may find the Gorgons. But tell me that, and +I give back the eye.”</p> + +<p>Then they whimpered and begged of him, and when +they found that all their beseeching was in vain, at +length they told him.</p> + +<p>“Go south,” they said, “so far south that at length +thou comest to the uttermost limits of the sea, to the +place where the day and night meet. There is the +Garden of the Hesperides, and of them must thou ask +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +the way.” And “Give us back our eye!” they wailed +again most piteously, and Perseus gave back the eye +into a greedy trembling old hand, and flew south like a +swallow that is glad to leave the gloomy frozen lands +behind.</p> + +<p>To the garden of the Hesperides he came at last, and +amongst the myrtles and roses and sunny fountains he +came on the nymphs who there guard the golden fruit, +and begged them to tell him whither he must wing his +way in order to find the Gorgons. But the nymphs +could not tell.</p> + +<p>“We must ask Atlas,” they said, “the giant who sits +high up on the mountain and with his strong shoulders +keeps the heavens and earth apart.”</p> + +<p>And with the nymphs Perseus went up the mountain +and asked the patient giant to guide him to the place of +his quest.</p> + +<p>“Far away I can see them,” said Atlas, “on an +island in the great ocean. But unless thou wert to wear +the helmet of Pluto himself, thy going must be in vain.”</p> + +<p>“What is this helmet?” asked Perseus, “and how +can I gain it?”</p> + +<p>“Didst thou wear the helmet of the ruler of Dark +Places, thou wouldst be as invisible as a shadow in the +blackness of night,” answered Atlas; “but no mortal +can obtain it, for only the Immortals can brave the +terrors of the Shadowy Land and yet return; yet if thou +wilt promise me one thing, the helmet shall be thine.”</p> + +<p>“What wouldst thou?” asked Perseus.</p> + +<p>And Atlas said, “For many a long year have I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +borne this earth, and I grow aweary of my burden. +When thou hast slain Medusa, let me gaze upon her +face, that I may be turned into stone and suffer no +more forever.”</p> + +<p>And Perseus promised, and at the bidding of Atlas +one of the nymphs sped down to the land of the Shades, +and for seven days Perseus and her sisters awaited her +return. Her face was as the face of a white lily and her +eyes were dark with sadness when she came, but with +her she bore the helmet of Pluto, and when she and her +sisters had kissed Perseus and bidden him a sorrowful +farewell, he put on the helmet and vanished away.</p> + +<p>Soon the gentle light of day had gone, and he found +himself in a place where clammy fog blotted out all +things, and where the sea was black as the water of that +stream that runs through the Cocytus valley. And in +that silent land where there is “neither night nor day, +nor cloud nor breeze nor storm,” he found the cave of +horrors in which the Gorgons dwelt.</p> + +<p>Two of them, like monstrous swine, lay asleep,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“But a third woman paced about the hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever turned her head from wall to wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And moaned aloud and shrieked in her despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because the golden tresses of her hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were moved by writhing snakes from side to side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in their writhing oftentimes would glide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On to her breast or shuddering shoulders white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, falling down, the hideous things would light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon her feet, and, crawling thence, would twine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their slimy folds upon her ankles fine.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">William Morris.</span></p> + +<p>In the shield of Pallas Athené the picture was mirrored, +and as Perseus gazed on it his soul grew heavy for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +the beauty and the horror of Medusa. And “Oh that it +had been her foul sisters that I must slay!” he thought +at first, but then—“To slay her will be kind indeed,” he +said. “Her beauty has become corruption, and all the +joy of life for her has passed into the agony of remembrance, +the torture of unending remorse.”</p> + +<p>And when he saw her brazen claws that still were +greedy and lustful to strike and to slay, his face grew +stern, and he paused no longer, but with his sword he +smote her neck with all his might and main. And to +the rocky floor the body of Medusa fell with brazen +clang, but her head he wrapped in the goatskin, while +he turned his eyes away. Aloft then he sprang, and +flew swifter than an arrow from the bow of Diana.</p> + +<p>With hideous outcry the two other Gorgons found +the body of Medusa, and, like foul vultures that hunt a +little song-bird, they flew in pursuit of Perseus. For +many a league they kept up the chase, and their howling +was grim to hear. Across the seas they flew, and over +the yellow sand of the Libyan desert, and as Perseus +flew before them, some blood-drops fell from the severed +head of Medusa, and from them bred the vipers that are +found in the desert to this day. But bravely did the +winged shoes of Hermes bear Perseus on, and by nightfall +the Gorgon sisters had passed from sight, and Perseus +found himself once more in the garden of the Hesperides. +Ere he sought the nymphs, he knelt by the sea to cleanse +from his hands Medusa’s blood, and still does the seaweed +that we find on sea-beaches after a storm bear the +crimson stains.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +And when Perseus had received glad welcome from +the fair dwellers in the garden of the Hesperides, he +sought Atlas, that to him he might fulfil his promise; +and eagerly Atlas beheld him, for he was aweary of his +long toil.</p> + +<p>So Perseus uncovered the face of Medusa and held it +up for the Titan to gaze upon.</p> + +<p>And when Atlas looked upon her whose beauty had +once been pure and living as that of a flower in spring, +and saw only anguish and cruelty, foul wickedness, and +hideous despair, his heart grew like stone within him. +To stone, too, turned his great, patient face, and into +stone grew his vast limbs and strong, crouching back. +So did Atlas the Titan become Atlas the Mountain, and +still his head, white-crowned with snow, and his great +shoulder far up in misty clouds, would seem to hold +apart the earth and the sky.</p> + +<p>Then Perseus again took flight, and in his flight he +passed over many lands and suffered weariness and +want, and sometimes felt his faith growing low. Yet +ever he sped on, hoping ever, enduring ever. In Egypt +he had rest and was fed and honoured by the people of +the land, who were fain to keep him to be one of their +gods. And in a place called Chemmis they built a +statue of him when he had gone, and for many hundreds +of years it stood there. And the Egyptians said that +ever and again Perseus returned, and that when he came +the Nile rose high and the season was fruitful because +he had blessed their land.</p> + +<p>Far down below him as he flew one day he saw +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +something white on a purple rock in the sea. It seemed +too large to be a snowy-plumaged bird, and he darted +swiftly downward that he might see more clearly. The +spray lashed against the steep rocks of the desolate +island, and showered itself upon a figure that at first he +took to be a statue of white marble. The figure was but +that of a girl, slight and very youthful, yet more fair +even than any of the nymphs of the Hesperides. Invisible +in his Helmet of Darkness, Perseus drew near, +and saw that the fragile white figure was shaken by +shivering sobs. The waves, every few moments, lapped +up on her little cold white feet, and he saw that heavy +chains held her imprisoned to that chilly rock in the +sea. A great anger stirred the heart of Perseus, and +swiftly he took the helmet from his head and stood +beside her. The maid gave a cry of terror, but there +was no evil thing in the face of Perseus. Naught but +strength and kindness and purity shone out of his +steady eyes.</p> + +<p>Thus when, very gently, he asked her what was the +meaning of her cruel imprisonment, she told him the +piteous story, as a little child tells the story of its grief +to the mother who comforts it. Her mother was queen +of Ethiopia, she said, and very, very beautiful. But +when the queen had boasted that no nymph who played +amongst the snow-crested billows of the sea was as fair +as she, a terrible punishment was sent to her. All along +the coast of her father’s kingdom a loathsome sea-monster +came to hold its sway, and hideous were its +ravages. Men and women, children and animals, all +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +were equally desirable food for its insatiate maw, and +the whole land of Ethiopia lay in mourning because of +it. At last her father, the king, had consulted an oracle +that he might find help to rid the land of the monster. +And the oracle had told him that only when his fair +daughter, Andromeda, had been sacrificed to the creature +that scourged the sea-coast would the country go free. +Thus had she been brought there by her parents that +one life might be given for many, and that her mother’s +broken heart might expiate her sin of vanity. Even +as Andromeda spoke, the sea was broken by the track +of a creature that cleft the water as does the forerunning +gale of a mighty storm. And Andromeda gave +a piteous cry.</p> + +<p>“Lo! he comes!” she cried. “Save me! ah, +save me! I am so young to die.”</p> + +<p>Then Perseus darted high above her and for an +instant hung poised like a hawk that is about to strike. +Then, like the hawk that cannot miss its prey, swiftly +did he swoop down and smote with his sword the devouring +monster of the ocean. Not once, but again and +again he smote, until all the water round the rock was +churned into slime and blood-stained froth, and until +his loathsome combatant floated on its back, mere +carrion for the scavengers of the sea.</p> + +<p>Then Perseus hewed off the chains that held Andromeda, +and in his arms he held her tenderly as he flew +with her to her father’s land.</p> + +<p>Who so grateful then as the king and queen of +Ethiopia? and who so happy as Andromeda? for Perseus, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +her deliverer, dearest and greatest hero to her in all the +world, not only had given her her freedom, but had +given her his heart.</p> + +<p>Willingly and joyfully her father agreed to give her +to Perseus for his wife. No marriage feast so splendid +had ever been held in Ethiopia in the memory of man, +but as it went on, an angry man with a band of sullen-faced +followers strode into the banqueting-hall. It was +Phineus, he who had been betrothed to Andromeda, yet +who had not dared to strike a blow for her rescue. +Straight at Perseus they rushed, and fierce was the fight +that then began. But of a sudden, from the goatskin +where it lay hid, Perseus drew forth the head of Medusa, +and Phineus and his warriors were turned into stone.</p> + +<p>For seven days the marriage feast lasted, but on the +eighth night Pallas Athené came to Perseus in a dream.</p> + +<p>“Nobly and well hast thou played the hero, O son of +Zeus!” she said; “but now that thy toil is near an end +and thy sorrows have ended in joy, I come to claim the +shoes of Hermes, the helmet of Pluto, the sword, and the +shield that is mine own. Yet the head of the Gorgon +must thou yet guard awhile, for I would have it laid in +my temple at Seriphos that I may wear it on my shield +for evermore.”</p> + +<p>As she ceased to speak, Perseus awoke, and lo, the +shield and helmet and the sword and winged shoes were +gone, so that he knew that his dream was no false vision.</p> + +<p>Then did Perseus and Andromeda, in a red-prowed +galley made by cunning craftsmen from Phœnicia, sail +away westward, until at length they came to the blue +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +water of the Ægean Sea, and saw rising out of the waves +before them the rocks of Seriphos. And when the +rowers rested on their long oars, and the red-prowed +ship ground on the pebbles of the beach, Perseus and his +bride sought Danaë, the fair mother of Perseus.</p> + +<p>Black grew the brow of the son of Danaë when she +told him what cruel things she had suffered in his absence +from the hands of Polydectes the king. Straight to the +palace Perseus strode, and there found the king and his +friends at their revels. For seven years had Perseus +been away, and now it was no longer a stripling who stood +in the palace hall, but a man in stature and bearing like +one of the gods. Polydectes alone knew him, and from +his wine he looked up with mocking gaze.</p> + +<p>“So thou hast returned? oh nameless son of a deathless +god,” he said. “Thou didst boast, but methinks +thy boast was an empty one!”</p> + +<p>But even as he spoke, the jeering smile froze on his +face, and the faces of those who sat with him stiffened +in horror.</p> + +<p>“O king,” Perseus said, “I swore that, the gods helping +me, thou shouldst have the head of Medusa. The +gods have helped me. Behold the Gorgon’s head.”</p> + +<p>Wild horror in their eyes, Polydectes and his friends +gazed on the unspeakable thing, and as they gazed they +turned into stone—a ring of grey stones that still sit on +a hillside of Seriphos.</p> + +<p>With his wife and his mother, Perseus then sailed +away, for he had a great longing to take Danaë back to +the land of her birth and to see if her father, Acrisius, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +still lived and might not now repent of his cruelty to her +and to his grandson. But there he found that the sins +of Acrisius had been punished and that he had been +driven from his throne and his own land by a usurper. +Not for long did the sword of Perseus dwell in its scabbard, +and speedily was the usurper cast forth, and all the +men of Argos acclaimed Perseus as their glorious king. +But Perseus would not be their king.</p> + +<p>“I go to seek Acrisius,” he said. “My mother’s +father is your king.”</p> + +<p>Again his galley sailed away, and at last, up the long +Eubœan Sea they came to the town of Larissa, where +the old king now dwelt.</p> + +<p>A feast and sports were going on when they got there, +and beside the king of the land sat Acrisius, an aged +man, yet a kingly one indeed.</p> + +<p>And Perseus thought, “If I, a stranger, take part in +the sports and carry away prizes from the men of Larissa, +surely the heart of Acrisius must soften towards me.”</p> + +<p>Thus did he take off his helmet and cuirass, and +stood unclothed beside the youths of Larissa, and so +godlike was he that they all said, amazed, “Surely this +stranger comes from Olympus and is one of the Immortals.”</p> + +<p>In his hand he took a discus, and full five fathoms +beyond those of the others he cast it, and a great shout +arose from those who watched, and Acrisius cried out as +loudly as all the rest.</p> + +<p>“Further still!” they cried. “Further still canst +thou hurl! thou art a hero indeed!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +And Perseus, putting forth all his strength, hurled once +again, and the discus flew from his hand like a bolt from +the hand of Zeus. The watchers held their breath and +made ready for a shout of delight as they saw it speed +on, further than mortal man had ever hurled before. +But joy died in their hearts when a gust of wind caught +the discus as it sped and hurled it against Acrisius, +the king. And with a sigh like the sigh that passes +through the leaves of a tree as the woodman fells it and +it crashes to the earth, so did Acrisius fall and lie prone. +To his side rushed Perseus, and lifted him tenderly in +his arms. But the spirit of Acrisius had fled. And with +a great cry of sorrow Perseus called to the people:</p> + +<p>“Behold me! I am Perseus, grandson of the man I +have slain! Who can avoid the decree of the gods?”</p> + +<p>For many a year thereafter Perseus reigned as king, +and to him and to his fair wife were born four sons and +three daughters. Wisely and well he reigned, and +when, at a good old age, Death took him and the wife +of his heart, the gods, who had always held him dear, +took him up among the stars to live for ever and ever. +And there still, on clear and starry nights, we may see +him holding the Gorgon’s head. Near him are the father +and mother of Andromeda—Cepheus and Cassiopeia, +and close beside him stands Andromeda with her white +arms spread out across the blue sky as in the days when +she stood chained to the rock. And those who sail the +watery ways look up for guidance to one whose voyaging +is done and whose warfare is accomplished, and take +their bearings from the constellation of Cassiopeia.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<h2>NIOBE</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“... Like Niobe, all tears.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Shakespeare.</span></p> + + +<p>The quotation is an overworked quotation, like many +another of those from <i>Hamlet</i>; yet, have half of those +whose lips utter it more than the vaguest acquaintance +with the story of Niobe and the cause of her tears? The +noble group—attributed to Praxiteles—of Niobe and her +last remaining child, in the Uffizi Palace at Florence, has +been so often reproduced that it also has helped to +make the anguished figure of the Theban queen a +familiar one in pictorial tragedy, so that as long as the +works of those Titans of art, Shakespeare and Praxiteles, +endure, no other monument is wanted for the memory +of Niobe.</p> + +<p>Like many of the tales of mythology, her tragedy is +a story of vengeance wreaked upon a mortal by an +angry god. She was the daughter of Tantalus, and her +husband was Amphion, King of Thebes, himself a son of +Zeus. To her were born seven fair daughters and seven +beautiful and gallant sons, and it was not because of her +own beauty, nor her husband’s fame, nor their proud +descent and the greatness of their kingdom, that the +Queen of Thebes was arrogant in her pride. Very sure +she was that no woman had ever borne children like her +own children, whose peers were not to be found on earth +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +nor in heaven. Even in our own day there are mortal +mothers who feel as Niobe felt.</p> + +<p>But amongst the Immortals there was also a mother +with children whom she counted as peerless. Latona, +mother of Apollo and Diana, was magnificently certain +that in all time, nor in eternity to come, could there be +a son and daughter so perfect in beauty, in wisdom, and +in power as the two that were her own. Loudly did she +proclaim her proud belief, and when Niobe heard it she +laughed in scorn.</p> + +<p>“The goddess has a son and a daughter,” she said. +“Beautiful and wise and powerful they may be, but I +have borne seven daughters and seven sons, and each +son is more than the peer of Apollo, each daughter more +than the equal of Diana, the moon-goddess!”</p> + +<p>And to her boastful words Latona gave ear, and +anger began to grow in her heart.</p> + +<p>Each year the people of Thebes were wont to hold a +great festival in honour of Latona and her son and +daughter, and it was an evil day for Niobe when she +came upon the adoring crowd that, laurel-crowned, bore +frankincense to lay before the altars of the gods whose +glories they had assembled together to celebrate.</p> + +<p>“Oh foolish ones!” she said, and her voice was +full of scorn, “am I not greater than Latona? I am +the daughter of a goddess, my husband, the king, the +son of a god. Am I not fair? am I not queenly as +Latona herself? And, of a surety, I am richer by far +than the goddess who has but one daughter and one son. +Look on my seven noble sons! behold the beauty of my +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +seven daughters, and see if they in beauty and all else +do not equal the dwellers in Olympus!”</p> + +<p>And when the people looked, and shouted aloud, +for in truth Niobe and her children were like unto gods, +their queen said, “Do not waste thy worship, my +people. Rather make the prayers to thy king and to +me and to my children who buttress us round and make +our strength so great, that fearlessly we can despise +the gods.”</p> + +<p>In her home on the Cynthian mountain top, Latona +heard the arrogant words of the queen of Thebes, and +even as a gust of wind blows smouldering ashes into +a consuming fire, her growing anger flamed into rage. +She called Apollo and Diana to her, and commanded +them to avenge the blasphemous insult which had been +given to them and to their mother. And the twin gods +listened with burning hearts.</p> + +<p>“Truly shalt thou be avenged!” cried Apollo. +“The shameless one shall learn that not unscathed goes +she who profanes the honour of the mother of the deathless +gods!”</p> + +<p>And with their silver bows in their hands, Apollo, +the smiter from afar, and Diana, the virgin huntress, +hasted to Thebes. There they found all the noble +youths of the kingdom pursuing their sports. Some +rode, some were having chariot-races, and excelling in +all things were the seven sons of Niobe.</p> + +<p>Apollo lost no time. A shaft from his quiver flew, +as flies a bolt from the hand of Zeus, and the first-born +of Niobe fell, like a young pine broken by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +the wind, on the floor of his winning chariot. His +brother, who followed him, went on the heels of his +comrade swiftly down to the Shades. Two of the other +sons of Niobe were wrestling together, their great muscles +moving under the skin of white satin that covered their +perfect bodies, and as they gripped each other, yet +another shaft was driven from the bow of Apollo, and +both lads fell, joined by one arrow, on the earth, and +there breathed their lives away.</p> + +<p>Their elder brother ran to their aid, and to him, +too, came death, swift and sure. The two youngest, +even as they cried for mercy to an unknown god, were +hurried after them by the unerring arrows of Apollo. +The cries of those who watched this terrible slaying +were not long in bringing Niobe to the place where +her sons lay dead. Yet, even then, her pride was unconquered, +and she defied the gods, and Latona, to +whose jealousy she ascribed the fate of her “seven +spears.”</p> + +<p>“Not yet hast thou conquered, Latona!” she cried. +“My seven sons lie dead, yet to me still remain the +seven perfect lovelinesses that I have borne. Try to +match them, if thou canst, with the beauty of thy two! +Still am I richer than thou, O cruel and envious mother +of one daughter and one son!”</p> + +<p>But even as she spoke, Diana had drawn her bow, +and as the scythe of a mower quickly cuts down, one +after the other, the tall white blossoms in the meadow, +so did her arrows slay the daughters of Niobe. When +one only remained, the pride of Niobe was broken. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +With her arms round the little slender frame of her +golden-haired youngest born, she looked up to heaven, +and cried upon all the gods for mercy.</p> + +<p>“She is so little!” she wailed. “So young—so +dear! Ah, spare me <em>one</em>,” she said, “only one out of +so many!”</p> + +<p>But the gods laughed. Like a harsh note of music +sounded the twang of Diana’s bow. Pierced by a +silver arrow, the little girl lay dead. The dignity of +Latona was avenged.</p> + +<p>Overwhelmed by despair, King Amphion killed himself, +and Niobe was left alone to gaze on the ruin +around her. For nine days she sat, a Greek Rachel, +weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, +because they were not. On the tenth day, the sight +was too much even for the superhuman hearts of the +gods to endure. They turned the bodies into stone and +themselves buried them. And when they looked on the +face of Niobe and saw on it a bleeding anguish that no +human hand could stay nor the word of any god +comfort, the gods were merciful. Her grief was immortalised, +for Niobe, at their will, became a stone, and +was carried by a wailing tempest to the summit of +Mount Sipylus, in Lydia, where a spring of Argos bore +her name. Yet although a rock was Niobe, from her +blind eyes of stone the tears still flowed, a clear stream +of running water, symbol of a mother’s anguish and +never-ending grief.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<h2>HYACINTHUS</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">... “The sad death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Zephyr slew him—Zephyr penitent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who now, ere Phœbus mounts the firmament,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Keats.</span></p> + + +<p>“Whom the gods love die young”—truly it would +seem so, as we read the old tales of men and of women +beloved of the gods. To those men who were deemed +worthy of being companions of the gods, seemingly no +good fortune came. Yet, after all, if even in a brief +span of life they had tasted god-given happiness, was +their fate one to be pitied? Rather let us keep our +tears for those who, in a colourless grey world, have seen +the dull days go past laden with trifling duties, unnecessary +cares and ever-narrowing ideals, and have +reached old age and the grave—no narrower than their +lives—without ever having known a fulness of happiness, +such as the Olympians knew, or ever having dared +to reach upwards and to hold fellowship with the +Immortals.</p> + +<p>Hyacinthus was a Spartan youth, son of Clio, one +of the Muses, and of the mortal with whom she +had mated, and from mother, or father, or from the +gods themselves, he had received the gift of beauty. +It chanced one day that as Apollo drove his chariot on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +its all-conquering round, he saw the boy. Hyacinthus +was as fair to look upon as the fairest of women, yet he +was not only full of grace, but was muscular, and strong +as a straight young pine on Mount Olympus that fears +not the blind rage of the North Wind nor the angry +tempests of the South.</p> + +<p>When Apollo had spoken with him he found that +the face of Hyacinthus did not belie the heart within +him, and gladly the god felt that at last he had found +the perfect companion, the ever courageous and joyous +young mate, whose mood was always ready to meet +his own. Did Apollo desire to hunt, with merry shout +Hyacinthus called the hounds. Did the great god +deign to fish, Hyacinthus was ready to fetch the nets +and to throw himself, whole-souled, into the great affair +of chasing and of landing the silvery fishes. When +Apollo wished to climb the mountains, to heights so +lonely that not even the moving of an eagle’s wing +broke the everlasting stillness, Hyacinthus—his strong +limbs too perfect for the chisel of any sculptor worthily +to reproduce—was ready and eager for the climb. And +when, on the mountain top, Apollo gazed in silence over +illimitable space, and watched the silver car of his +sister Diana rising slowly into the deep blue of the +sky, silvering land and water as she passed, it was +never Hyacinthus who was the first to speak—with +words to break the spell of Nature’s perfect beauty, +shared in perfect companionship. There were times, +too, when Apollo would play his lyre, and when naught +but the music of his own making could fulfil his longing. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +And when those times came, Hyacinthus would lie at +the feet of his friend—of the friend who was a god—and +would listen, with eyes of rapturous joy, to the +music that his master made. A very perfect friend was +this friend of the sun-god.</p> + +<p>Nor was it Apollo alone who desired the friendship +of Hyacinthus. Zephyrus, god of the South +Wind, had known him before Apollo crossed his path +and had eagerly desired him for a friend. But who +could stand against Apollo? Sulkily Zephyrus marked +their ever-ripening friendship, and in his heart jealousy +grew into hatred, and hatred whispered to him of +revenge. Hyacinthus excelled at all sports, and when +he played quoits it was sheer joy for Apollo, who +loved all things beautiful, to watch him as he stood +to throw the disc, his taut muscles making him look +like Hermes, ready to spurn the cumbering earth from +off his feet. Further even than the god, his friend, +could Hyacinthus throw, and always his merry laugh +when he succeeded made the god feel that nor man nor +god could ever grow old. And so there came that day, +fore-ordained by the Fates, when Apollo and Hyacinthus +played a match together. Hyacinthus made a +valiant throw, and Apollo took his place, and cast the +discus high and far. Hyacinthus ran forward eager to +measure the distance, shouting with excitement over a +throw that had indeed been worthy of a god. Thus did +Zephyrus gain his opportunity. Swiftly through the +tree-tops ran the murmuring South Wind, and smote +the discus of Apollo with a cruel hand. Against the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +forehead of Hyacinthus it dashed, smiting the locks that +lay upon it, crashing through skin and flesh and bone, +felling him to the earth. Apollo ran towards him and +raised him in his arms. But the head of Hyacinthus fell +over on the god’s shoulder, like the head of a lily whose +stem is broken. The red blood gushed to the ground, +an unquenchable stream, and darkness fell on the eyes +of Hyacinthus, and, with the flow of his life’s blood, +his gallant young soul passed away.</p> + +<p>“Would that I could die for thee, Hyacinthus!” +cried the god, his god’s heart near breaking. “I have +robbed thee of thy youth. Thine is the suffering, mine +the crime. I shall sing thee ever—oh perfect friend! +And evermore shalt thou live as a flower that will speak +to the hearts of men of spring, of everlasting youth—of +life that lives forever.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke, there sprang from the blood-drops at +his feet a cluster of flowers, blue as the sky in spring, +yet hanging their heads as if in sorrow.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 279px;"> +<a name="HYACINTHUS" id="HYACINTHUS"></a> +<a href="images/abom12.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom12th.jpg" width="279" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">DARKNESS FELL ON THE EYES OF HYACINTHUS</span> +</div> + +<p>And still, when winter is ended, and the song of +birds tell us of the promise of spring, if we go to the +woods, we find traces of the vow of the sun-god. The +trees are budding in buds of rosy hue, the willow branches +are decked with silvery catkins powdered with gold. +The larches, like slender dryads, wear a feathery garb of +tender green, and under the trees of the woods the +primroses look up, like fallen stars. Along the woodland +path we go, treading on fragrant pine-needles and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +on the beech leaves of last year that have not yet lost +their radiant amber. And, at a turn of the way, the +sun-god suddenly shines through the great dark branches +of the giants of the forest, and before us lies a patch of +exquisite blue, as though a god had robbed the sky +and torn from it a precious fragment that seems alive +and moving, between the sun and the shadow.</p> + +<p>And, as we look, the sun caresses it, and the South +Wind gently moves the little bell-shaped flowers of the +wild hyacinth as it softly sweeps across them. So does +Hyacinthus live on; so do Apollo and Zephyrus still +love and mourn their friend.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Legend says that on the petals of the hyacinth Apollo transcribed +the letters “Aì,”—“Alas!”</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<h2>KING MIDAS OF THE GOLDEN TOUCH</h2> + + +<p>In the plays of Shakespeare we have three distinct +divisions—three separate volumes. One deals with Tragedy, +another with Comedy, a third with History; and +a mistake made by the young in their aspect of +life is that they do the same thing, and keep tragedy +and comedy severely apart, relegating them to separate +volumes that, so they think, have nothing to do with +each other. But those who have passed many milestones +on the road know that “<em>History</em>” is the only +right label for the Book of Life’s many parts, and +that the actors in the great play are in truth tragic +comedians.</p> + +<p>This is the story of Midas, one of the chief tragic +comedians of mythology.</p> + +<p>Once upon a time the kingdom of Phrygia lacked a +king, and in much perplexity, the people sought help +from an oracle. The answer was very definite:</p> + +<p>“The first man who enters your city riding in a +car shall be your king.”</p> + +<p>That day there came slowly jogging into the city in +their heavy, wooden-wheeled wain, the peasant Gordias +and his wife and son, whose destination was the marketplace, +and whose business was to sell the produce of their +little farm and vineyard—fowls, a goat or two, and a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +couple of skinsful of strong, purple-red wine. An eager +crowd awaited their entry, and a loud shout of welcome +greeted them. And their eyes grew round and their +mouths fell open in amaze when they were hailed as +King and Queen and Prince of Phrygia.</p> + +<p>The gods had indeed bestowed upon Gordias, the low-born +peasant, a surprising gift, but he showed his gratitude +by dedicating his wagon to the deity of the oracle and +tying it up in its place with the wiliest knot that his +simple wisdom knew, pulled as tight as his brawny arms +and strong rough hands could pull. Nor could anyone +untie the famous Gordian knot, and therefore become, +as the oracle promised, lord of all Asia, until centuries +had passed, and Alexander the Great came to Phrygia and +sliced through the knot with his all-conquering sword.</p> + +<p>In time Midas, the son of Gordias, came to inherit +the throne and crown of Phrygia. Like many another +not born and bred to the purple, his honours sat heavily +upon him. From the day that his father’s wain had +entered the city amidst the acclamations of the people, +he had learned the value of power, and therefore, from +his boyhood onward, power, always more power, was +what he coveted. Also his peasant father had taught +him that gold could buy power, and so Midas ever +longed for more gold, that could buy him a place in the +world that no descendant of a long race of kings should +be able to contest. And from Olympus the gods looked +down and smiled, and vowed that Midas should have +the chance of realising his heart’s desire.</p> + +<p>Therefore one day when he and his court were sitting +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +in the solemn state that Midas required, there rode +into their midst, tipsily swaying on the back of a gentle +full-fed old grey ass, ivy-crowned, jovial and foolish, +the satyr Silenus, guardian of the young god Bacchus.</p> + +<p>With all the deference due to the friend of a god +Midas treated this disreputable old pedagogue, and for +ten days and nights on end he feasted him royally. On +the eleventh day Bacchus came in search of his preceptor, +and in deep gratitude bade Midas demand of him +what he would, because he had done Silenus honour +when to dishonour him lay in his power.</p> + +<p>Not even for a moment did Midas ponder.</p> + +<p>“I would have gold,” he said hastily—“much gold. +I would have that touch by which all common and +valueless things become golden treasures.”</p> + +<p>And Bacchus, knowing that here spoke the son of +peasants who many times had gone empty to bed after +a day of toilful striving on the rocky uplands of Phrygia, +looked a little sadly in the eager face of Midas, and +answered: “Be it as thou wilt. Thine shall be the +golden touch.”</p> + +<p>Then Bacchus and Silenus went away, a rout of +singing revellers at their heels, and Midas quickly put +to proof the words of Bacchus.</p> + +<p>An olive tree grew near where he stood, and from it +he picked a little twig decked with leaves of softest grey, +and lo, it grew heavy as he held it, and glittered like a +piece of his crown. He stooped to touch the green turf +on which some fragrant violets grew, and turf grew into +cloth of gold, and violets lost their fragrance and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +became hard, solid, golden things. He touched an +apple whose cheek grew rosy in the sun, and at once it +became like the golden fruit in the Garden of the Hesperides. +The stone pillars of his palace as he brushed +past them on entering, blazed like a sunset sky. The +gods had not deceived him. Midas had the Golden +Touch. Joyously he strode into the palace and commanded +a feast to be prepared—a feast worthy of an +occasion so magnificent.</p> + +<p>But when Midas, with the healthy appetite of the +peasant-born, would have eaten largely of the savoury +food that his cooks prepared, he found that his teeth +only touched roast kid to turn it into a slab of gold, +that garlic lost its flavour and became gritty as he +chewed, that rice turned into golden grains, and curdled +milk became a dower fit for a princess, entirely unnegotiable +for the digestion of man. Baffled and miserable, +Midas seized his cup of wine, but the red wine had +become one with the golden vessel that held it; nor could +he quench his thirst, for even the limpid water from the +fountain was melted gold when it touched his dry lips. +Only for a very few days was Midas able to bear the +affliction of his wealth. There was nothing now for +him to live for. He could buy the whole earth if he +pleased, but even children shrank in terror from his +touch, and hungry and thirsty and sick at heart he +wearily dragged along his weighty robes of gold. Gold +was power, he knew well, yet of what worth was gold +while he starved? Gold could not buy him life and +health and happiness.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +In despair, at length he cried to the god who had +given him the gift that he hated.</p> + +<p>“Save me, O Bacchus!” he said. “A witless one +am I, and the folly of my desire has been my undoing. +Take away from me the accursed Golden Touch, and +faithfully and well shall I serve thee forever.”</p> + +<p>Then Bacchus, very pitiful for him, told Midas to go to +Sardis, the chief city of his worshippers, and to trace to its +source the river upon which it was built. And in that +pool, when he found it, he was to plunge his head, and so +he would, for evermore, be freed from the Golden Touch.</p> + +<p>It was a long journey that Midas then took, and a +weary and a starving man was he when at length he +reached the spring where the river Pactolus had its +source. He crawled forward, and timidly plunged in his +head and shoulders. Almost he expected to feel the +harsh grit of golden water, but instead there was the joy +he had known as a peasant boy when he laved his face +and drank at a cool spring when his day’s toil was ended. +And when he raised his face from the pool, he knew that +his hateful power had passed from him, but under the +water he saw grains of gold glittering in the sand, and from +that time forth the river Pactolus was noted for its gold.</p> + +<p>One lesson the peasant king had learnt by paying in +suffering for a mistake, but there was yet more suffering +in store for the tragic comedian.</p> + +<p>He had now no wish for golden riches, nor even for +power. He wished to lead the simple life and to listen +to the pipings of Pan along with the goat-herds on the +mountains or the wild creatures in the woods. Thus +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +it befell that he was present one day at a contest between +Pan and Apollo himself. It was a day of merry-making +for nymphs and fauns and dryads, and all those who +lived in the lonely solitudes of Phrygia came to listen to +the music of the god who ruled them. For as Pan sat +in the shade of a forest one night and piped on his reeds +until the very shadows danced, and the water of the +stream by which he sat leapt high over the mossy stones +it passed, and laughed aloud in its glee, the god had so +gloried in his own power that he cried:</p> + +<p>“Who speaks of Apollo and his lyre? Some of the +gods may be well pleased with his music, and mayhap +a bloodless man or two. But my music strikes to the +heart of the earth itself. It stirs with rapture the very +sap of the trees, and awakes to life and joy the innermost +soul of all things mortal.”</p> + +<p>Apollo heard his boast, and heard it angrily.</p> + +<p>“Oh, thou whose soul is the soul of the untilled +ground!” he said, “wouldst thou place thy music, that +is like the wind in the reeds, beside my music, which is +as the music of the spheres?”</p> + +<p>And Pan, splashing with his goat’s feet amongst the +water-lilies of the stream on the bank of which he sat, +laughed loudly and cried:</p> + +<p>“Yea, would I, Apollo! Willingly would I play thee +a match—thou on thy golden lyre—I on my reeds from +the river.”</p> + +<p>Thus did it come to pass that Apollo and Pan +matched against each other their music, and King Midas +was one of the judges.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +First of all Pan took his fragile reeds, and as he +played, the leaves on the trees shivered, and the sleeping +lilies raised their heads, and the birds ceased their song +to listen and then flew straight to their mates. And all +the beauty of the world grew more beautiful, and all +its terror grew yet more grim, and still Pan piped +on, and laughed to see the nymphs and the fauns first +dance in joyousness and then tremble in fear, and the +buds to blossom, and the stags to bellow in their lordship +of the hills. When he ceased, it was as though +a tensely-drawn string had broken, and all the earth +lay breathless and mute. And Pan turned proudly +to the golden-haired god who had listened as he had +spoken through the hearts of reeds to the hearts of +men.</p> + +<p>“Canst, then, make music like unto my music, +Apollo?” he said.</p> + +<p>Then Apollo, his purple robes barely hiding the +perfection of his limbs, a wreath of laurel crowning his +yellow curls, looked down at Pan from his godlike +height and smiled in silence. For a moment his hand +silently played over the golden strings of his lyre, and +then his finger-tips gently touched them. And every +creature there who had a soul, felt that that soul had +wings, and the wings sped them straight to Olympus. +Far away from all earth-bound creatures they flew, +and dwelt in magnificent serenity amongst the Immortals. +No longer was there strife, or any dispeace. No +more was there fierce warring between the actual and +the unknown. The green fields and thick woods had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +faded into nothingness, and their creatures, and the +fair nymphs and dryads, and the wild fauns and centaurs +longed and fought no more, and man had ceased to +desire the impossible. Throbbing nature and passionately +desiring life faded into dust before the melody +that Apollo called forth, and when his strings had +ceased to quiver and only the faintly remembered echo +of his music remained, it was as though the earth had +passed away and all things had become new.</p> + +<p>For the space of many seconds all was silence.</p> + +<p>Then, in low voice, Apollo asked:</p> + +<p>“Ye who listen—who is the victor?”</p> + +<p>And earth and sea and sky, and all the creatures of +earth and sky, and of the deep, replied as one:</p> + +<p>“The victory is thine, Divine Apollo.”</p> + +<p>Yet was there one dissentient voice.</p> + +<p>Midas, sorely puzzled, utterly un-understanding, was +relieved when the music of Apollo ceased. “If only +Pan would play again,” he murmured to himself. “I +wish to live, and Pan’s music gives me life. I love the +woolly vine-buds and the fragrant pine-leaves, and the +scent of the violets in the spring. The smell of the fresh-ploughed +earth is dear to me, the breath of the kine +that have grazed in the meadows of wild parsley and of +asphodel. I want to drink red wine and to eat and +love and fight and work and be joyous and sad, fierce and +strong, and very weary, and to sleep the dead sleep of +men who live only as weak mortals do.”</p> + +<p>Therefore he raised his voice, and called very loud: +“Pan’s music is sweeter and truer and greater than the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +music of Apollo. Pan is the victor, and I, King Midas, +give him the victor’s crown!”</p> + +<p>With scorn ineffable the sun-god turned upon Midas, +his peasant’s face transfigured by his proud decision. +For a little he gazed at him in silence, and his look +might have turned a sunbeam to an icicle.</p> + +<p>Then he spoke:</p> + +<p>“The ears of an ass have heard my music,” he said. +“Henceforth shall Midas have ass’s ears.”</p> + +<p>And when Midas, in terror, clapped his hands to his +crisp black hair, he found growing far beyond it, the +long, pointed ears of an ass. Perhaps what hurt him +most, as he fled away, was the shout of merriment that +came from Pan. And fauns and nymphs and satyrs +echoed that shout most joyously.</p> + +<p>Willingly would he have hidden in the woods, but +there he found no hiding-place. The trees and shrubs +and flowering things seemed to shake in cruel mockery. +Back to his court he went and sent for the court hairdresser, +that he might bribe him to devise a covering +for these long, peaked, hairy symbols of his folly. +Gladly the hairdresser accepted many and many oboli, +many and many golden gifts, and all Phrygia wondered, +while it copied, the strange headdress of the king.</p> + +<p>But although much gold had bought his silence, the +court barber was unquiet of heart. All day and all +through the night he was tormented by his weighty +secret. And then, at length, silence was to him a +torture too great to be borne; he sought a lonely place, +there dug a deep hole, and, kneeling by it, softly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +whispered to the damp earth: “King Midas has ass’s +ears.”</p> + +<p>Greatly relieved, he hastened home, and was well +content until, on the spot where his secret lay buried, +rushes grew up. And when the winds blew through +them, the rushes whispered for all those who passed +by to hear: “King Midas has ass’s ears! King Midas +has ass’s ears!” Those who listen very carefully to +what the green rushes in marshy places whisper as the +wind passes through them, may hear the same thing to +this day. And those who hear the whisper of the rushes +may, perhaps, give a pitying thought to Midas—the +tragic comedian of mythology.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CEYX AND HALCYONE</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“St. Martin’s summer, halcyon days.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><i>King Henry VI</i>, i. 2, 131.</p> + + +<p>“Halcyon days”—how often is the expression made +use of, how seldom do its users realise from whence +they have borrowed it.</p> + +<p>“These were halcyon days,” says the old man, and +his memory wanders back to a time when for him</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">“All the world is young, lad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the trees are green;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every goose a swan, lad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every lass a queen.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Yet the story of Halcyone is one best to be understood +by the heavy-hearted woman who wanders along the +bleak sea-beach and strains her weary eyes for the brown +sail of the fishing-boat that will never more return.</p> + +<p>Over the kingdom of Thessaly, in the days of long +ago, there reigned a king whose name was Ceyx, son of +Hesperus, the Day Star, and almost as radiant in grace +and beauty as was his father. His wife was the fair +Halcyone, daughter of Æolus, ruler of the winds, and +most perfectly did this king and queen love one another. +Their happiness was unmarred until there came a day +when Ceyx had to mourn for the loss of a brother. +Following close on the heels of this disaster came direful +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +prodigies which led Ceyx to fear that in some way he +must have incurred the hostility of the gods. To him +there was no way in which to discover wherein lay his +fault, and to make atonement for it, but by going to +consult the oracle of Apollo at Claros, in Ionia. When +he told Halcyone what he must do, she knew well that +she must not try to turn him from his solemn purpose, +yet there hung over her heart a black shadow of fear +and of evil foreboding that no loving words of assurance +could drive away. Most piteously she begged him +to take her with him, but the king knew too well the +dangers of the treacherous Ægean Sea to risk on it the +life of the woman that he loved so well.</p> + +<p>“I promise,” he said, “by the rays of my Father +the Day Star, that if fate permits I will return before the +moon shall have twice rounded her orb.”</p> + +<p>Down by the shore the sailors of King Ceyx awaited +his coming, and when with passionately tender love he +and Halcyone had taken farewell of each other, the +rowers sat down on the benches and dipped their long +oars into the water.</p> + +<p>With rhythmic swing they drove the great ship over +the grey sea, while Ceyx stood on deck and gazed back at +his wife until his eyes could no longer distinguish her +from the rocks on the shore, nor could she any longer +see the white sails of the ship as it crested the restless +waves. Heavier still was her heart when she turned +away from the shore, and yet more heavy it grew as the +day wore on and dark night descended. For the air was +full of the clamorous wailings of the fierce winds whose +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +joy it is to lash the waves into rage and to strew with +dead men and broken timber the angry, surf-beaten shore.</p> + +<p>“My King,” she sighed to herself. “My King! my +Own!” And through the weary hours she prayed to +the gods to bring him safely back to her, and many +times she offered fragrant incense to Juno, protectress of +women, that she might have pity on a woman whose +husband and true lover was out in the storm, a plaything +for ruthless winds and waves.</p> + +<p>A helpless plaything was the king of Thessaly. Long +ere the dim evening light had made of the shore of +his own land a faint, grey line, the white-maned horses +of Poseidon, king of the seas, began to rear their +heads, and as night fell, a black curtain, blotting out +every landmark, and all home-like things, the East +Wind rushed across the Ægean Sea, smiting the sea-horses +into madness, seizing the sails with cruel grasp +and casting them in tatters before it, snapping the +mast as though it were but a dry reed by the river. +Before so mighty a tempest no oars could be of any +avail, and for a little time only the winds and waves +gambolled like a half-sated wolf-pack over their helpless +prey. With hungry roar the great weight of black +water stove in the deck and swept the sailors out of the +ship to choke them in its icy depths; and ever it would +lift the wounded thing high up on its foaming white +crests, as though to toss it to the dark sky, and ever +again would suck it down into the blackness, while the +shrieking winds drove it onward with howling taunts +and mocking laughter. While life stayed in him, Ceyx +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +thought only of Halcyone. He had no fear, only the fear +of the grief his death must bring to her who loved him +as he loved her, his peerless queen, his Halcyone. His +prayers to the gods were prayers for her. For himself +he asked one thing only—that the waves might bear +his body to her sight, so that her gentle hands might lay +him in his tomb. With shout of triumph that they +had slain a king, winds and waves seized him even as +he prayed, and the Day Star that was hidden behind +the black pall of the sky knew that his son, a brave king +and a faithful lover, had gone down to the Shades.</p> + +<p>When Dawn, the rosy-fingered, had come to Thessaly, +Halcyone, white-faced and tired-eyed, anxiously watched +the sea, that still was tossing in half-savage mood. +Eagerly she gazed at the place where last the white sail +had been seen. Was it not possible that Ceyx, having +weathered the gale, might for the present have foregone +his voyage to Ionia, and was returning to her to bring +peace to her heart? But the sea-beach was strewn with +wrack and the winds still blew bits of tattered surf along +the shore, and for her there was only the heavy labour +of waiting, of waiting and of watching for the ship that +never came. The incense from her altars blew out, in +heavy sweetness, to meet the bitter-sweet tang of the +seaweed that was carried in by the tide, for Halcyone +prayed on, fearful, yet hoping that her prayers might +still keep safe her man—her king—her lover. She busied +herself in laying out the garments he would wear on his +return, and in choosing the clothes in which she might +be fairest in his eyes. This robe, as blue as the sky in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +spring—silver-bordered, as the sea in kind mood is +bordered with a feathery silver fringe. She could recall +just how Ceyx looked when first he saw her wear it. +She could hear his very tones as he told her that of all +queens she was the peeress, of all women the most +beautiful, of all wives the most dear. Almost she forgot +the horrors of the night, so certain did it seem that his +dear voice must soon again tell her the words that have +been love’s litany since ever time began.</p> + +<p>In the ears of Juno those petitions for him whose +dead body was even then being tossed hither and +thither by the restless waves, his murderers, came at +last to be more than even she could bear. She gave +command to her handmaiden Iris to go to the palace +of Somnus, god of Sleep and brother of Death, and to +bid him send to Halcyone a vision, in the form of Ceyx, +to tell her that all her weary waiting was in vain.</p> + +<p>In a valley among the black Cimmerian mountains +the death-god Somnus had his abode. In her rainbow-hued +robes, Iris darted through the sky at her mistress’s +bidding, tingeing, as she sped through them, the clouds +that she passed. It was a silent valley that she reached +at last. Here the sun never came, nor was there ever +any sound to break the silence. From the ground the +noiseless grey clouds, whose work it is to hide the sun +and moon, rose softly and rolled away up to the mountain +tops and down to the lowest valleys, to work the +will of the gods. All around the cave lurked the long +dark shadows that bring fear to the heart of children, +and that, at nightfall, hasten the steps of the timid +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +wayfarer. No noise was there, but from far down the +valley there came a murmur so faint and so infinitely +soothing that it was less a sound than of a lullaby +remembered in dreams. For past the valley of Sleep +flow the waters of Lethe, the river of Forgetfulness. +Close up to the door of the cave where dwelt the twin +brothers, Sleep and Death, blood-red poppies grew, and +at the door itself stood shadowy forms, their fingers on +their lips, enjoining silence on all those who would enter +in, amaranth-crowned, and softly waving sheaves of +poppies that bring dreams from which there is no +awakening. There was there no gate with hinges to +creak or bars to clang, and into the stilly darkness Iris +walked unhindered. From outer cave to inner cave she +went, and each cave she left behind was less dark than +the one that she entered. In the innermost room of all, +on an ebony couch draped with sable curtains, the god +of sleep lay drowsing. His garments were black, strewn +with golden stars. A wreath of half-opened poppies +crowned his sleepy head, and he leaned on the strong +shoulder of Morpheus, his favourite son. All round his +bed hovered pleasant dreams, gently stooping over him +to whisper their messages, like a field of wheat swayed +by the breeze, or willows that bow their silver heads and +murmur to each other the secrets that no one ever knows. +Brushing the idle dreams aside, as a ray of sunshine brushes +away the grey wisps of mist that hang to the hillside, +Iris walked up to the couch where Somnus lay. The +light from her rainbow-hued robe lit up the darkness of +the cave, yet Somnus lazily only half-opened his eyes, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +moved his head so that it rested more easily, and in a +sleepy voice asked of her what might be her errand. +“Somnus,” she said, “gentlest of gods, tranquilliser of +minds and soother of careworn hearts, Juno sends you +her commands that you despatch a dream to Halcyone +in the city of Trachine, representing her lost husband +and all the events of the wreck.”</p> + +<p>Her message delivered, Iris hastened away, for it +seemed to her that already her eyelids grew heavy, and +that there were creeping upon her limbs, throwing silver +dust in her eyes, lulling into peaceful slumber her mind, +those sprites born of the blood-red poppies that bring +to weary mortals rest and sweet forgetfulness.</p> + +<p>Only rousing himself sufficiently to give his orders, +Somnus entrusted to Morpheus the task imposed upon +him by Juno, and then, with a yawn, turned over on his +downy pillow, and gave himself up to exquisite slumber.</p> + +<p>When he had winged his way to Trachine, Morpheus +took upon himself the form of Ceyx and sought the room +where Halcyone slept. She had watched the far horizon +many hours that day. For many an hour had she +vainly burned incense to the gods. Tired in heart and +soul, in body and in mind, she laid herself down on +her couch at last, hoping for the gift of sleep. Not +long had she slept, in the dead-still sleep that weariness +and a stricken heart bring with them, when Morpheus +came and stood by her side. He was only a dream, +yet his face was the face of Ceyx. Not the radiant, +beautiful son of the Day Star was the Ceyx who stood +by her now and gazed on her with piteous, pitying dead +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +eyes. His clothing dripped sea-water; in his hair was +tangled the weed of the sea, uprooted by the storm. +Pale, pale was his face, and his white hands gripped the +stones and sand that had failed him in his dying agony.</p> + +<p>Halcyone whimpered in her sleep as she looked on +him, and Morpheus stooped over her and spoke the +words that he had been told to say.</p> + +<p>“I am thy husband, Ceyx, Halcyone. No more do +prayers and the blue-curling smoke of incense avail me. +Dead am I, slain by the storm and the waves. On my +dead, white face the skies look down and the restless sea +tosses my chill body that still seeks thee, seeking a haven +in thy dear arms, seeking rest on thy warm, loving heart.”</p> + +<p>With a cry Halcyone started up, but Morpheus had +fled, and there were no wet footprints nor drops of sea-water +on the floor, marking, as she had hoped, the way +that her lord had taken. Not again did Sleep visit her +that night.</p> + +<p>A grey, cold morning dawned and found her on the +seashore. As ever, her eyes sought the far horizon, +but no white sail, a messenger of hope, was there to +greet her. Yet surely she saw something—a black +speck, like a ship driven on by the long oars of mariners +who knew well the path to home through the watery +ways. From far away in the grey it hasted towards +her, and then there came to Halcyone the knowledge +that no ship was this thing, but a lifeless body, swept +onwards by the hurrying waves. Nearer and nearer it +came, until at length she could recognise the form of this +flotsam and jetsam of the sea. With heart that broke +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +as she uttered the words, she stretched out her arms and +cried aloud: “O Ceyx! my Beloved! is it thus that +thou returnest to me?”</p> + +<p>To break the fierce assaults of sea and of storm there +had been built out from the shore a mole, and on to this +barrier leapt the distraught Halcyone. She ran along +it, and when the dead, white body of the man she loved +was still out of reach, she prayed her last prayer—a +wordless prayer of anguish to the gods.</p> + +<p>“Only let me get near him,” she breathed. “Grant +only that I nestle close against his dear breast. Let me +show him that, living or dead, I am his, and he mine +forever.”</p> + +<p>And to Halcyone a great miracle was then vouchsafed, +for from out of her snowy shoulders grew snow-white +pinions, and with them she skimmed over the +waves until she reached the rigid body of Ceyx, drifting, +a helpless burden for the conquering waves, in with the +swift-flowing tide. As she flew, she uttered cries of +love and of longing, but only strange raucous cries came +from the throat that had once only made music. And +when she reached the body of Ceyx and would fain have +kissed his marble lips, Halcyone found that no longer +were her own lips like the petals of a fair red rose +warmed by the sun. For the gods had heard her prayer, +and her horny beak seemed to the watchers on the shore +to be fiercely tearing at the face of him who had been +king of Thessaly.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 276px;"> +<a name="HALCYONE" id="HALCYONE"></a> +<a href="images/abom13.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom13th.jpg" width="276" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">A GREY COLD MORNING FOUND HER ON THE SEASHORE</span> +</div> + +<p>Yet the gods were not merciless—or, perhaps, the +love of Halcyone was an all-conquering love. For as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +the soul of Halcyone had passed into the body of a +white-winged sea-bird, so also passed the soul of her +husband the king. And for evermore Halcyone and +her mate, known as the Halcyon birds, defied the storm +and tempest, and proudly breasted, side by side, the +angriest waves of the raging seas.</p> + +<p>To them, too, did the gods grant a boon: that, for +seven days before the shortest day of the year, and for +seven days after it, there should reign over the sea a +great calm in which Halcyone, in her floating nest, +should hatch her young. And to those days of calm +and sunshine, the name of the Halcyon Days was given.</p> + +<p>And still, as a storm approaches, the white-winged +birds come flying inland with shrill cries of warning to +the mariners whose ships they pass in their flight.</p> + +<p>“Ceyx!” they cry. “Remember Ceyx!”</p> + +<p>And hastily the fishermen fill their sails, and the +smacks drive homeward to the haven where the blue +smoke curls upwards from the chimneys of their homesteads, +and where the red poppies are nodding sleepily +amongst the yellow corn.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Note.</i>—The kingfisher is commonly known as the real “Halcyon” +bird. Of it Socrates says: “The bird is not great, but it has received +great honour from the gods because of its lovingness; for while it is +making its nest, all the world has the happy days which it calls +halcyonidæ, excelling all others in their calmness.”</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<h2>ARISTÆUS THE BEE-KEEPER</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“... Every sound is sweet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Myriads of rivers hurrying thro’ the lawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moan of doves in immemorial elms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And murmuring of innumerable bees.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Tennyson.</span></p> + + +<p>In the fragrance of the blossom of the limes the bees +are gleaning a luscious harvest. Their busy humming +sounds like the surf on a reef heard from very far away, +and would almost lull to sleep those who lazily, drowsily +spend the sunny summer afternoon in the shadow of +the trees. That line of bee-hives by the sweet-pea hedge +shows where they store their treasure that men may +rob them of it, but out on the uplands where the heather +is purple, the wild bees hum in and out of the honey-laden +bells and carry home their spoils to their own +free fastnesses, from which none can drive them unless +there comes a foray against them from the brown men +of the moors.</p> + +<p>How many of us who watch their ardent labours +know the story of Aristæus—he who first brought the +art of bee-keeping to perfection in his own dear land of +Greece, and whose followers are those men in veils of +blue and green, that motley throng who beat fire-irons +and create a hideous clamour in order that the queen +bee and her excited followers may be checked in their +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +perilous voyagings and beguiled to swarm in the sanctuary +of a hive.</p> + +<p>Aristæus was a shepherd, the son of Cyrene, a water +nymph, and to him there had come one day, as he listened +to the wild bees humming amongst the wild thyme, the +great thought that he might conquer these busy workers +and make their toil his gain. He knew that hollow trees +or a hole in a rock were used as the storage houses of +their treasure, and so the wily shepherd lad provided +for them the homes he knew that they would covet, and +near them placed all the food that they most desired. +Soon Aristæus became noted as a tamer of bees, and even +in Olympus they spoke of his honey as a thing that was +food for the gods. All might have gone well with Aristæus +had there not come for him the fateful day when +he saw the beautiful Eurydice and to her lost his heart. +She fled before the fiery protestations of his love, and +trod upon the serpent whose bite brought her down to +the Shades. The gods were angry with Aristæus, and +as punishment they slew his bees. His hives stood +empty and silent, and no more did “the murmuring of +innumerable bees” drowse the ears of the herds who +watched their flocks cropping the red clover and the +asphodel of the meadows.</p> + +<p>Underneath the swift-flowing water of a deep river, +the nymph who was the mother of Aristæus sat on her +throne. Fishes darted round her white feet, and beside +her sat her attendants, spinning the fine strong green +cords that twine themselves round the throats of those +who perish when their arms can no longer fight against +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +the force of the rushing current. A nymph sang as she +worked, an old, old song, that told one of the old, old +tales of man’s weakness and the power of the creatures +of water, but above her song those who listened heard +a man’s voice, calling loudly and pitifully.</p> + +<p>The voice was that of Aristæus, calling aloud for his +mother. Then his mother gave command, and the +waters of the river rolled asunder and let Aristæus pass +down far below to where the fountains of the great +rivers lie. A mighty roar of many waters dinned in his +ears as the rivers started on the race that was to bring +them all at last to their restless haven, the Ocean. To +Cyrene he came at length, and to her told his sorrowful +tale:</p> + +<p>“To men who live their little lives and work and +die as I myself—though son of a nymph and of a god—must +do,” he said, “I have brought two great gifts, +oh my mother. I have taught them that from the grey +olives they can reap a priceless harvest, and from me +they have learned that the little brown bees that hum +in and out of the flowers may be made slaves that bring +to them the sweetest riches of which Nature may be +robbed.”</p> + +<p>“This do I already know, my son,” said Cyrene, and +smiled upon Aristæus.</p> + +<p>“Yet dost thou not know,” said Aristæus, “the +doom that has overtaken my army of busy workers. +No longer does there come from my city of bees the +boom of many wings and many busy little feet as they +fly, swift and strong, hither and thither, to bring back +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +to the hives their honeyed treasure. The comb is empty. +The bees are all dead—or, if not dead, they have forsaken +me forever.”</p> + +<p>Then spoke Cyrene. “Hast heard, my son,” she +said, “of Proteus? It is he who herds the flocks of +the boundless sea. On days when the South Wind and +the North Wind wrestle together, and when the Wind +from the East smites the West Wind in shame before +him, thou mayst see him raise his snowy head and long +white beard above the grey-green waves of the sea, +and lash the white-maned, unbridled, fierce sea-horses +into fury before him. Proteus only—none but Proteus—can +tell thee by what art thou canst win thy bees +back once more.”</p> + +<p>Then Aristæus with eagerness questioned his mother +how he might find Proteus and gain from him the +knowledge that he sought, and Cyrene answered: “No +matter how piteously thou dost entreat him, never, +save by force, wilt thou gain his secret from Proteus. +Only if thou canst chain him by guile as he sleeps and +hold fast the chains, undaunted by the shapes into which +he has the power to change himself, wilt thou win his +knowledge from him.”</p> + +<p>Then Cyrene sprinkled her son with the nectar of +the deathless gods, and in his heart there was born a +noble courage and through him a new life seemed to run.</p> + +<p>“Lead me now to Proteus, oh my mother!” he +said, and Cyrene left her throne and led him to the +cave where Proteus, herdsman of the seas, had his +dwelling. Behind the seaweed-covered rocks Aristæus +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +concealed himself, while the nymph used the fleecy clouds +for her covering. And when Apollo drove his chariot +across the high heavens at noon, and all land and all sea +were hot as molten gold, Proteus with his flocks returned +to the shade of his great cave by the sobbing sea, and on +its sandy floor he stretched himself, and soon lay, his +limbs all lax and restful, in the exquisite joy of a dreamless +sleep. From behind the rocks Aristæus watched +him, and when, at length, he saw that Proteus slept too +soundly to wake gently he stepped forward, and on the +sleep-drowsed limbs of Proteus fixed the fetters that +made him his captive. Then, in joy and pride at having +been the undoing of the shepherd of the seas, Aristæus +shouted aloud. And Proteus, awaking, swiftly turned +himself into a wild boar with white tusks that lusted +to thrust themselves into the thighs of Aristæus. But +Aristæus, unflinching, kept his firm hold of the chain. +Next did he become a tiger, tawny and velvet black, +and fierce to devour. And still Aristæus held the chain, +and never let his eye fall before the glare of the +beast that sought to devour him. A scaly dragon came +next, breathing out flames, and yet Aristæus held him. +Then came a lion, its yellow pelt scented with the lust +of killing, and while Aristæus yet strove against him +there came to terrify his listening ears the sound of fire +that lapped up and thirstily devoured all things that +would stand against it. And ere the crackle of the +flames and their great sigh of fierce desire had ceased, +there came in his ears the sound of many waters, the +booming rush of an angry river in furious flood, the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +irresistible command of the almighty waves of the sea. Yet +still Aristæus held the chains, and at last Proteus took +his own shape again, and with a sigh like the sigh of +winds and waves on the desolate places where ships become +wrecks, and men perish and there is never a human soul +to save or to pity them, he spoke to Aristæus.</p> + +<p>“Puny one!” he said, “and puny are thy wishes! +Because thou didst by thy foolish wooing send the +beautiful Eurydice swiftly down to the Shades and +break the heart of Orpheus, whose music is the music of +the Immortals, the bees that thou hast treasured have +left their hives empty and silent. So little are the bees! +so great, O Aristæus, the bliss or woe of Orpheus and +Eurydice! Yet, because by guile thou hast won the +power to gain from me the knowledge that thou dost +seek, hearken to me now, Aristæus! Four bulls must +thou find—four cows of equal beauty. Then must thou +build in a leafy grove four altars, and to Orpheus and +Eurydice pay such funeral honours as may allay their +resentment. At the end of nine days, when thou hast +fulfilled thy pious task, return and see what the gods +have sent thee.”</p> + +<p>“This will I do most faithfully, O Proteus,” said +Aristæus, and gravely loosened the chains and returned +to where his mother awaited him, and thence travelled +to his own sunny land of Greece.</p> + +<p>Most faithfully, as he had said, did Aristæus perform +his vow. And when, on the ninth day, he returned to +the grove of sacrifice, a sound greeted him which made +his heart stop and then go on beating and throbbing as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +the heart of a man who has striven valiantly in a great +fight and to whom the battle is assured.</p> + +<p>For, from the carcase of one of the animals offered +for sacrifice, and whose clean white bones now gleamed +in the rays of the sun that forced its way through the +thick shade of the grove of grey olives, there came the +“murmuring of innumerable bees.”</p> + +<p>“Out of the eater came forth meat, out of the strong +came forth sweetness.”</p> + +<p>And Aristæus, a Samson of the old Greek days, +rejoiced exceedingly, knowing that his thoughtless sin +was pardoned, and that for evermore to him belonged +the pride of giving to all men the power of taming bees, +the glory of mastering the little brown creatures that +pillage from the fragrant, bright-hued flowers their +most precious treasure.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PROSERPINE</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou from whose immortal bosom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gods, and men, and beasts have birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathe thine influence most divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On thine own child, Proserpine.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If with mists of evening dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou dost nourish those young flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till they grow, in scent and hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fairest children of the hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathe thine influence most divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On thine own child, Proserpine.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Shelley.</span></p> + + +<p>The story of Persephone—of Proserpine—is a story of +spring. When the sun is warming the bare brown earth, +and the pale primroses look up through the snowy blackthorns +at a kind, blue sky, almost can we hear the soft +wind murmur a name as it gently sways the daffodils +and breathes through the honey sweetness of the gold-powdered +catkins on the grey willows by the river—“Persephone! +Persephone!”</p> + +<p>Now once there was a time when there was no spring, +neither summer nor autumn, nor chilly winter with +its black frosts and cruel gales and brief, dark days. +Always was there sunshine and warmth, ever were there +flowers and corn and fruit, and nowhere did the flowers +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +grow with more dazzling colours and more fragrant perfume +than in the fair garden of Sicily.</p> + +<p>To Demeter, the Earth Mother, was born a daughter +more fair than any flower that grew, and ever more dear +to her became her child, the lovely Proserpine. By the +blue sea, in the Sicilian meadows, Proserpine and the fair +nymphs who were her companions spent their happy days. +Too short were the days for all their joy, and Demeter +made the earth yet fairer than it was that she might +bring more gladness to her daughter Proserpine. Each +day the blossoms that the nymphs twined into garlands +grew more perfect in form and in hue, but from the +anemones of royal purple and crimson, and the riotous +red of geraniums, Proserpine turned one morning with +a cry of gladness, for there stood before her beside +a little stream, on one erect, slim stem, a wonderful +narcissus, with a hundred blossoms. Her eager hand +was stretched out to pluck it, when a sudden black cloud +overshadowed the land, and the nymphs, with shrieks of +fear, fled swiftly away. And as the cloud descended, +there was heard a terrible sound, as of the rushing of +many waters or the roll of the heavy wheels of the +chariot of one who comes to slay. Then was the earth +cleft open, and from it there arose the four coal-black +horses of Pluto, neighing aloud in their eagerness, while +the dark-browed god urged them on, standing erect in his +car of gold.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘The coal-black horses rise—they rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O mother, mother!’ low she cries—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Persephone—Persephone!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +<span class="i0">‘O light, light, light!’ she cries, ‘farewell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The coal-black horses wait for me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O shade of shades, where I must dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Demeter, mother, far from thee!’”<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>In cold, strong arms Pluto seized her—in that mighty +grasp that will not be denied, and Proserpine wept +childish tears as she shivered at his icy touch, and +sobbed because she had dropped the flowers she had +picked, and had never picked the flower she most desired. +While still she saw the fair light of day, the little +oddly-shaped rocky hills, the vineyards and olive groves +and flowery meadows of Sicily, she did not lose hope. +Surely the King of Terrors could not steal one so young, +so happy, and so fair. She had only tasted the joy of +living, and fain she would drink deeper in the coming +years. Her mother must surely save her—her mother +who had never yet failed her—her mother, and the gods.</p> + +<p>But ruthless as the mower whose scythe cuts down +the seeded grass and the half-opened flower and lays +them in swathes on the meadow, Pluto drove on. His +iron-coloured reins were loose on the black manes of his +horses, and he urged them forward by name till the +froth flew from their mouths like the foam that the +furious surf of the sea drives before it in a storm. Across +the bay and along the bank of the river Anapus they +galloped, until, at the river head, they came to the pool +of Cyane. He smote the water with his trident, and +downward into the blackness of darkness his horses +passed, and Proserpine knew no more the pleasant +light of day.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +<span class="i0">“What ails her that she comes not home?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Demeter seeks her far and wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gloomy-browed doth ceaseless roam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From many a morn till eventide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘My life, immortal though it be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is nought,’ she cries, ‘for want of thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Persephone—Persephone!’”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>So, to the great Earth Mother came the pangs that +have drawn tears of blood from many a mortal mother’s +heart for a child borne off to the Shades.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘My life is nought for want of thee,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Persephone! Persephone!’” ...<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The cry is borne down through the ages, to echo and re-echo +so long as mothers love and Death is still unchained.</p> + +<p>Over land and sea, from where Dawn, the rosy-fingered, +rises in the East, to where Apollo cools the +fiery wheels of his chariot in the waters of far western +seas, the goddess sought her daughter. With a black +robe over her head and carrying a flaming torch in either +hand, for nine dreary days she sought her loved one. +And yet, for nine more weary days and nine sleepless +nights the goddess, racked by human sorrow, sat in +hopeless misery. The hot sun beat upon her by day. +By night the silver rays from Diana’s car smote her more +gently, and the dew drenched her hair and her black +garments and mingled with the saltness of her bitter +tears. At the grey dawning of the tenth day her elder +daughter, Hecate, stood beside her. Queen of ghosts and +shades was she, and to her all dark places of the earth +were known.</p> + +<p>“Let us go to the Sun God,” said Hecate. “Surely +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +he hath seen the god who stole away the little Proserpine. +Soon his chariot will drive across the heavens. +Come, let us ask him to guide us to the place where she +is hidden.”</p> + +<p>Thus did they come to the chariot of the glorious +Apollo, and standing by the heads of his horses like +two grey clouds that bar the passage of the sun, they +begged him to tell them the name of him who had stolen +fair Proserpine.</p> + +<p>“No less a thief was he,” said Apollo, “than Pluto, +King of Darkness and robber of Life itself. Mourn +not, Demeter. Thy daughter is safe in his keeping. +The little nymph who played in the meadows is now +Queen of the Shades. Nor does Pluto love her vainly. +She is now in love with Death.”</p> + +<p>No comfort did the words of the Sun God bring to +the longing soul of Demeter. And her wounded heart +grew bitter. Because she suffered, others must suffer +as well. Because she mourned, all the world must +mourn. The fragrant flowers spoke to her only of +Persephone, the purple grapes reminded her of a vintage +when the white fingers of her child had plucked the +fruit. The waving golden grain told her that Persephone +was as an ear of wheat that is reaped before its time.</p> + +<p>Then upon the earth did there come dearth and +drought and barrenness.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The wheat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was blighted in the ear, the purple grapes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blushed no more on the vines, and all the gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were sorrowful ...”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lewis Morris.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +Gods and men alike suffered from the sorrow of +Demeter. To her, in pity for the barren earth, Zeus +sent an embassy, but in vain it came. Merciless was the +great Earth Mother, who had been robbed of what she +held most dear.</p> + +<p>“Give me back my child!” she said. “Gladly I +watch the sufferings of men, for no sorrow is as my +sorrow. Give me back my child, and the earth shall +grow fertile once more.”</p> + +<p>Unwillingly Zeus granted the request of Demeter.</p> + +<p>“She shall come back,” he said at last, “and with +thee dwell on earth forever. Yet only on one condition +do I grant thy fond request. Persephone must eat no +food through all the time of her sojourn in the realm +of Pluto, else must thy beseeching be all in vain.”</p> + +<p>Then did Demeter gladly leave Olympus and hasten +down to the darkness of the shadowy land that once +again she might hold, in her strong mother’s arms, her +who had once been her little clinging child.</p> + +<p>But in the dark kingdom of Pluto a strange thing +had happened. No longer had the pale-faced god, with +dark locks, and eyes like the sunless pools of a mountain +stream, any terrors for Proserpine. He was strong, +and cruel had she thought him, yet now she knew that +the touch of his strong, cold hands was a touch of infinite +tenderness. When, knowing the fiat of the ruler +of Olympus, Pluto gave to his stolen bride a pomegranate, +red in heart as the heart of a man, she had +taken it from his hand, and, because he willed it, had eaten +of the sweet seeds. Then, in truth, it was too late for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +Demeter to save her child. She “had eaten of Love’s +seed” and “changed into another.”</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“He takes the cleft pomegranate seeds:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘Love, eat with me this parting day;’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then bids them fetch the coal-black steeds—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘Demeter’s daughter, wouldst away?’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gates of Hades set her free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘She will return full soon,’ saith he—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘My wife, my wife Persephone.’”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Ingelow.</span></p> + +<p>Dark, dark was the kingdom of Pluto. Its rivers +never mirrored a sunbeam, and ever moaned low as an +earthly river moans before a coming flood, and the feet +that trod the gloomy Cocytus valley were the feet of +those who never again would tread on the soft grass and +flowers of an earthly meadow. Yet when Demeter had +braved all the shadows of Hades, only in part was her +end accomplished. In part only was Proserpine now +her child, for while half her heart was in the sunshine, +rejoicing in the beauties of earth, the other half was +with the god who had taken her down to the Land of +Darkness and there had won her for his own. Back to +the flowery island of Sicily her mother brought her, and +the peach trees and the almonds blossomed snowily +as she passed. The olives decked themselves with their +soft grey leaves, the corn sprang up, green and lush and +strong. The lemon and orange groves grew golden with +luscious fruit, and all the land was carpeted with flowers. +For six months of the year she stayed, and gods and +men rejoiced at the bringing back of Proserpine. For +six months she left her green and pleasant land for the +dark kingdom of him whom she loved, and through +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +those months the trees were bare, and the earth chill +and brown, and under the earth the flowers hid themselves +in fear and awaited the return of the fair daughter +of Demeter.</p> + +<p>And evermore has she come and gone, and seedtime +and harvest have never failed, and the cold, sleeping +world has awaked and rejoiced, and heralded with +the song of birds, and the bursting of green buds and +the blooming of flowers, the resurrection from the dead—the +coming of spring.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Time calls, and Change<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Commands both men and gods, and speeds us on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know not whither; but the old earth smiles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spring after spring, and the seed bursts again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of its prison mould, and the dead lives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Renew themselves, and rise aloft and soar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And are transformed, clothing themselves with change,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the last change be done.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lewis Morris.</span></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Jean Ingelow.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> +<h2>LATONA AND THE RUSTICS</h2> + + +<p>Through the tropic nights their sonorous, bell-like +booming can be heard coming up from the marshes, and +when they are unseen, the song of the bull-frogs would +suggest creatures full of solemn dignity. The croak of +their lesser brethren is less impressive, yet there is no +escape from it on those evenings when the dragon-flies’ +iridescent wings are folded in sleep, and the birds in the +branches are still, when the lilies on the pond have +closed their golden hearts, and even the late-feeding +trout have ceased to plop and to make eddies in the +quiet water. “Krroak! krroak! krroak!” they go—“krroak! +krroak! krroak!”</p> + +<p>It is unceasing, unending. It goes on like the whirr +of the wheels of a great clock that can never run down—a +melancholy complaint against the hardships of destiny—a +raucous protest against things as they are.</p> + +<p>This is the story of the frogs that have helped to +point the gibes of Aristophanes, the morals of Æsop, and +which have always been, more or less, regarded as the +low comedians of the animal world.</p> + +<p>Latona, or Leto, was the goddess of dark nights, +and upon her the mighty Zeus bestowed the doubtful +favour of his errant love. Great was the wrath of Hera, +his queen, when she found that she was no longer the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +dearest wife of her omnipotent lord, and with furious +upbraidings she banished her rival to earth. And when +Latona had reached the place of her exile she found that +the vengeful goddess had sworn that she would place her +everlasting ban upon anyone, mortal or immortal, who +dared to show any kindness or pity to her whose only +fault had been that Zeus loved her. From place to place +she wandered, an outcast even among men, until, at +length, she came to Lycia.</p> + +<p>One evening, as the darkness of which she was goddess +had just begun to fall, she reached a green and pleasant +valley. The soft, cool grass was a delight to her tired +feet, and when she saw the silvery gleam of water she +rejoiced, for her throat was parched and her lips dry and +she was very weary. By the side of this still pond, +where the lilies floated, there grew lithe grey willows and +fresh green osiers, and these were being cut by a crowd of +chattering rustics.</p> + +<p>Humbly, for many a rude word and harsh rebuff had +the dictum of Hera brought her during her wanderings, +Latona went to the edge of the pond, and, kneeling +down, was most thankfully about to drink, when the +peasants espied her. Roughly and rudely they told +her to begone, nor dare to drink unbidden of the clear +water beside which their willows grew. Very pitifully +Latona looked up in their churlish faces, and her eyes +were as the eyes of a doe that the hunters have pressed +very hard.</p> + +<p>“Surely, good people,” she said, and her voice was +sad and low, “water is free to all. Very far have I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +travelled, and I am aweary almost to death. Only grant +that I dip my lips in the water for one deep draught. +Of thy pity grant me this boon, for I perish of thirst.”</p> + +<p>Harsh and coarse were the mocking voices that made +answer. Coarser still were the jests that they made. +Then one, bolder than his fellows, spurned her kneeling +figure with his foot, while another brushed before her +and stepping into the pond, defiled its clarity by churning +up the mud that lay below with his great splay +feet.</p> + +<p>Loudly the peasants laughed at this merry jest, and +they quickly followed his lead, as brainless sheep will +follow the one that scrambles through a gap. Soon they +were all joyously stamping and dancing in what had +so lately been a pellucid pool. The water-lilies and +blue forget-me-nots were trodden down, the fish that +had their homes under the mossy stones in terror fled +away. Only the mud came up, filthy, defiling, and the +rustics laughed in loud and foolish laughter to see the +havoc they had wrought.</p> + +<p>The goddess Latona rose from her knees. No +longer did she seem a mere woman, very weary, hungry +and athirst, travelled over far. In their surprised eyes +she grew to a stature that was as that of the deathless +gods. And her eyes were dark as an angry sea at even.</p> + +<p>“Shameless ones!” she said, in a voice as the +voice of a storm that sweeps destroyingly over forest and +mountain. “Ah! shameless ones! Is it thus that +thou wouldst defy one who has dwelt on Olympus? +Behold from henceforth shalt thou have thy dwelling +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +in the mud of the green-scummed pools, thy homes in +the water that thy flat feet have defiled.”</p> + +<p>As she spoke, a change, strange and terrible, passed +over the forms of the trampling peasants. Their stature +shrank. They grew squat and fat. Their hands and +feet were webbed, and their grinning mouths became +great, sad, gaping openings by which to swallow worms +and flies. Green and yellow and brown were their skins, +and when they would fain have cried aloud for mercy, +from their throats there would come only the “<em>Krroak! +krroak! krroak!</em>” that we know so well.</p> + +<p>And when, that night, the goddess of darkness was +wrapped in peace in the black, silver star bespangled +robe that none could take from her, there arose from the +pond over which the grey willows hung, weeping, the +clamour of a great lamentation. Yet no piteous words +were there, only the incessant, harsh complaint of the +frogs that we hear in the marshes.</p> + +<p>From that time the world went well with Latona. +Down to the seashore she came, and when she held +out her arms in longing appeal to the Ægean islands +that lay like purple flowers strewn, far apart, on a +soft carpet of limpid blue, Zeus heard her prayer. He +asked Poseidon to send a dolphin to carry the woman +he loved to the floating island of Delos, and when she +had been borne there in safety, he chained the island +with chains of adamant to the golden-sanded floor of +the sea.</p> + +<p>And on this sanctuary there were born to Latona +twin children, thereafter to be amongst the most famed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +of the deathless gods—the god and goddess, Apollo and +Diana.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“... Those hinds that were transformed to frogs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Railed at Latona’s twin-born progeny,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which after held the sun and moon in fee.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></p> + +<p>Yet are there times, as we look at the squat, bronze +bodies of the frogs—green-bronze, dark brown spotted, +and all flecked with gold, the turned-down corners of +their wistful mouths, their very exquisite black velvety +eyes with golden rims—when the piteous croaks that +come forth from their throats of pale daffodil colour do +indeed awake a sympathy with their appeal against the +inexorable decrees of destiny.</p> + +<p>“We did not know! We did not understand! Pity +us! Ah, pity us! <em>Krroak! krroak! krroak!</em>”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<h2>ECHO AND NARCISSUS</h2> + + +<p>In the solitudes of the hills we find her, and yet we may +come on her unawares in the din of a noisy city. She +will answer us where the waves are lashing themselves +against the rugged cliffs of our own British coast, or we +may find her where the great yellow pillars of fallen +temples lie hot in the sun close to the vivid blue water +of the African sea. At nightfall, on the lonely northern +moors, she mimics the cry of a wailing bird that calls for +its mate, but it is she who prolongs the roll of the great +organ in a vast cathedral, she who repeats the rattle +and crack and boom of the guns, no matter in what +land the war may be raging. In the desolate Australian +bush she makes the crash of the falling limb of a dead +gum tree go on and on, and tortures the human being +who is lost, hopelessly lost, and facing a cruel death, by +repeating his despairing calls for help. Through the +night, in old country-houses, she sports at will and gives +new life to sad old tales of the restless dead who restlessly +walk. But she echoes the children’s voices as they +play by the seashore or pick primroses in the woods in +spring, and when they greet her with laughter, she +laughs in merry response. They may fear her when +the sun has gone down, and when they are left all alone +they begin to dread her mockery. Yet the nymph who +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +sought for love and failed to gain what she sought +must surely find some comfort on those bright days of +summer and of spring when she gives the little children +happiness and they give her their love.</p> + +<p>When all the world was young, and nymphs and +fauns and dryads dwelt in the forests, there was no +nymph more lovely and more gay than she whose +name was Echo. Diana would smile on her for her +fleetness of foot when she followed her in the chase, +and those whom she met in the leafy pathways of the +dim, green woods, would pass on smiling at the remembrance +of her merry chatter and her tricksy humour.</p> + +<p>It was an evil day for Echo when she crossed the path +of Hera, queen of the gods. The jealous goddess sought +her errant husband, who was amusing himself with some +nymphs, and Echo, full of mischievous glee, kept her in +talk until the nymphs had fled to safety. Hera was +furious indeed when she found out that a frolicsome +nymph had dared to play on her such a trick, and ruthlessly +she spoke fair Echo’s doom.</p> + +<p>“Henceforth,” she said, “the tongue with which +thou hast cheated me shall be in bonds. No longer +wilt thou have the power to speak in greeting. To the +tongues of others shall thy tongue be slave, and from +this day until time shall cease thou shalt speak only to +repeat the last words that have fallen on thine ears.”</p> + +<p>A maimed nymph indeed was Echo then, yet whole +in all that matters most, in that her merry heart was +still her own. But only for a little while did this endure.</p> + +<p>Narcissus, the beautiful son of a nymph and a river +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +god, was hunting in a lonely forest one day when Echo +saw him pass. To her he seemed more fair than god or +man, and once she had seen him she knew that she must +gain his love or die. From that day on, she haunted +him like his shadow, gliding from tree to tree, nestling +down amongst thick fern and undergrowth, motionless +as one who stalks a wild thing, watching him afar off +while he rested, gladdening her eyes with his beauty. +So did she feed her hungering heart, and sought to find +contentment by looking on his face each day.</p> + +<p>To her at length came a perfect moment when Narcissus +was separated from his companions in the chase +and, stopping suddenly where the evening sun chequered +the pathway of the forest with black and gold, heard the +nymph’s soft footfall on the rustling leaves.</p> + +<p>“Who’s here?” he called.</p> + +<p>“<em>Here!</em>” answered Echo.</p> + +<p>Narcissus, peering amongst the trees’ long shadows +and seeing no one, called “Come!”</p> + +<p>And “<em>Come!</em>” called the glad voice of Echo, while +the nymph, with fast-beating heart, felt that her day of +happiness had come indeed.</p> + +<p>“Why do you shun me?” then called Narcissus.</p> + +<p>“<em>Why do you shun me?</em>” Echo repeated.</p> + +<p>“Let us join one another,” said the lad, and the +simple words seemed turned into song when Echo said +them over.</p> + +<p>“<em>Let us join one another!</em>” she said, and not Eos +herself, as with rosy fingers she turns aside the dark +clouds of night, could be fairer than was the nymph as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +she pushed aside the leaves of the trackless wood, and +ran forward with white arms outstretched to him who +was lord of her life.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 276px;"> +<a name="ECHO" id="ECHO"></a> +<a href="images/abom14.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom14th.jpg" width="276" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">SHE HAUNTED HIM LIKE HIS SHADOW</span> +</div> + +<p>With cold eyes and colder heart the one she loved +beheld her.</p> + +<p>“Away!” he cried, shrinking back as if from something +that he hated. “<em>Away!</em> I would rather die than +that you should have me!”</p> + +<p>“<em>Have me!</em>” cried Echo pitifully, but she pled in +vain. Narcissus had no love to give her, and his scorn +filled her with shame. Thenceforth in the forest revels +she never more was seen, and the nymphs danced gaily +as ever, with never a care for her who had faded and gone +away as completely as though she were a blossom in +the passing of spring. In the solitude of mountain +cliffs and caves and rocky places, and in the loneliest +depths of the forest, Echo hid her grief, and when the +winds blew through the dark branches of the trees at +night, moaning and sighing, they could hear far below +them the voice of Echo repeating their lamentations. +For her, long nights followed hopeless days, and nights +and days only told her that her love was all in vain. +Then came a night when the winds no longer saw the +figure of the nymph, white and frail as a broken flower, +crouching close to the rocks they passed over. Grief +had slain the body of Echo. Only her voice was left +to repeat their mocking laughter, their wistful sighs—only +her voice that lives on still though all the old gods +are gone, and but few there are who know her story.</p> + +<p>Heartwhole and happy, Narcissus, slayer of happiness, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +went on his way, and other nymphs besides fair Echo +suffered from loving him in vain. One nymph, less +gentle than Echo, poured the tale of her love that was +scorned into the sympathetic ears of the goddess of Love, +and implored her to punish Narcissus.</p> + +<p>Hot and tired from the chase, Narcissus sought one +day a lonely pool in the woods, there to rest and to quench +his thirst.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“In some delicious ramble, he had found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little space, with boughs all woven round;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the midst of all, a clearer pool<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than e’er reflected in its pleasant cool<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>As he stooped down to drink, a face looked at his +through the crystal clear water, and a pair of beautiful +eyes met his own. His surprise and joy at the sight of +what he felt sure must be the most beautiful creature +on earth, was evidently shared by the nymph of the +pool, who gazed fearlessly up at him.</p> + +<p>Round her head she had a nimbus of curls than which +that of Adonis—nay, of the sun-god himself, was not +more perfect, while her eyes were like the brown pools +of water in a rippling mountain stream, flecked with +sunshine, yet with depths untold. When Narcissus +smiled at her in rapture, her red lips also parted in a +smile. He stretched out his arms towards her, and her +arms were stretched to him. Almost trembling in his +delight, he slowly stooped to kiss her. Nearer she drew +to him, nearer still, but when his mouth would have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +given itself to that other mouth that was formed like the +bow of Eros—a thing to slay hearts—only the chilly +water of the pool touched his lips, and the thing of his +delight vanished away. In passionate disappointment +Narcissus waited for her to return, and as soon as the +water of the pool grew still, once more he saw her exquisite +face gazing wistfully up into his. Passionately +he pled with the beautiful creature—spoke of his love—besought +her to have pity on him, but although the face +in the pool reflected his every look of adoration and of +longing, time and again he vainly tried to clasp in his +arms what was but the mirrored likeness of himself.</p> + +<p>In full measure had the avenging goddess meted out +to Narcissus the restless longing of unsatisfied love. +By day and by night he haunted the forest pool, and ere +long the face that looked back at his was pale as a lily +in the dawn. When the moonbeams came straying +down through the branches and all the night was still, +they found him kneeling by the pool, and the white face +that the water mirrored had the eyes of one of the things +of the woods to which a huntsman has given a mortal +wound. Mortally wounded he truly was, slain, like +many another since his day, by a hopeless love for what +was in truth but an image, and that an image of his own +creation. Even when his shade passed across the dark +Stygian river, it stooped over the side of the boat that +it might try to catch a glimpse of the beloved one in the +inky waters.</p> + +<p>Echo and the other nymphs were avenged, yet when +they looked on the beautiful dead Narcissus, they were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +filled with sorrow, and when they filled the air with +their lamentations, most piteously did the voice of Echo +repeat each mournful cry. Even the gods were pitiful, +and when the nymphs would have burned the body +on a funeral pyre which their own fair hands had built +for him, they sought it in vain. For the Olympians +had turned Narcissus into a white flower, the flower +that still bears his name and keeps his memory sweet.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">“A lonely flower he spied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A meek and forlorn flower, with naught of pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drooping its beauty o’er the watery clearness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To woo its own sad image into nearness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Keats.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + +<h2>ICARUS</h2> + + +<p>Fourteen years only have passed since our twentieth +century began. In those fourteen years how many a +father’s and mother’s heart has bled for the death of +gallant sons, greatly-promising, greatly-daring, who +have sought to rule the skies? With wings not well +enough tried, they have soared dauntlessly aloft, only +to add more names to the tragic list of those whose lives +have been sacrificed in order that the groping hands of +science may become sure, so that in time the sons of men +may sail through the heavens as fearlessly as their +fathers sailed through the seas.</p> + +<p>High overhead we watch the monoplane, the great, +swooping thing, like a monster black-winged bird, and +our minds travel back to the story of Icarus, who died +so many years ago that there are those who say that his +story is but a foolish fable, an idle myth.</p> + +<p>Dædalus, grandson of a king of Athens, was the +greatest artificer of his day. Not only as an architect +was he great, but as a sculptor he had the creative +power, not only to make men and women and animals +that looked alive, but to cause them to move and to be, +to all appearances, endowed with life. To him the +artificers who followed him owed the invention of the +axe, the wedge, the wimble, and the carpenter’s level, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +and his restless mind was ever busy with new inventions. +To his nephew, Talus, or Perdrix, he taught all that +he himself knew of all the mechanical arts. Soon it +seemed that the nephew, though he might not excel his +uncle, equalled Dædalus in his inventive power. As +he walked by the seashore, the lad picked up the spine +of a fish, and, having pondered its possibilities, he took +it home, imitated it in iron, and so invented the saw. +A still greater invention followed this. While those +who had always thought that there could be none greater +than Dædalus were still acclaiming the lad, there came +to him the idea of putting two pieces of iron together, +connecting them at one end with a rivet, and sharpening +both ends, and a pair of compasses was made. +Louder still were the acclamations of the people. Surely +greater than Dædalus was here. Too much was this +for the artist’s jealous spirit.</p> + +<p>One day they stood together on the top of the Acropolis, +and Dædalus, murder that comes from jealousy in +his heart, threw his nephew down. Down, down he fell, +knowing well that he was going to meet a cruel death, +but Pallas Athené, protectress of all clever craftsmen, +came to his rescue. By her Perdrix was turned into the +bird that still bears his name, and Dædalus beheld Perdrix, +the partridge, rapidly winging his way to the far-off +fields. Since then, no partridge has ever built or roosted +in a high place, but has nestled in the hedge-roots and +amongst the standing corn, and as we mark it we can +see that its flight is always low.</p> + +<p>For his crime Dædalus was banished from Athens, +and in the court of Minos, king of Crete, he found +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +a refuge. He put all his mighty powers at the +service of Minos, and for him designed an intricate +labyrinth which, like the river Meander, had neither +beginning nor ending, but ever returned on itself in hopeless +intricacy. Soon he stood high in the favour of the +king, but, ever greedy for power, he incurred, by one of +his daring inventions, the wrath of Minos. The angry +monarch threw him into prison, and imprisoned along +with him his son, Icarus. But prison bars and +locks did not exist that were strong enough to +baffle this master craftsman, and from the tower in +which they were shut, Dædalus and his son were not +long in making their escape. To escape from Crete +was a less easy matter. There were many places in +that wild island where it was easy for the father and +son to hide, but the subjects of Minos were mostly +mariners, and Dædalus knew well that all along the shore +they kept watch lest he should make him a boat, hoist +on it one of the sails of which he was part inventor, and +speed away to safety like a sea-bird driven before the +gale. Then did there come to Dædalus, the pioneer +of inventions, the great idea that by his skill he might +make a way for himself and his son through another +element than water. And he laughed aloud in his +hiding place amongst the cypresses on the hillside at +the thought of how he would baffle the simple sailormen +who watched each creek and beach down on the shore. +Mockingly, too, did he think of King Minos, who had +dared to pit his power against the wits and skill of +Dædalus, the mighty craftsman.</p> + +<p>Many a Cretan bird was sacrificed before the task +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +which the inventor had set himself was accomplished. +In a shady forest on the mountains he fashioned light +wooden frames and decked them with feathers, until at +length they looked like the pinions of a great eagle, or of +a swan that flaps its majestic way from lake to river. +Each feather was bound on with wax, and the mechanism +of the wings was so perfect a reproduction of that of the +wings from which the feathers had been plucked, that on +the first day that he fastened them to his back and spread +them out, Dædalus found that he could fly even as the +bird flew. Two pairs he made; having tested one pair, a +second pair was made for Icarus, and, circling round him +like a mother bird that teaches her nestlings how to +fly, Dædalus, his heart big with the pride of invention, +showed Icarus how he might best soar upwards to the +sun or dive down to the blue sea far below, and how he +might conquer the winds and the air currents of the sky +and make them his servants.</p> + +<p>That was a joyous day for father and son, for the +father had never before drunk deeper of the intoxicating +wine of the gods—Success—and for the lad it was all +pure joy. Never before had he known freedom and +power so utterly glorious. As a little child he had +watched the birds fly far away over the blue hills to +where the sun was setting, and had longed for wings +that he might follow them in their flight. At times, +in his dreams, he had known the power, and in his +dreaming fancy had risen from the cumbering earth +and soared high above the trees and fields on strong +pinions that bore him away to the fair land of heart’s +desire—to the Islands of the Blessed. But when Sleep +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +left him and the dreams silently slipped out before the +coming of the light of day, and the boy sprang from +his couch and eagerly spread his arms as, in his dreams, +he had done, he could no longer fly. Disappointment +and unsatisfied longing ever came with his waking hours. +Now all that had come to an end, and Dædalus was +glad and proud as well to watch his son’s joy and his fearless +daring. One word of counsel only did he give him.</p> + +<p>“Beware, dear son of my heart,” he said, “lest in +thy new-found power thou seekest to soar even to the +gates of Olympus. For as surely as the scorching rays +from the burnished wheels of the chariot of Apollo +smite thy wings, the wax that binds on thy feathers +will melt, and then will come upon thee and on me woe +unutterable.”</p> + +<p>In his dreams that night Icarus flew, and when he +awoke, fearing to find only the haunting remembrance +of a dream, he found his father standing by the side of +his bed of soft leaves under the shadowy cypresses, +ready to bind on his willing shoulders the great pinions +that he had made.</p> + +<p>Gentle Dawn, the rosy-fingered, was slowly making +her way up from the East when Dædalus and Icarus +began their flight. Slowly they went at first, and the +goat-herds who tended their flocks on the slopes of +Mount Ida looked up in fear when they saw the +dark shadows of their wings and marked the monster +birds making their way out to sea. From the river +beds the waterfowl arose from the reeds, and with great +outcry flew with all their swiftness to escape them. +And down by the seashore the mariners’ hearts sank +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +within them as they watched, believing that a sight so +strange must be a portent of disaster. Homewards they +went in haste to offer sacrifices on the altars of Poseidon, +ruler of the deep.</p> + +<p>Samos and Delos were passed on the left and +Lebynthos on the right, long ere the sun-god had +started on his daily course, and as the mighty wings +of Icarus cleft the cold air, the boy’s slim body grew +chilled, and he longed for the sun’s rays to turn the +waters of the Ægean Sea over which he flew from green-grey +into limpid sapphire and emerald and burning gold. +Towards Sicily he and his father bent their course, and +when they saw the beautiful island afar off lying like +a gem in the sea, Apollo made the waves in which it lay, +for it a fitting setting. With a cry of joy Icarus marked +the sun’s rays paint the chill water, and Apollo looked +down at the great white-winged bird, a snowy swan +with the face and form of a beautiful boy, who sped +exulting onwards, while a clumsier thing, with wings of +darker hue, followed less quickly, in the same line of +flight. As the god looked, the warmth that radiated +from his chariot touched the icy limbs of Icarus as with +the caressing touch of gentle, life-giving hands. Not +long before, his flight had lagged a little, but now it +seemed as if new life was his. Like a bird that wheels +and soars and dives as if for lightness of heart, so did +Icarus, until each feather of his plumage had a sheen of +silver and of gold. Down, down, he darted, so near +the water that almost the white-tipped waves caught +at his wings as he skimmed over them. Then up, up, +up he soared, ever higher, higher still, and when he saw +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +the radiant sun-god smiling down on him, the warning +of Dædalus was forgotten. As he had excelled other +lads in foot races, now did Icarus wish to excel the +birds themselves. Dædalus he left far behind, and still +upwards he mounted. So strong he felt, so fearless +was he, that to him it seemed that he could storm +Olympus, that he could call to Apollo as he swept past +him in his flight, and dare him to race for a wager from +the Ægean Sea to where the sun-god’s horses took their +nightly rest by the trackless seas of the unknown West.</p> + +<p>In terror his father watched him, and as he called +to him in a voice of anguished warning that was drowned +by the whistling rush of the air currents through the +wings of Icarus and the moist whisper of the clouds as +through them he cleft a way for himself, there befell +the dreaded thing. It seemed as though the strong +wings had begun to lose their power. Like a wounded +bird Icarus fluttered, lunged sidewise from the straight, +clean line of his flight, recovered himself, and fluttered +again. And then, like the bird into whose soft breast +the sure hand of a mighty archer has driven an arrow, +downwards he fell, turning over and yet turning again, +downwards, ever downwards, until he fell with a plunge +into the sea that still was radiant in shining emerald and +translucent blue.</p> + +<p>Then did the car of Apollo drive on. His rays had +slain one who was too greatly daring, and now they +fondled the little white feathers that had fallen from +the broken wings and floated on the water like the +petals of a torn flower.</p> + +<p>On the dead, still face of Icarus they shone, and they +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +spangled as if with diamonds the wet plumage that still, +widespread, bore him up on the waves.</p> + +<p>Stricken at heart was Dædalus, but there was no +time to lament his son’s untimely end, for even now +the black-prowed ships of Minos might be in pursuit. +Onward he flew to safety, and in Sicily built a temple to +Apollo, and there hung up his wings as a propitiatory +offering to the god who had slain his son.</p> + +<p>And when grey night came down on that part of the +sea that bears the name of Icarus to this day, still there +floated the body of the boy whose dreams had come +true. For only a little while had he known the exquisite +realisation of dreamed-of potentialities, for only +a few hours tasted the sweetness of perfect pleasure, +and then, by an over-daring flight, had lost it all for ever.</p> + +<p>The sorrowing Nereids sang a dirge over him as he +was swayed gently hither and thither by the tide, and +when the silver stars came out from the dark firmament +of heaven and were reflected in the blackness of +the sea at night, it was as though a velvet pall, silver-decked +in his honour, was spread around the slim white +body with its outstretched snowy wings.</p> + +<p>So much had he dared—so little accomplished.</p> + +<p>Is it not the oft-told tale of those who have followed +Icarus? Yet who can say that gallant youth has lived +in vain when, as Icarus did, he has breasted the very skies, +has flown with fearless heart and soul to the provinces of +the deathless gods?—when, even for the space of a few +of the heart-beats of Time, he has tasted supreme power—the +ecstasy of illimitable happiness?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CLYTIE</h2> + + +<p>The sunbeams are basking on the high walls of the old +garden—smiling on the fruit that grows red and golden +in their warmth. The bees are humming round the +bed of purple heliotrope, and drowsily murmuring in +the shelter of the soft petals of the blush roses whose +sweetness brings back the fragrance of days that are +gone. On the old grey sundial the white-winged pigeons +sleepily croon as they preen their snowy plumage, and +the Madonna lilies hang their heads like a procession +of white-robed nuns who dare not look up from telling +their beads until the triumphal procession of an all-conquering +warrior has gone by. What can they think of +that long line of tall yellow flowers by the garden wall, +who turn their faces sunwards with an arrogant assurance, +and give stare for stare to golden-haired Apollo as +he drives his blazing car triumphant through the high +heavens?</p> + +<p>“Sunflowers” is the name by which we know +those flamboyant blossoms which somehow fail so +wholly to suggest the story of Clytie, the nymph whose +destruction came from a faithful, unrequited love. +She was a water-nymph, a timid, gentle being who frequented +lonely streams, and bathed where the blue dragon-flies +dart across the white water-lilies in pellucid lakes. +In the shade of the tall poplar trees and the silvery +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +willows she took her midday rest, and feared the hours +when the flowers drooped their heads and the rippling +water lost its coolness before the fierce glare of the sun.</p> + +<p>But there came a day when, into the dark pool +by which she sat, Apollo the Conqueror looked down +and mirrored his face. And nevermore did she hide +from the golden-haired god who, from the moment +when she had seen in the water the picture of his radiant +beauty, became the lord and master of her heart and +soul. All night she awaited his coming, and the Dawn +saw her looking eastward for the first golden gleams +from the wheels of his chariot. All day she followed +him with her longing gaze, nor did she ever cease to +feast her eyes upon his beauty until the last reflection of +his radiance had faded from the western sky.</p> + +<p>Such devotion might have touched the heart of the +sun-god, but he had no wish to own a love for which he +had not sought. The nymph’s adoration irked him, nor +did pity come as Love’s pale substitute when he marked +how, day by day, her face grew whiter and more white, +and her lovely form wasted away. For nine days, +without food or drink, she kept her shamed vigil. Only +one word of love did she crave. Unexacting in the +humility of her devotion, she would gratefully have +nourished her hungry heart upon one kindly glance. +But Apollo, full of scorn and anger, lashed up his fiery +steeds as he each day drove past her, nor deigned for her +a glance more gentle than that which he threw on the +satyrs as they hid in the dense green foliage of the +shadowy woods.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +Half-mocking, Diana said, “In truth the fair nymph +who throws her heart’s treasures at the feet of my +golden-locked brother that he may trample on them, is +coming to look like a faded flower!” And, as she spoke, +the hearts of the other immortal dwellers in Olympus +were stirred with pity.</p> + +<p>“A flower she shall be!” they said, “and for all +time shall she live, in life that is renewed each year when +the earth stirs with the quickening of spring. The long +summer days shall she spend forever in fearless worship +of the god of her love!”</p> + +<p>And, as they willed, the nymph passed out of her +human form, and took the form of a flower, and evermore—the +emblem of constancy—does she gaze with +fearless ardour on the face of her love.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The heart that has truly loved never forgets,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But as truly loves on to the close;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The same look that she turned when he rose.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Some there are who say that not into the bold-faced +sunflower did her metamorphosis take place, but into +that purple heliotrope that gives an exquisite offering +of fragrance to the sun-god when his warm rays touch +it. And in the old walled garden, while the bees +drowsily hum, and the white pigeons croon, and the +dashing sunflower gives Apollo gaze for gaze, and the +scent of the mignonette mingles with that of clove pinks +and blush roses, the fragrance of the heliotrope is, above +all, worthy incense to be offered upon his altar by the +devout lover of a god.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE CRANES OF IBYCUS</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With most miraculous organ.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Shakespeare.</span></p> + + +<p>Ibycus, the poet friend of Apollo, was a happy man as +he journeyed on foot through the country where the +wild flowers grew thick and the trees were laden with +blossom towards the city of Corinth. His tuneful voice +sang snatches of song of his own making, and ever and +again he would try how his words and music sounded on +his lyre. He was light of heart, because ever had he +thought of good, and not evil, and had always sung only +of great and noble deeds and of those things that helped +his fellow-men. And now he went to Corinth for the +great chariot-races, and for the great contest of musicians +where every true poet and musician in Greece was sure to +be found.</p> + +<p>It was the time of the return to earth of Adonis and +of Proserpine, and as he was reverently about to enter +the sacred grove of Poseidon, where the trees grew +thick, and saw, crowning the height before him, the +glittering towers of Corinth, he heard, overhead, the +harsh cries of some other returned exiles. Ibycus +smiled, as he looked up and beheld the great flock of +grey birds, with their long legs and strong, outstretched +wings, come back from their winter sojourn on the golden +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +sands of Egypt, to dance and beck and bow to each +other by the marshes of his homeland.</p> + +<p>“Welcome back, little brothers!” he cried. “May +you and I both meet with naught but kindness from the +people of this land!”</p> + +<p>And when the cranes again harshly cried, as if in +answer to his greeting, the poet walked gaily on, further +into the shadow of that dark wood out of which he was +never to pass as living man. Joyous, and fearing no +evil, he had been struck and cast to the ground by cruel +and murderous hands ere ever he knew that two robbers +were hidden in a narrow pass where the brushwood grew +thick. With all his strength he fought, but his arms +were those of a musician and not of a warrior, and very +soon he was overpowered by those who assailed him. +He cried in vain to gods and to men for help, and in his +final agony he heard once more the harsh voices of the +migratory birds and the rush of their speeding wings. +From the ground, where he bled to death, he looked up +to them.</p> + +<p>“Take up my cause, dear cranes!” he said, “since +no voice but yours answers my cry!”</p> + +<p>And the cranes screamed hoarsely and mournfully +as if in farewell, as they flapped their way towards +Corinth and left the poet lying dead.</p> + +<p>When his body was found, robbed and terribly +wounded, from all over Greece, where he was known +and loved, there uprose a great clamour of lamentation.</p> + +<p>“Is it thus I find you restored to me?” said he who +had expected him in Corinth as his honoured guest; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +“I who hoped to place the victor’s laurels on your head +when you triumphed in the temple of song!”</p> + +<p>And all those whom the loving personality of Ibycus +and the charm of his music had made his friends were +alert and eager to avenge so foul a murder. But none +knew how the wicked deed had come to pass—none, +save the cranes.</p> + +<p>Then came the day to which Ibycus had looked +forward with such joy, when thousands upon thousands +of his countrymen sat in the theatre at Cyprus and +watched a play that stirred their hearts within them.</p> + +<p>The theatre had for roof the blue vault of heaven; the +sun served for footlights and for the lights above +the heads of those who acted. The three Furies—the +Eumenides—with their hard and cruel faces and +snaky locks, and with blood dripping from their eyes, +were represented by actors so great that the hearts of +their beholders trembled within them. In their dread +hands lay the punishment of murder, of inhospitality, +of ingratitude, and of all the cruellest and basest of +crimes. Theirs was the duty of hurrying the doomed +spirits entrusted to their merciless care over the Phlegethon, +the river of fire that flows round Hades, and +through the brazen gates that led to Torment, and their +robes were robes worn</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“With all the pomp of horror, dy’d in gore.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Virgil.</span></p> + +<p>In solemn cadence, while the thousands of beholders +watched and listened enthralled, the Furies walked +round the theatre and sang their song of terror:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +“Woe! woe! to him whose hands are soiled with +blood! The darkness shall not hide him, nor shall his +dread secret lie hidden even in the bowels of the earth! +He shall not seek by flight to escape us, for vengeance +is ours, and swifter than a hawk that strikes its quarry +shall we strike. Unwearying we pursue, nor are our +swift feet and our avenging arms made slow by pity. +Woe! woe! to the shedder of innocent blood, for nor +peace nor rest is his until we have hurried his tormented +soul down to torture that shall endure everlastingly!”</p> + +<p>As the listeners heard the dirge of doom, there were +none who did not think of Ibycus, the gentle-hearted +poet, so much beloved and so foully done to death, and +in the tensity of the moment when the voices ceased, a +great thrill passed over the multitudes as a voice, shrill +with amazed horror, burst from one of the uppermost +benches:</p> + +<p>“<em>See there! see there! behold, comrade, the cranes of +Ibycus!</em>”</p> + +<p>Every eye looked upwards, and, harshly crying, +there passed overhead the flock of cranes to whom the +poet had entrusted his dying message. Then, like an +electric shock, there came to all those who beheld the +knowledge that he who had cried aloud was the murderer +of Ibycus.</p> + +<p>“Seize him! seize him!” cried in unison the +voices of thousands. “Seize the man, and him to whom +he spoke!”</p> + +<p>Frantically the trembling wretch tried to deny his +words, but it was too late. The roar of the multitudes +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +was as that of an angry sea that hungers for its prey +and will not be denied. He who had spoken and him +to whom he spoke were seized by a score of eager +hands.</p> + +<p>In white-faced terror, because the Furies had hunted +them down, they made confession of their crime and +were put to death. And the flock of grey-plumaged, +rosy-headed cranes winged their way on to the marshes, +there to beck and bow to each other, and to dance in the +golden sunset, well content because their message was +delivered, and Ibycus, the poet-musician who had given +them welcome, was avenged.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<h2>SYRINX</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Is it because the wild-wood passion still lingers in our hearts, +because still in our minds the voice of Syrinx lingers in melancholy +music, the music of regret and longing, that for most of us there is +so potent a spell in running waters?”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod.</span></p> + + +<p>As the evening shadows lengthen, and the night wind +softly steals through the trees, touching with restless +fingers the still waters of the little lochans that would +fain have rest, there can be heard a long, long whisper, +like a sigh. There is no softer, sadder note to be heard +in all Pan’s great orchestra, nor can one marvel that it +should be so, for the whisper comes from the reeds who +gently sway their heads while the wind passes over them +as they grow by lonely lake or river.</p> + +<p>This is the story of Syrinx, the reed, as Ovid has told +it to us.</p> + +<p>In Arcadia there dwelt a nymph whose name was +Syrinx. So fair she was that for her dear sake fauns +and satyrs forgot to gambol, and sat in the green woods +in thoughtful stillness, that they might see her as she +passed. But for none of them had Syrinx a word of +kindness. She had no wish for love.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“But as for Love, truly I know him not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have passionately turned my lips therefrom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from that fate the careless gods allot.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lady Margaret Sackville.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +To one only of the gods did she give her loyal allegiance. +She worshipped Diana, and with her followed +the chase. As she lightly sped through the forest she +might have been Diana herself, and there were those +who said they would not know nymph from goddess, +but that the goddess carried a silver bow, while that of +Syrinx was made of horn. Fearless, and without a care +or sorrow, Syrinx passed her happy days. Not for all +the gold of Midas would she have changed places with +those love-lorn nymphs who sighed their hearts out for +love of a god or of a man. Heartwhole, fancy free, gay +and happy and lithe and strong, as a young boy whose +joy it is to run and to excel in the chase, was Syrinx, +whose white arms against the greenwood trees dazzled +the eyes of the watching fauns when she drew back her +bow to speed an arrow at the stag she had hunted since +early dawn. Each morning that she awoke was the +morning of a day of joy; each night that she lay down +to rest, it was to sleep as a child who smiles in his sleep +at the remembrance of a perfect day.</p> + +<p>But to Syrinx, who knew no fear, Fear came at last. +She was returning one evening from the shadowy hills, +untired by the chase that had lasted for many an hour, +when, face to face, she met with one whom hitherto she +had only seen from afar. Of him the other nymphs spoke +often. Who was so great as Pan?—Pan, who ruled the +woods. None could stand against Pan. Those who defied +him must ever come under his power in the end. He +was Fear; he was Youth; he was Joy; he was Love; he +was Beast; he was Power; he was Man; he was God. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +He was Life itself. So did they talk, and Syrinx listened +with a smile. Not Pan himself could bring Fear to her.</p> + +<p>Yet when he met her in the silent loneliness of a +great forest and stood in her path and gazed on her with +eyes of joyous amazement that one so fair should be in +his kingdom without his having had knowledge of it, +Syrinx felt something come to her heart that never +before had assailed it.</p> + +<p>Pan’s head was crowned with sharp pine-leaves. His +face was young and beautiful, and yet older than the +mountains and the seas. Sadness and joy were in his +eyes at the same time, and at the same moment there +looked out from them unutterable tenderness and merciless +cruelty. For only a little space of time did he stand +and hold her eyes with his own, and then in low caressing +voice he spoke, and his words were like the song of a +bird to his mate, like the call of the earth to the sun in +spring, like the lap of the waves when they tell the rocks +of their eternal longing. Of love he spoke, of love that +demanded love, and of the nymph’s most perfect beauty. +Yet as he spoke, the unknown thing came and smote +with icy hands the heart of Syrinx.</p> + +<p>“Ah! I have Fear! I have Fear!” she cried, and +more cruel grew the cruelty in the eyes of Pan, but his +words were still the words of passionate tenderness. +Like a bird that trembles, helpless, before the serpent +that would slay it, so did Syrinx the huntress stand, and +her face in the shade of the forest was like a white lily in +the night. But when the god would have drawn her +close to him and kissed her red lips, Fear leapt to Terror, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +and Terror winged her feet. Never in the chase with +Diana had she run as now she ran. But like a rushing +storm did Pan pursue her, and when he laughed she +knew that what the nymphs had said was true—he was +Power—he was Fear—he was Beast—he was Life itself. +The darkness of the forest swiftly grew more dark. The +climbing trails of ivy and the fragrant creeping plants +caught her flying feet and made her stumble. Branches +and twigs grew alive and snatched at her and baulked +her as she passed. Trees blocked her path. All Nature +had grown cruel, and everywhere there seemed to her +to be a murmur of mocking laughter, laughter from the +creatures of Pan, echoing the merciless merriment of +their lord and master. Nearer he came, ever nearer. +Almost she could feel his breath on her neck; but +even as he stretched out his arms to seize the nymph +whose breath came with sobs like that of a young +doe spent by the chase, they reached the brink of +the river Ladon. And to her “watery sisters” the +nymphs of the river, Syrinx breathed a desperate prayer +for pity and for help, then stumbled forward, a quarry +run to the death.</p> + +<p>With an exultant shout, Pan grasped her as she fell. +And lo, in his arms he held no exquisite body with +fiercely beating heart, but a clump of slender reeds. +Baffled he stood for a little space, and, as he stood, the +savagery of the beast faded from his eyes that were +fathomless as dark mountain tarns where the sun-rays +seldom come, and there came into them a man’s +unutterable woe. At the reeds by the river he gazed, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +and sighed a great sigh, the sigh that comes from the +heart of a god who thinks of the pain of the world. Like +a gentle zephyr the sigh breathed through the reeds, +and from the reeds there came a sound as of the sobbing +sorrow of the world’s desire. Then Pan drew his sharp +knife, and with it he cut seven of the reeds that grew +by the murmuring river.</p> + +<p>“Thus shalt thou still be mine, my Syrinx,” he said.</p> + +<p>Deftly he bound them together, cut them into unequal +lengths, and fashioned for himself an instrument, +that to this day is called the Syrinx, or Pan’s Pipes.</p> + +<p>So did the god make music.</p> + +<p>And all that night he sat by the swift-flowing river, +and the music from his pipe of reeds was so sweet and +yet so passing sad, that it seemed as though the very +heart of the earth itself were telling of its sadness. Thus +Syrinx still lives—still dies:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“A note of music by its own breath slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blown tenderly from the frail heart of a reed,”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>and as the evening light comes down on silent places +and the trembling shadows fall on the water, we can +hear her mournful whisper through the swaying reeds, +brown and silvery-golden, that grow by lonely lochan +and lake and river.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE DEATH OF ADONIS</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The fairest youth that ever maiden’s dream conceived.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lewis Morris.</span></p> + + +<p>The ideally beautiful woman, a subject throughout the +centuries for all the greatest powers of sculptor’s and +painter’s art, is Venus, or Aphrodite, goddess of beauty +and of love. And he who shares with her an unending +supremacy of perfection of form is not one of the gods, +her equals, but a mortal lad, who was the son of a king.</p> + +<p>As Aphrodite sported one day with Eros, the little god +of love, by accident she wounded herself with one of his +arrows. And straightway there came into her heart a +strange longing and an ache such as the mortal victims +of the bow of Eros knew well. While still the ache +remained, she heard, in a forest of Cyprus, the baying +of hounds and the shouts of those who urged them on in +the chase. For her the chase possessed no charms, and +she stood aside while the quarry burst through the +branches and thick undergrowth of the wood, and the +hounds followed in hot pursuit. But she drew her +breath sharply, and her eyes opened wide in amazed +gladness, when she looked on the perfect beauty of the +fleet-footed hunter, who was only a little less swift than +the shining spear that sped from his hand with the sureness +of a bolt from the hand of Zeus. And she knew +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +that this must be none other than Adonis, son of the +king of Paphos, of whose matchless beauty she had +heard not only the dwellers on earth, but the Olympians +themselves speak in wonder. While gods and men were +ready to pay homage to his marvellous loveliness, to +Adonis himself it counted for nothing. But in the +vigour of his perfect frame he rejoiced; in his fleetness +of foot, in the power of that arm that Michael Angelo +has modelled, in the quickness and sureness of his aim, +for the boy was a mighty hunter with a passion for the +chase.</p> + +<p>Aphrodite felt that her heart was no longer her own, +and knew that the wound that the arrow of Eros had +dealt would never heal until she knew that Adonis loved +her. No longer was she to be found by the Cytherian +shores or in those places once held by her most dear, +and the other gods smiled when they beheld her vying +with Diana in the chase and following Adonis as he +pursued the roe, the wolf, and the wild boar through the +dark forest and up the mountain side. The pride of the +goddess of love must often have hung its head. For +her love was a thing that Adonis could not understand. +He held her “Something better than his dog, a little +dearer than his horse,” and wondered at her whim to +follow his hounds through brake and marsh and lonely +forest. His reckless courage was her pride and her +torture. Because he was to her so infinitely dear, his +path seemed ever bestrewn with dangers. But when +she spoke to him with anxious warning and begged him +to beware of the fierce beasts that might one day turn +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +on him and bring him death, the boy laughed mockingly +and with scorn.</p> + +<p>There came at last a day when she asked him what +he did on the morrow, and Adonis told her with sparkling +eyes that had no heed for her beauty, that he had word +of a wild boar, larger, older, more fierce than any he +had ever slain, and which, before the chariot of Diana +next passed over the land of Cyprus, would be lying +dead with a spear-wound through it.</p> + +<p>With terrible foreboding, Aphrodite tried to dissuade +him from his venture.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“O, be advised: thou know’st not what it is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 20%;" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas, he naught esteems that face of thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To which love’s eyes pay tributary gazes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose full perfection all the world amazes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But having thee at vantage—wondrous dread!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Shakespeare.</span></p> + +<p>To all her warnings, Adonis would but give smiles. +Ill would it become him to slink abashed away before +the fierceness of an old monster of the woods, and, +laughing in the pride of a whole-hearted boy at a woman’s +idle fears, he sped homewards with his hounds.</p> + +<p>With the gnawing dread of a mortal woman in her +soul, Aphrodite spent the next hours. Early she sought +the forest that she might again plead with Adonis, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +maybe persuade him, for love of her, to give up the +perilous chase because she loved him so.</p> + +<p>But even as the rosy gates of the Dawn were opening, +Adonis had begun his hunt, and from afar off the goddess +could hear the baying of his hounds. Yet surely their +clamour was not that of hounds in full cry, nor was it the +triumphant noise that they so fiercely make as they pull +down their vanquished quarry, but rather was it baying, +mournful as that of the hounds of Hecate. Swift as a +great bird, Aphrodite reached the spot from whence +came the sound that made her tremble.</p> + +<p>Amidst the trampled brake, where many a hound lay +stiff and dead, while others, disembowelled by the tusks +of the boar, howled aloud in mortal agony, lay Adonis. +As he lay, he “knew the strange, slow chill which, +stealing, tells the young that it is death.”</p> + +<p>And as, <i>in extremis</i>, he thought of past things, manhood +came to Adonis and he knew something of the +meaning of the love of Aphrodite—a love stronger than +life, than time, than death itself. His hounds and his +spear seemed but playthings now. Only the eternities +remained—bright Life, and black-robed Death.</p> + +<p>Very still he lay, as though he slept; marble-white, +and beautiful as a statue wrought by the hand of a god. +But from the cruel wound in the white thigh, ripped +open by the boar’s profaning tusk, the red blood dripped, +in rhythmic flow, crimsoning the green moss under him. +With a moan of unutterable anguish, Aphrodite threw +herself beside him, and pillowed his dear head in her +tender arms. Then, for a little while, life’s embers +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +flickered up, his cold lips tried to form themselves into +a smile of understanding and held themselves up to hers. +And, while they kissed, the soul of Adonis passed away.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“A cruel, cruel wound on his thigh hath Adonis, but a deeper wound +in her heart doth Cytherea<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> bear. About him his dear hounds are +loudly baying, and the nymphs of the wild woods wail him; but +Aphrodite with unbound locks through the glades goes wandering—wretched, +with hair unbraided, with feet unsandalled, and the thorns as +she passes wound her and pluck the blossom of her sacred blood. +Shrill she wails as down the woodland she is borne.... And the rivers +bewail the sorrows of Aphrodite, and the wells are weeping Adonis on +the mountains. The flowers flush red for anguish, and Cytherea through +all the mountain-knees, through every dell doth utter piteous dirge:</p> + +<p>“‘<em>Woe, woe for Cytherea, he hath perished, the lovely Adonis!</em>’”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Bion.</span></p> + +<p>Passionately the god besought Zeus to give her back +her lost love, and when there was no answer to her +prayers, she cried in bitterness: “Yet shall I keep a +memorial of Adonis that shall be to all everlasting!” +And, as she spoke, her tears and his blood, mingling +together, were turned into flowers.</p> + +<p>“A tear the Paphian sheds for each blood-drop of +Adonis, and tears and blood on the earth are turned to +flowers. The blood brings forth the roses, the tears, the +wind-flower.”</p> + +<p>Yet, even then, the grief of Aphrodite knew no +abatement. And when Zeus, wearied with her crying, +heard her, to his amazement, beg to be allowed to go +down to the Shades that she might there endure eternal +twilight with the one of her heart, his soul was softened.</p> + +<p>“Never can it be that the Queen of Love and of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +Beauty leaves Olympus and the pleasant earth to tread +for evermore the dark Cocytus valley,” he said. “Nay, +rather shall I permit the beauteous youth of thy love to +return for half of each year from the Underworld that +thou and he may together know the joy of a love that +hath reached fruition.”</p> + +<p>Thus did it come to pass that when dark winter’s +gloom was past, Adonis returned to the earth and to the +arms of her who loved him.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“But even in death, so strong is love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could not wholly die; and year by year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the bright springtime comes, and the earth lives,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love opens these dread gates, and calls me forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the gulf. Not here, indeed, she comes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Being a goddess and in heaven, but smooths<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My path to the old earth, where still I know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more the sweet lost days, and once again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blossom on that soft breast, and am again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A youth, and rapt in love; and yet not all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As careless as of yore; but seem to know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The early spring of passion, tamed by time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And suffering, to a calmer, fuller flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less fitful, but more strong.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lewis Morris.</span></p> + +<p>And when the time of the singing of birds has come, +and the flowers have thrown off their white snow pall, +and the brown earth grows radiant in its adornments of +green blade and of fragrant blossom, we know that +Adonis has returned from his exile, and trace his footprints +by the fragile flower that is his very own, the +white flower with the golden heart, that trembles in the +wind as once the white hands of a grief-stricken goddess +shook for sorrow.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +“The flower of Death” is the name that the Chinese +give to the wind-flower—the wood-anemone. Yet surely +the flower that was born of tears and of blood tells us +of a life that is beyond the grave—of a love which is +unending.</p> + +<p>The cruel tusk of a rough, remorseless winter still +yearly slays the “lovely Adonis” and drives him down +to the Shades. Yet we know that Spring, with its +<i>Sursum Corda</i>, will return as long as the earth shall +endure; even as the sun must rise each day so long +as time shall last, to make</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Le ciel tout en fleur semble une immense rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Qu’un Adonis céleste a teinte de son sang.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">De Heredia.</span></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Aphrodite.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> +<h2>PAN</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“What was he doing, the great god Pan,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down in the reeds by the river?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spreading ruin and scattering ban,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breaking the golden lilies afloat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the dragon-fly on the river.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the deep cool bed of the river:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The limpid water turbidly ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the broken lilies a-dying lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dragon-fly had fled away,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere he brought it out of the river.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 20%;" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">‘This is the way,’ laughed the great god Pan<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Laughed while he sat by the river),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘The only way, since gods began<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make sweet music, they could succeed.’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He blew in power by the river.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Piercing sweet by the river!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun on the hill forgot to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came back to dream on the river.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To laugh as he sits by the river,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making a poet out of a man:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the reed which grows nevermore again<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As a reed with the reeds in the river.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">E. B. Browning.</span></p> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +Were we to take the whole of that immense construction +of fable that was once the religion of Greece, and treat it +as a vast play in which there were many thousands of +actors, we should find that one of these actors appeared +again and again. In one scene, then in another, in connection +with one character, then with another, unexpectedly +slipping out from the shadows of the trees from +the first act even to the last, we should see Pan—so young +and yet so old, so heedlessly gay, yet so infinitely sad.</p> + +<p>If, rather, we were to regard the mythology of +Greece as a colossal and wonderful piece of music, where +the thunders of Jupiter and the harsh hoof-beats of the +fierce black steeds of Pluto, the king whose coming none +can stay, made way for the limpid melodies of Orpheus +and the rustling whisper of the footfall of nymphs and +of fauns on the leaves, through it all we should have an +ever-recurring <i>motif</i>—the clear, magical fluting of the +pipes of Pan.</p> + +<p>We have the stories of Pan and of Echo, of Pan and +of Midas, of Pan and Syrinx, of Pan and Selene, of Pan and +Pitys, of Pan and Pomona. Pan it was who taught Apollo +how to make music. It was Pan who spoke what he +deemed to be comfort to the distraught Psyche; Pan who +gave Diana her hounds. The other gods had their own +special parts in the great play that at one time would +have Olympus for stage, at another the earth. Pan was +Nature incarnate. He was the Earth itself.</p> + +<p>Many are the stories of his genealogy, but the one +that is given in one of the Homeric hymns is that Hermes, +the swift-footed young god, wedded Dryope, the beautiful +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +daughter of a shepherd in Arcadia, and to them was +born, under the greenwood tree, the infant, Pan. When +Dryope first looked on her child, she was smitten with +horror, and fled away from him. The deserted baby +roared lustily, and when his father, Hermes, examined +him he found a rosy-cheeked thing with prick ears and +tiny horns that grew amongst his thick curls, and with +the dappled furry chest of a faun, while instead of +dimpled baby legs he had the strong, hairy hind legs of +a goat. He was a fearless creature, and merry withal, +and when Hermes had wrapped him up in a hare skin, +he sped to Olympus and showed his fellow-gods the son +that had been born to him and the beautiful nymph of +the forest. Baby though he was, Pan made the Olympians +laugh. He had only made a woman, his own +mother, cry; all others rejoiced at the new creature that +had come to increase their merriment. And Bacchus, +who loved him most of all, and felt that here was a babe +after his own heart, bestowed on him the name by which +he was forever known—Pan, meaning <em>All</em>.</p> + +<p>Thus Pan grew up, the earthly equal of the Olympians, +and, as he grew, he took to himself the lordship of +woods and of solitary places. He was king of huntsmen +and of fishermen, lord of flocks and herds and of all the +wild creatures of the forest. All living, soulless things +owned him their master; even the wild bees claimed +him as their overlord. He was ever merry, and when a +riot of music and of laughter slew the stillness of the +shadowy woods, it was Pan who led the dancing throng +of white-limbed nymphs and gambolling satyrs, for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +whom he made melody from the pipes for whose creation +a maid had perished.</p> + +<p>Round his horns and thick curls he presently came to +wear a crown of sharp pine-leaves, remembrance of another +fair nymph whose destruction he had brought about.</p> + +<p>Pitys listened to the music of Pan, and followed him +even as the children followed the Pied Piper of later +story. And ever his playing lured her further on and +into more dangerous and desolate places, until at length +she stood on the edge of a high cliff whose pitiless front +rushed sheer down to cruel rocks far below. There +Pan’s music ceased, and Pitys knew all the joy and the +sorrow of the world as the god held out his arms to +embrace her. But neither Pan nor Pitys had remembrance +of Boreas, the merciless north wind, whose love +the nymph had flouted.</p> + +<p>Ere Pan could touch her, a blast, fierce and strong as +death, had seized the nymph’s fragile body, and as a +wind of March tears from the tree the first white blossom +that has dared to brave the ruthless gales, and casts it, +torn and dying, to the earth, so did Boreas grip the +slender Pitys and dash her life out on the rocks far +down below. From her body sprang the pine tree, +slender, erect, clinging for dear life to the sides of precipices, +and by the prickly wreath he always wore, Pan +showed that he held her in fond remembrance.</p> + +<p>Joy, and youth, and force, and spring, was Pan to all +the creatures whose overlord he was. Pan meant the +richness of the sap in the trees, the lushness of grass +and of the green stems of the blue hyacinths and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +golden daffodils; the throbbing of growth in the woodland +and in the meadows; the trilling of birds that seek +for their mates and find them; the coo of the doves on +their nests of young; the arrogant virility of bulls and +of stags whose lowing and belling wake the silence of +the hills; the lightness of heart that made the nymphs +dance and sing, the fauns leap high, and shout aloud +for very joy of living. All of these things was Pan to +those of his own kingdom.</p> + +<p>Yet to the human men and women who had also +listened to his playing, Pan did not mean only joyousness. +He was to them a force that many times became a terror +because of its sheer irresistibleness.</p> + +<p>While the sun shone and the herdsmen could see the +nodding white cotton-grass, the asphodel, and the golden +kingcups that hid the black death-traps of the pitiless +marshes, they had no fear of Pan. Nor in the daytime, +when in the woods the sunbeams played amongst +the trees and the birds sang of Spring and of love, +and the syrinx sent an echo from far away that +made the little silver birches give a whispering laugh of +gladness and the pines cease to sigh, did man or maid +have any fear. Yet when darkness fell on the land, +terror would come with it, and, deep in their hearts, +they would know that the terror was Pan. Blindly, +madly, they would flee from something that they could +not see, something they could barely hear, and many +times rush to their own destruction. And there would +be no sweet sound of music then, only mocking laughter. +<em>Panic</em> was the name given to this fear—the name by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +which it still is known. And, to this day, panic yet +comes, and not only by night, but only in very lonely +places. There are those who have known it, and for +shame have scarce dared to own it, in highland glens, +in the loneliness of an island in the western sea, in a +green valley amongst the “solemn, kindly, round-backed +hills” of the Scottish Border, in the remoteness +of the Australian bush. They have no reasons to give—or +their reasons are far-fetched. Only, to them as to +Mowgli, <em>Fear</em> came, and the fear seemed to them to +come from a malignant something from which they +must make all haste to flee, did they value safety of +mind and of body. Was it for this reason that the +Roman legionaries on the Great Wall so often reared +altars in that lonely land of moor and mountain where +so many of them fought and died—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“<i>To Pan, and to the Sylvan deities</i>”?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>For surely Pan was there, where the curlew cried and +the pewit mourned, and sometimes the waiting soldiers +must almost have imagined his mocking laughter borne +in the winds that swept across the bleak hills of their +exiled solitude.</p> + +<p>He who was surely one of the bravest of mankind, +one who always, in his own words, “clung to his +paddle,” writes of such a fear when he escaped death +by drowning from the Oise in flood.</p> + +<p>“The devouring element in the universe had leaped +out against me, in this green valley quickened by a running +stream. The bells were all very pretty in their +way, but I had heard some of the hollow notes of Pan’s +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +music. Would the wicked river drag me down by the +heels, indeed? and look so beautiful all the time? +Nature’s good humour was only skin-deep, after all.”</p> + +<p>And of the reeds he writes: “Pan once played upon +their forefathers; and so, by the hands of his river, he +still plays upon these later generations down all the valley +of the Oise; and plays the same air, both sweet and +shrill, to tell us of the beauty and the terror of the world.”</p> + +<p>“<em>The Beauty and the terror of the world</em>”—was not +this what Pan stood for to the Greeks of long ago?</p> + +<p>The gladness of living, the terror of living—the exquisite +joy and the infinite pain—that has been the +possession of Pan—for we have not yet found a more +fitting title—since ever time began. And because Pan +is as he is, from him has evolved a higher Pantheism. +We have done away with his goat’s feet and his horns, +although these were handed on from him to Satan when +Christianity broke down the altars of Paganism.</p> + +<p>“Nature, which is the Time-vesture of God and reveals +Him to the wise, hides Him from the foolish,” writes +Carlyle. Pan is Nature, and Nature is not the ugly thing +that the Calvinists would once have had us believe it to be. +Nature is capable of being made the garment of God.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“In Being’s floods, in Action’s storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I walk and work, above, beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Work and weave in endless motion!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Birth and Death,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An infinite ocean;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A seizing and giving<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The fire of Living;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">’Tis thus at the roaring loom of Time I ply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And weave for God the Garment thou seest Him by.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +So speaks the <i>Erdgeist</i> in Goethe’s <i>Faust</i>, and yet +another of the greatest of the poets writes:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the ear of man cannot hear, and the eye of man cannot see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if we could see and hear, this Vision—were it not He?”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Tennyson.</span></p> + +<p>Carlyle says that “The whole universe is the Garment +of God,” and he who lives very close to Nature +must, at least once in a lifetime, come, in the solitude of +the lonely mountain tops, upon that bush that burns and +is not yet consumed, and out of the midst of which +speaks the voice of the Eternal.</p> + +<p>The immortal soul—the human body—united, yet +ever in conflict—that is Pan. The sighing and longing +for things that must endure everlastingly—the riotous +enjoyment of the beauty of life—the perfect appreciation +of the things that are. Life is so real, so strong, so full +of joyousness and of beauty,—and on the other side of a +dark stream, cold, menacing, cruel, stands Death. Yet +Life and Death make up the sum of existence, and until +we, who live our paltry little lives here on earth in the +hope of a Beyond, can realise what is the true air that is +played on those pipes of Pan, there is no hope for us of +even a vague comprehension of the illimitable Immortality.</p> + +<p>It is a very old tale that tells us of the passing of +Pan. In the reign of Tiberius, on that day when, on +the hill of Calvary, at Jerusalem in Syria, Jesus Christ +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +died as a malefactor, on the cross—“And it was about +the sixth hour, and there was a darkness all over the +earth”—Thamus, an Egyptian pilot, was guiding a ship +near the islands of Paxæ in the Ionian Sea; and to him +came a great voice, saying, “Go! make everywhere the +proclamation, <em>Great Pan is dead!</em>”</p> + +<p>And from the poop of his ship, when, in great heaviness +of heart, because for him the joy of the world seemed +to have passed away, Thamus had reached Palodes, he +shouted aloud the words that he had been told. Then, +from all the earth there arose a sound of great lamentation, +and the sea and the trees, the hills, and all the +creatures of Pan sighed in sobbing unison an echo of +the pilot’s words—“<em>Pan is dead—Pan is dead.</em>”</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The lonely mountains o’er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the resounding shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From haunted spring and dale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Edg’d with poplar pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The parting genius is with sighing sent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With flow’r-inwoven tresses torn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></p> + +<p>Pan was dead, and the gods died with him.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Gods of Hellas, gods of Hellas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can ye listen in your silence?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can your mystic voices tell us<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where ye hide? In floating islands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a wind that evermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keeps you out of sight of shore?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pan, Pan is dead.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Gods! we vainly do adjure you,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye return nor voice nor sign!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a votary could secure you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even a grave for your Divine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a grave to show thereby,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘<em>Here these grey old gods do lie</em>,’<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pan, Pan is dead.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">E. B. Browning.</span></p> + +<p>Pan is dead. In the old Hellenistic sense Pan is +gone forever. Yet until Nature has ceased to be, the +thing we call Pan must remain a living entity. Some +there be who call his music, when he makes all humanity +dance to his piping, “<i>Joie de vivre</i>,” and De Musset +speaks of “<i>Le vin de la jeunesse</i>” which ferments “<i>dans +les veines de Dieu</i>.” It is Pan who inspires Seumas, the +old islander, of whom Fiona Macleod writes, and who, +looking towards the sea at sunrise, says, “Every +morning like this I take my hat off to the beauty of the +world.”</p> + +<p>Half of the flesh and half of the spirit is Pan. +There are some who have never come into contact with +him, who know him only as the emblem of Paganism, a +cruel thing, more beast than man, trampling, with goat’s +feet, on the gentlest flowers of spring. They know not +the meaning of “the Green Fire of Life,” nor have they +ever known Pan’s moods of tender sadness. Never to +them has come in the forest, where the great grey trunks +of the beeches rise from a carpet of primroses and blue +hyacinths, and the slender silver beeches are the guardian +angels of the starry wood-anemones, and the sunbeams +slant through the oak and beech leaves of tender +green and play on the dead amber leaves of a year that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +is gone, the whisper of little feet that cannot be seen, the +piercing sweet music from very far away, that fills the +heart with gladness and yet with a strange pain—the +ache of the <i>Weltschmerz</i>—the echo of the pipes of Pan.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“... Oftenest in the dark woods I hear him sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim, half-remembered things, where the old mosses cling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the old trees, and the faint wandering eddies bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The phantom echoes of a phantom spring.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> + +<h2>LORELEI</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dass ich so traurig bin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dort oben wunderbar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ihr gold’nes Geschmeide blitzet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sie kämmt ihr gold’nes Haar.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sie kämmt es mit gold’nem Kamme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Und singt ein Lied dabei;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Das hat eine wundersame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gewaltige Melodei.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Heine.</span></p> + + +<p>In every land, North and South, East and West, from +sea to sea, myth and legend hand down to us as cruel and +malignant creatures, who ceaselessly seek to slay man’s +body and to destroy his soul, the half-human children +of the restless sea and of the fiercely running streams.</p> + +<p>In Scotland and in Australia, in every part of +Europe, we have tales of horrible formless things which +frequent lonely rivers and lochs and marshes, and +to meet which must mean Death. And equal in malignity +with them, and infinitely more dangerous, are the +beautiful beings who would seem to claim descent from +Lilith, the soulless wife of Adam.</p> + +<p>Such were the sirens who would have compassed the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +destruction of Odysseus. Such are the mermaids, to wed +with one of whom must bring unutterable woe upon any +of the sons of men. In lonely far-off places by the sea +there still are tales of exquisite melodies heard in the +gloaming, or at night when the moon makes a silver +pathway across the water; still are there stories of +women whose home is in the depths of the ocean, and +who come to charm away men’s souls by their beauty +and by their pitiful longing for human love.</p> + +<p>Those who have looked on the yellow-green waters +of the Seine, or who have seen the more turbid, more +powerful Thames sweeping her serious, majestic way +down towards the open ocean, at Westminster, or at +London Bridge, can perhaps realise something of that +inwardness of things that made the people of the past, +and that makes the mentally uncontrolled people of the +present, feel a fateful power calling upon them to listen +to the insistence of the exacting waters, and to surrender +their lives and their souls forever to a thing that called +and which would brook no denial. In the Morgue, or +in a mortuary by the river-side, their poor bodies have +lain when the rivers have worked their will with them, +and “Suicide,” “Death by drowning,” or “By Misadventure” +have been the verdicts given. We live in +a too practical, too utterly common-sensical age to +conceive a poor woman with nothing on earth left to +live for, being lured down to the Shades by a creature +of the water, or a man who longs for death seeing a +beautiful daughter of a river-god beckoning to him to +come where he will find peace everlasting.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +Yet ever we war with the sea. All of us know her +seductive charm, but all of us fear her. The boundary +line between our fear of the fierce, remorseless, ever-seeking, +cruel waves that lap up life swiftly as a thirsty +beast laps water, and the old belief in cruel sea-creatures +that sought constantly for the human things that were to +be their prey, is a very narrow one. And once we have +seen the sea in a rage, flinging herself in terrible anger +against the poor, frail toy that the hands of men have +made and that was intended to rule and to resist her, +foaming and frothing over the decks of the thing that +carries human lives, we can understand much of the old +pagan belief. If one has watched a river in spate, red +as with blood, rushing triumphantly over all resistance, +smashing down the trees that baulk it, sweeping away each +poor, helpless thing, brute or human, that it encounters, +dealing out ruin and death, and proceeding superbly on +to carry its trophies of disaster to the bosom of the +Ocean Mother, very easy is it to see from whence came +those old tales of cruelty, of irresistible strength, of +desire.</p> + +<p>Many are the tales of sea-maidens who have stolen +men’s lives from them and sent their bodies to move +up and down amidst the wrack, like broken toys with +which a child has grown tired of playing and cast +away in weariness. In an eighth-century chronicle concerning +St. Fechin, we read of evil powers whose rage +is “seen in that watery fury and their hellish hate and +turbulence in the beating of the sea against the rocks.” +“The bitter gifts of our lord Poseidon” is the name +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +given to them by one of the earliest poets of Greece<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> +and a poet of our own time—poet of the sea, of running +water, and of lonely places—quotes from the saying of +a fisherman of the isle of Ulva words that show why +simple minds have so many times materialised the restless, +devouring element into the form of a woman who +is very beautiful, but whose tender mercies are very +cruel. “She is like a woman of the old tales whose +beauty is dreadful,” said Seumas, the islander, “and +who breaks your heart at last whether she smiles or +frowns. But she doesn’t care about that, or whether +you are hurt or not. It’s because she has no heart, +being all a wild water.”<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p> + +<p>Treacherous, beautiful, remorseless, that is how men +regard the sea and the rushing rivers, of whom the +sirens and mermaids of old tradition have come to +stand as symbols. Treacherous and pitiless, yet with a +fascination that can draw even the moon and the stars +to her breast:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Once I sat upon a promontory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin’s back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the rude sea grew civil at her song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear the sea-maid’s music.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Shakespeare.</span></p> + +<p>Very many are the stories of the women of the sea +and of the rivers, but that one who must forever hold +her own, because Heine has immortalised her in song, +is the river maiden of the Rhine—the Lorelei.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +Near St. Goar, there rises out of the waters of the +Rhine a perpendicular rock, some four hundred feet high. +Many a boatman in bygone days there met his death, +and the echo which it possesses is still a mournful one. +Those who know the great river, under which lies hid +the treasure of the Nibelungs, with its “gleaming towns +by the river-side and the green vineyards combed along +the hills,” and who have felt the romance of the rugged +crags, crowned by ruined castles, that stand like fantastic +and very ancient sentries to guard its channel, can well +understand how easy of belief was the legend of the +Lorelei.</p> + +<p>Down the green waters came the boatman’s frail +craft, ever drawing nearer to the perilous rock. All his +care and all his skill were required to avert a very visible +danger. But high above him, from the rock round +which the swirling eddies splashed and foamed, there +came a voice.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Her voice was like the voice the stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had when they sang together.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>And when the boatman looked up at the sound of +such sweet music, he beheld a maiden more fair than any +he had ever dreamed of. On the rock she sat, combing +her long golden hair with a comb of red gold. Her limbs +were white as foam and her eyes green like the emerald +green of the rushing river. And her red lips smiled on +him and her arms were held out to him in welcome, and +the sound of her song thrilled through the heart of him +who listened, and her eyes drew his soul to her arms.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +Forgotten was all peril. The rushing stream seized the +little boat and did with it as it willed. And while the +boatman still gazed upwards, intoxicated by her matchless +beauty and the magic of her voice, his boat was +swept against the rock, and, with the jar and crash, +knowledge came back to him, and he heard, with broken +heart, the mocking laughter of the Lorelei as he was +dragged down as if by a thousand icy hands, and, with +a choking sigh, surrendered his life to the pitiless river.</p> + +<p>To one man only was it granted to see the siren so +near that he could hold her little, cold, white hands, +and feel the wondrous golden hair sweep across his +eyes. This was a young fisherman, who met her by +the river and listened to the entrancing songs that she +sang for him alone. Each evening she would tell him +where to cast his nets on the morrow, and he prospered +greatly and was a marvel to all others who fished in +the waters of the Rhine. But there came an evening +when he was seen joyously hastening down the river +bank in response to the voice of the Lorelei, that surely +never had sounded so honey-sweet before, and he came +back nevermore. They said that the Lorelei had +dragged him down to her coral caves that he might live +with her there forever, and, if it were not so, the rushing +water could never whisper her secret and theirs, of +a lifeless plaything that they swept seawards, and that +wore a look of horror and of great wonder in its dead, +wide-open eyes.</p> + +<p>It is “ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten”—a legend of +long ago.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +But it is a very much older <i>Märchen</i> that tells us of +the warning of Circe to Odysseus:</p> + +<p>“To the Sirens first shalt thou come, who bewitch +all men, whosoever shall come to them. Whoso draws +nigh them unwittingly and hears the sound of the Siren’s +voice, never doth he see wife or babes stand by him on +his return, nor have they joy at his coming; but the +Sirens enchant him with their clear song.”</p> + +<p>And until there shall be no more sea and the rivers +have ceased to run, the enchantment that comes from +the call of the water to the hearts of men must go on. +Day by day the toll of lives is paid, and still the cruel +daughters of the deep remain unsatisfied. We can hear +their hungry whimper from the rushing river through +the night, and the waves of the sea that thunders along +the coast would seem to voice the insistence of their +desire. And we who listen to their ceaseless, restless +moan can say with Heine:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“<i>Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Dass ich so traurig bin.</i>”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>For the sadness of heart, the melancholy that their +music brings us is a mystery which none on this earth +may ever unravel.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Archilochus of Paros.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Fiona Macleod (<i>The Winged Destiny</i>).</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> +<h2>FREYA, QUEEN OF THE NORTHERN GODS</h2> + + +<p>“Friday’s bairn is loving and giving,” says the old +rhyme that sets forth the special qualities of the children +born on each day of the week, and to the superstitious +who regard Friday as a day of evil omen, it seems +strange that Friday’s bairn should be so blessed. But +they forget that before Christianity swept paganism +before it, and taught those who worshipped the northern +gods the story of that first black “Good Friday,” the +tragedy in which all humanity was involved, Friday +was the day of Freya, “The Beloved,” gentle protectress, +and most generous giver of all joys, delights, and +pleasures. From her, in mediæval times, the high-born +women who acted as dispensers to their lords first took +the title <i>Frouwa</i> (=Frau), and when, in its transition +stage, the old heathenism had evolved into a religion of +strong nature worship, overshadowed by fatalism, only +thinly veneered by Christianity, the minds of the Christian +converts of Scandinavia, like those of puzzled +children, transferred to the Virgin Mary the attributes +that had formerly been those of their “Lady”—Freya, +the goddess of Love.</p> + +<p>Long before the Madonna was worshipped, Freya +gave her name to plants, to flowers, and even to insects, +and the child who says to the beautiful little insect, +that he finds on a leaf, “Ladybird, ladybird, fly away +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +home,” is commemorating the name of the Lady, Freya, +to whom his ancestors offered their prayers.</p> + +<p>In her home in the Hall of Mists, Freya (or Frigga), +wife of Odin the All Father, sat with her golden +distaff spinning the clouds. Orion’s Belt was known +as “Frigga’s spindle” by the Norsemen, and the men +on the earth, as they watched the great cumulous masses +of snowy-white, golden or silver edged, the fleecy cloudlets +of grey, soft as the feathers on the breast of a dove, +or the angry banks of black and purple, portending a +storm, had constant proof of the diligence of their goddess. +She was the protectress of those who sailed the +seas, and the care of children as they came into the +world was also hers. Hers, too, was the happy task +of bringing together after death, lovers whom Death had +parted, and to her belonged the glorious task of going +down to the fields of battle where the slain lay strewn +like leaves in autumn and leading to Valhalla the half +of the warriors who, as heroes, had died. Her vision +enabled her to look over all the earth, and she could see +into the Future, but she held her knowledge as a profound +secret that none could prevail upon her to betray.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Of me the gods are sprung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all that is to come I know, but lock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my own breast, and have to none reveal’d.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Matthew Arnold.</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 277px;"> +<a name="FREYA" id="FREYA"></a> +<a href="images/abom15.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom15th.jpg" width="277" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">FREYA SAT SPINNING THE CLOUDS</span> +</div> + +<p>Thus she came to be pictured crowned with heron +plumes, the symbol of silence—the silence of the lonely +marshes where the heron stands in mutest contemplation—a +tall, very stately, very queenly, wholly beautiful +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +woman, with a bunch of keys at her girdle—symbol of +her protection of the Northern housewife—sometimes +clad in snow-white robes, sometimes in robes of sombre +black. And because her care was for the anxious, weary +housewife, for the mother and her new-born babe, for the +storm-tossed mariner, fighting the billows of a hungry +sea, for those whose true and pure love had suffered +the crucifixion of death, and for the glorious dead on +the field of battle, it is very easy to see Freya as her +worshippers saw her—an ideal of perfect womanhood.</p> + +<p>But the gods of the Norsemen were never wholly +gods. Always they, like the gods of Greece, endeared +themselves to humanity by possessing some little, or +big, human weakness. And Freya is none the less +lovable to the descendants of her worshippers because +she possessed the so-called “feminine weakness” of +love of dress. Jewels, too, she loved, and knowing +the wondrous skill of the dwarfs in fashioning exquisite +ornaments, she broke off a piece of gold from +the statue of Odin, her husband, and gave it to them +to make into a necklace—the marvellous jewelled necklace +Brisingamen, that in time to come was possessed +by Beowulf. It was so exquisite a thing that it made +her beauty twice more perfect, and Odin loved her +doubly much because of it. But when he discovered that +his statue had been tampered with, his wrath was very +great, and furiously he summoned the dwarfs—they +who dealt always with fine metal—and demanded of them +which of them had done him this grievous wrong. But +the dwarfs loved Freya, and from them he got no answer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +Then he placed the statue above the temple gate, +and laboured with guile to devise runes that might give +it the power of speech, so that it might shout aloud the +name of the impious robber as the robber went by. +Freya, no longer an omnipotent goddess, but a frightened +wife, trembled before his wrath, and begged the dwarfs +to help her. And when one of them—the most hideous +of all—promised that he would prevent the statue from +speaking if Freya would but deign to smile upon him, +the queen of the gods, who had no dread of ugly +things, and whose heart was full of love and of pity, +smiled her gentle smile on the piteous little creature +who had never known looks of anything but horror +and disgust from any of the deathless gods. It was +for him a wondrous moment, and the payment was +worth Death itself. That night a deep sleep fell on the +guards of Odin’s statue, and, while they slept, the +statue was pulled down from its pedestal and smashed +into pieces. The dwarf had fulfilled his part of the +bargain.</p> + +<p>When Odin next morning discovered the sacrilege, +great was his anger, and when no inquiry could find for +him the criminal, he quitted Asgard in furious wrath. +For seven months he stayed away, and in that time the +Ice Giants invaded his realm, and all the land was +covered with a pall of snow, viciously pinched by black +frosts, chilled by clinging, deadening, impenetrable +mists. But at the end of seven dreary months Odin +returned, and with him came the blessings of light and +of sunshine, and the Ice Giants in terror fled away.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +Well was it for woman or for warrior to gain the +favour of Freya, the Beloved, who knew how to rule +even Odin, the All Father, himself. The Winilers who +were warring with the Vandals once sought her aid, +and gained her promise of help. From Hlidskialf, the +mighty watch-tower, highest point in Asgard, from +whence Odin and his queen could look down and behold +what was happening all the world over, amongst gods +and men, dwarfs, elves, and giants, and all creatures of +their kingdom, Freya watched the Vandals and the +Winilers making ready for the battle which was to +decide forever which people should rule the other.</p> + +<p>Night was descending, but in the evening light the +two gods beheld the glitter of spears, the gleam of brass +helmets and of swords, and heard from afar the hoarse +shouts of the warriors as they made ready for the great +fight on the morrow. Knowing well that her lord favoured +the Vandals, Freya asked him to tell her which +army was to gain the victory. “The army upon which +my eyes shall first rest when I awake at the dawning,” +said Odin, full well knowing that his couch was so placed +that he could not fail to see the Vandals when he woke. +Well pleased with his own astuteness, he then retired +to rest, and soon sleep lay heavy on his eyelids. But, +while he slept, Freya gently moved the couch upon +which he lay, so that he must open his eyes not on the +army who had won his favour, but on the army that +owned hers. To the Winilers, she gave command to +dress up their women as men, and let them meet the gaze +of Odin in the dawning, in full battle array.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +<span class="i0">“Take thou thy women-folk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maidens and wives;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over your ankles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lace on the white war-hose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over your bosoms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Link up the hard mail-nets;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over your lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plait long tresses with cunning;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So war beasts full-bearded<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Odin shall deem you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When off the grey sea-beach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At sunrise ye greet him.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Charles Kingsley.</span></p> + +<p>When the sun sent its first pale green light next +morning over grey sky and sea, Odin awoke, and gazed +from his watch-tower at the army on the beach. And, +with great amazement, “What Longbeards are those?” +he cried.</p> + +<p>“They are Winilers!” said Freya, in joyous triumph, +“but you have given them a new name. Now +must you also give them a gift! Let it be the victory, +I pray you, dear lord of mine.”</p> + +<p>And Odin, seeing himself outwitted and knowing +that honour bade him follow the Northern custom and +give the people he had named a gift, bestowed on the +Longbeards and their men the victory that Freya craved. +Nor was the gift of Odin one for that day alone, for +to him the <i>Langobarden</i> attributed the many victories +that led them at last to find a home in the sunny land +of Italy, where beautiful Lombardy still commemorates +by its name the stratagem of Freya, the queen.</p> + +<p>With the coming of Christianity, Freya, the Beloved, +was cast out along with all the other old forgotten gods. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +The people who had loved and worshipped her were +taught that she was an evil thing and that to worship +her was sin. Thus she was banished to the lonely peaks +of the mountains of Norway and of Sweden and to the +Brocken in Germany, no longer a goddess to be loved, +but transformed into a malignant power, full of horror +and of wickedness. On Walpurgis Night she led the +witches’ revels on the Brocken, and the cats who were +said to draw her car while still she was regarded as a +beneficent protectress of the weak and needy, ceased +to be the gentle creatures of Freya the Good, and came +under the ban of religion as the satanic companions of +witches by habit and repute.</p> + +<p>One gentle thing only was her memory allowed to +keep. When, not as an omnipotent goddess but as a +heart-broken mother, she wept the death of her dearly-loved +son, Baldur the Beautiful, the tears that she +shed were turned, as they fell, into pure gold that is +found in the beds of lonely mountain streams. And +we who claim descent from the peoples who worshipped +her—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Saxon and Norman and Dane are we”—<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>can surely cleanse her memory from all the ugly impurities +of superstition and remember only the pure gold +of the fact that our warrior ancestors did not only pray +to a fierce and mighty god of battles, but to a woman +who was “loving and giving”—the little child’s deification +of the mother whom it loves and who holds it very +dear.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE DEATH OF BALDUR</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I heard a voice, that cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘Baldur the Beautiful<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is dead, is dead!’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the misty air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passed like the mournful cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sunward sailing cranes.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Longfellow.</span></p> + +<p>Among the gods of Greece we find gods and goddesses +who do unworthy deeds, but none to act the permanent +part of villain of the play. In the mythology of the +Norsemen we have a god who is wholly treacherous +and evil, ever the villain of the piece, cunning, malicious, +vindictive, and cruel—the god Loki. And as his +foil, and his victim, we have Baldur, best of all gods, +most beautiful, most greatly beloved. Baldur was the +Galahad of the court of Odin the king, his father.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“My strength is of the strength of ten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because my heart is pure.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>No impure thing was to be found in his dwelling; +none could impugn his courage, yet ever he counselled +peace, ever was gentle and infinitely wise, and his beauty +was as the beauty of the whitest of all the flowers of +the Northland, called after him <i>Baldrsbrá</i>. The god +of the Norsemen was essentially a god of battles, and we +are told by great authorities that Baldur was originally +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +a hero who fought on the earth, and who, in time, came +to be deified. Even if it be so, it is good to think that +a race of warriors could worship one whose chief qualities +were wisdom, purity, and love.</p> + +<p>In perfect happiness, loving and beloved, Baldur +lived in Asgard with his wife Nanna, until a night when +his sleep was assailed by horrible dreams of evil omen. +In the morning he told the gods that he had dreamed +that Death, a thing till then unknown in Asgard, had +come and cruelly taken his life away. Solemnly the +gods debated how this ill happening might be averted, +and Freya, his mother, fear for her best beloved hanging +heavy over her heart, took upon herself the task of laying +under oath fire and water, iron and all other metals, +trees and shrubs, birds, beasts and creeping things, to +do no harm to Baldur. With eager haste she went from +place to place, nor did she fail to exact the oath from anything +in all nature, animate or inanimate, save one only.</p> + +<p>“A twig of mistletoe, tender and fair, grew high +above the field,” and such a little thing it was, with its +dainty green leaves and waxen white berries, nestling for +protection under the strong arm of a great oak, that the +goddess passed it by. Assuredly no scathe could come +to Baldur the Beautiful from a creature so insignificant, +and Freya returned to Asgard well pleased with her quest.</p> + +<p>Then indeed was there joy and laughter amongst +the gods, for each one tried how he might slay Baldur, +but neither sword nor stone, hammer nor battle-axe +could work him any ill.</p> + +<p>Odin alone remained unsatisfied. Mounted on his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +eight-footed grey steed, Sleipnir, he galloped off in haste +to consult the giant prophetess Angrbotha, who was dead +and had to be followed to Niflheim, the chilly underworld +that lies far north from the world of men, and where the +sun never comes. Hel, the daughter of Loki and of +Angrbotha, was queen of this dark domain.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“There, in a bitterly cold place, she received the souls of all who +died of sickness or old age; care was her bed, hunger her dish, starvation +her knife. Her walls were high and strong, and her bolts and bars +huge; ‘Half blue was her skin, and half the colour of human flesh. A +goddess easy to know, and in all things very stern and grim.’”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Dasent.</span></p> + +<p>In her kingdom no soul that passed away in glorious +battle was received, nor any that fought out the last of +life in a fierce combat with the angry waves of the sea. +Only those who died ingloriously were her guests.</p> + +<p>When he had reached the realm of Hel, Odin found +that a feast was being prepared, and the couches were +spread, as for an honoured guest, with rich tapestry and +with gold. For many a year had Angrbotha rested there +in peace, and it was only by chanting a magic spell and +tracing those runes which have power to raise the dead +that Odin awoke her. When she raised herself, terrible +and angry from her tomb, he did not tell her that he was +the mighty father of gods and men. He only asked her +for whom the great feast was prepared, and why Hel was +spreading her couches so gorgeously. And to the father +of Baldur she revealed the secret of the future, that +Baldur was the expected guest, and that by his blind +brother Hodur his soul was to be hastened to the Shades.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +“Who, then, would avenge him?” asked the father, +great wrath in his heart. And the prophetess replied +that his death should be avenged by Vali, his youngest +brother, who should not wash his hands nor comb his +hair until he had brought the slayer of Baldur to the +funeral pyre. But yet another question Odin would +fain have answered.</p> + +<p>“<em>Who</em>,” he asked, “<em>would refuse to weep at Baldur’s +death?</em>”</p> + +<p>Thereat the prophetess, knowing that her questioner +could be none other than Odin, for to no mortal man +could be known so much of the future, refused for +evermore to speak, and returned to the silence of her +tomb. And Odin was forced to mount his steed and +to return to his own land of warmth and pleasure.</p> + +<p>On his return he found that all was well with Baldur. +Thus he tried to still his anxious heart and to forget the +feast in the chill regions of Niflheim, spread for the son +who was to him the dearest, and to laugh with those +who tried in vain to bring scathe to Baldur.</p> + +<p>Only one among those who looked at those sports +and grew merry, as he whom they loved stood like a +great cliff against which the devouring waves of the +fierce North Sea beat and foam and crash in vain, had +malice in his heart as he beheld the wonder. In the +evil heart of Loki there came a desire to overthrow +the god who was beloved by all gods and by all men. +He hated him because he was pure, and the mind of +Loki was as a stream into which all the filth of the world +is discharged. He hated him because Baldur was truth +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +and loyalty, and he, Loki, was treachery and dishonour. +He hated him because to Loki there came never a +thought that was not full of meanness and greed and +cruelty and vice, and Baldur was indeed one <i>sans peur +et sans reproche</i>.</p> + +<p>Thus Loki, taking upon himself the form of a woman, +went to Fensalir, the palace, all silver and gold, where +dwelt Freya, the mother of Baldur.</p> + +<p>The goddess sat, in happy majesty, spinning the +clouds, and when Loki, apparently a gentle old woman, +passed by where she sat, and then paused and asked, +as if amazed, what were the shouts of merriment that +she heard, the smiling goddess replied:</p> + +<p>“All things on earth have sworn to me never to +injure Baldur, and all the gods use their weapons against +him in vain. Baldur is safe for evermore.”</p> + +<p>“All things?” queried Loki.</p> + +<p>And Freya answered, “All things but the mistletoe. +No harm can come to him from a thing so weak +that it only lives by the lives of others.”</p> + +<p>Then the vicious heart of Loki grew joyous. Quickly +he went to where the mistletoe grew, cut a slender green +branch, shaped it into a point, and sought the blind god +Hodur.</p> + +<p>Hodur stood aside, while the other gods merrily pursued +their sport.</p> + +<p>“Why dost thou not take aim at Baldur with a +weapon that fails and so join in the laughter?” asked +Loki.</p> + +<p>And Hodur sadly made answer:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> +“Well dost thou know that darkness is my lot, nor +have I ought to cast at my brother.”</p> + +<p>Then Loki placed in his hand the shaft of mistletoe +and guided his aim, and well and surely Hodur cast the +dart. He waited, then, for the merry laughter that followed +ever on the onslaught of those against him whom +none could do harm. But a great and terrible cry smote +his ears. “<em>Baldur the Beautiful is dead! is dead!</em>”</p> + +<p>On the ground lay Baldur, a white flower cut down +by the scythe of the mower. And all through the realm +of the gods, and all through the land of the Northmen +there arose a cry of bitter lamentation.</p> + +<p>“That was the greatest woe that ever befell gods +and men,” says the story.</p> + +<p>The sound of terrible mourning in place of laughter +brought Freya to where</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“on the floor lay Baldur dead; and round lay thickly strewn swords, +axes, darts, and spears, which all the gods in sport had lightly thrown +at Baldur, whom no weapon pierced or clove; but in his breast stood +fixed the fatal bough of mistletoe.”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Matthew Arnold.</span></p> + +<p>When she saw what had befallen him, Freya’s grief +was a grief that refused to be comforted, but when the +gods, overwhelmed with sorrow, knew not what course +to take, she quickly commanded that one should ride to +Niflheim and offer Hel a ransom if she would permit +Baldur to return to Asgard.</p> + +<p>Hermoder the Nimble, another of the sons of Odin, +undertook the mission, and, mounted on his father’s +eight-footed steed, he speedily reached the ice-cold +domain of Hel.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +There he found Baldur, sitting on the noblest seat +of those who feasted, ruling among the people of the +Underworld. With burning words Hermoder pled with +Hel that she would permit Baldur to return to the world +of gods and the world of men, by both of whom he was so +dearly beloved. Said Hel:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Come then! if Baldur was so dear beloved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this is true, and such a loss is Heaven’s—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear, how to Heaven may Baldur be restored.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Show me through all the world the signs of grief!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fails but one thing to grieve, here Baldur stops!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let all that lives and moves upon the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weep him, and all that is without life weep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let Gods, men, brutes, beweep him; plants and stones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall I know the loss was dear indeed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bend my heart, and give him back to Heaven.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Matthew Arnold.</span></p> + +<p>Gladly Hermoder made answer:</p> + +<p>“All things shall weep for Baldur!”</p> + +<p>Swiftly he made his perilous return journey, and +at once, when the gods heard what Hel had said, +messengers were despatched all over the earth to beg +all things, living and dead, to weep for Baldur, and so +dear to all nature was the beautiful god, that the messengers +everywhere left behind them a track of the tears +that they caused to be shed.</p> + +<p>Meantime, in Asgard, preparations were made for +Baldur’s pyre. The longest of the pines in the forest +were cut down by the gods, and piled up in a mighty +pyre on the deck of his great ship <i>Ringhorn</i>, the largest +in the world.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 276px;"> +<a name="BALDUR" id="BALDUR"></a> +<a href="images/abom16.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom16th.jpg" width="276" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">“BALDUR THE BEAUTIFUL IS DEAD”</span> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +<span class="i0">“Seventy ells and four extended<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the grass the vessel’s keel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High above it, gilt and splendid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose the figure-head ferocious<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With its crest of steel.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Longfellow.</span></p> + +<p>Down to the seashore they bore the body, and laid +it on the pyre with rich gifts all round it, and the +pine trunks of the Northern forests that formed the +pyre, they covered with gorgeous tapestries and fragrant +flowers. And when they had laid him there, with all +love and gentleness, and his fair young wife, Nanna, +looked on his beautiful still face, sorrow smote her +heart so that it was broken, and she fell down dead. +Tenderly they laid her beside him, and by him, too, +they laid the bodies of his horse and his hounds, +which they slew to bear their master company in the +land whither his soul had fled; and around the pyre +they twined thorns, the emblem of sleep.</p> + +<p>Yet even then they looked for his speedy return, +radiant and glad to come home to a sunlit land of +happiness. And when the messengers who were to have +brought tidings of his freedom were seen drawing near, +eagerly they crowded to hear the glad words, “<em>All +creatures weep, and Baldur shall return!</em>”</p> + +<p>But with them they brought not hope, but despair. +All things, living and dead, had wept, save one only. +A giantess who sat in a dark cave had laughed them +to scorn. With devilish merriment she mocked:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Neither in life, nor yet in death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave he me gladness.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let Hel keep her prey.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +Then all knew that yet a second time had Baldur +been betrayed, and that the giantess was none other +than Loki, and Loki, realising the fierce wrath of Odin +and of the other gods, fled before them, yet could not +escape his doom. And grief unspeakable was that of +gods and of men when they knew that in the chill realm +of the inglorious dead Baldur must remain until the +twilight of the gods had come, until old things had passed +away, and all things had become new.</p> + +<p>Not only the gods, but the giants of the storm and +frost, and the frost elves came to behold the last of him +whom they loved. Then the pyre was set alight, and +the great vessel was launched, and glided out to sea with +its sails of flame.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“They launched the burning ship!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It floated far away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the misty sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till like the sun it seemed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinking beneath the waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Baldur returned no more!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Yet, ere he parted from his dead son, Odin stooped +over him and whispered a word in his ear. And there +are those who say that as the gods in infinite sorrow +stood on the beach staring out to sea, darkness fell, and +only a fiery track on the waves showed whither he had +gone whose passing had robbed Asgard and the Earth of +their most beautiful thing, heavy as the weight of chill +Death’s remorseless hand would have been their hearts, +but for the knowledge of that word. They knew that +with the death of Baldur the twilight of the gods had +begun, and that by much strife and infinite suffering down +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +through the ages the work of their purification and hallowing +must be wrought. But when all were fit to receive +him, and peace and happiness reigned again on earth +and in heaven, Baldur would come back. For the word +was <em>Resurrection</em>.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“So perish the old Gods!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But out of the sea of time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rises a new land of song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fairer than the old.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Longfellow.</span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Heartily know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When half-gods go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gods arrive.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Emerson.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> +<h2>BEOWULF</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“He was of mankind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In might the strongest.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Longfellow’s Translation.</span></p> + + +<p>Whether those who read it be scholars who would +argue about the origin and date of the poem, ingenious +theorists who would fain use all the fragmentary tales +and rhymes of the nursery as parts of a vast jig-saw +puzzle of nature myths, or merely simple folk who read +a tale for a tale’s sake, every reader of the poem of +Beowulf must own that it is one of the finest stories +ever written.</p> + +<p>It is “the most ancient heroic poem in the Germanic +language,” and was brought to Britain by the “Wingèd +Hats” who sailed across the grey North Sea to conquer +and to help to weld that great amalgam of peoples into +what is now the British Race.</p> + +<p>But once it had arrived in England, the legend was +put into a dress that the British-born could more readily +appreciate. In all probability the scene of the story was +a corner of that island of Saeland upon which Copenhagen +now stands, but he who wrote down the poem for his +countrymen and who wrote it in the pure literary Anglo-Saxon +of Wessex, painted the scenery from the places +that he and his readers knew best. And if you should +walk along the breezy, magnificent, rugged Yorkshire +coast for twelve miles, from Whitby northward to the top +of Bowlby Cliff, you would find it quite easy to believe +that it was there amongst the high sea-cliffs that Beowulf +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +and his hearth-sharers once lived, and there, on the highest +ness of our eastern coast, under a great barrow, that +Beowulf was buried. <i>Beowulfesby</i>—<i>Bowlby</i> seems a +quite easy transition. But the people of our island +race have undoubtedly a gift for seizing the imports of +other lands and hall-marking them as their own, and, +in all probability, the Beowulf of the heroic poem was +one who lived and died in the land of Scandinavia.</p> + +<p>In Denmark, so goes the story, when the people were +longing for a king, to their shores there drifted, on a day +when the white birds were screaming over the sea-tangle +and wreckage that a stormy sea, now sinking to rest, +was sweeping up on the shore, a little boat in which, +on a sheaf of ripe wheat and surrounded by priceless +weapons and jewels, there lay a most beautiful babe, +who smiled in his sleep. That he was the son of Odin +they had no doubt, and they made him their king, and +served him faithfully and loyally for the rest of his life.</p> + +<p>A worthy and a noble king was King Scyld Scefing, +a ruler on land and on the sea, of which even as +an infant he had had no fear. But when many years +had come and gone, and when Scyld Scefing felt that +death drew near, he called his nobles to him and told +them in what manner he fain would pass. So they did +as he said, and in a ship they built a funeral pyre, and +round it placed much gold and jewels, and on it laid a +sheaf of wheat. Then with very great pain and labour, +for he was old and Death’s hand lay heavy upon him, +the king climbed into the ship and stretched out his +limbs on the pyre, and said farewell to all his faithful +people. And the ship drifted out with the tide, and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +hearts of the watchers were heavy as they saw the sails +of the vessel that bore him vanish into the grey, and knew +that their king had gone back to the place from whence +he came, and that they should look on his face no more.</p> + +<p>Behind him Scyld left descendants, and one after +the other reigned over Denmark. It was in the reign +of his great-grandson, Hrothgar, that there took place +those things that are told in the story of Beowulf.</p> + +<p>A mighty king and warrior was Hrothgar, and far +across the northern seas his fame spread wide, so that +all the warriors of the land that he ruled were proud +to serve under him in peace, and in war to die for him. +During his long life he and his men never went forth in +their black-prowed ships without returning with the +joyous shouts of the victor, with for cargo the rich spoil +they had won from their enemies. As he grew old, +Hrothgar determined to raise for himself a mighty +monument to the magnificence of his reign, and so there +was builded for him a vast hall with majestic towers +and lofty pinnacles—the finest banqueting-hall that his +skilled artificers could dream of. And when at length +the hall was completed, Hrothgar gave a feast to all his +thanes, and for days and for nights on end the great +rafters of Heorot—as his palace was named—echoed +the shouts and laughter of the mighty warriors, and the +music of the minstrels and the songs that they sang. +A proud man was Hrothgar on the night that the banquet +was ended amidst the acclamations of his people, +and a proud and happy man he lay down to rest, while +his bodyguard of mighty warriors stretched themselves +on the rush-strewn floor of the great room where they +had feasted, and deeply slumbered there.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +Now, in the dark fens of that land there dwelt a monster—fierce, +noisome, and cruel, a thing that loved evil +and hated all that was joyous and good. To its ears +came the ring of the laughter and the shouts of King +Hrothgar’s revellers, and the sweet song of the gleemen +and the melody of harps filled it with fierce hatred. +From its wallow in the marshes, where the pestilent grey +fog hung round its dwelling, the monster, known to all +men as the Grendel, came forth, to kill and to devour. +Through the dark night, across the lonely moorland, +it made its way, and the birds of the moor flew screaming +in terror before it, and the wild creatures of the +desolate country over which it padded clapped down +in their coverts and trembled as it passed. It came +at length to the great hall where</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“A fair troop of warrior thanes guarding it found he;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heedlessly sleeping, they recked not of sorrow.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Never a thought did they give to the Grendel,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“A haunter of marshes, a holder of moors,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">... Secret<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The land he inhabits; dark, wolf-haunted ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the windy hillside, by the treacherous tarn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or where, covered up in its mist, the hill stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Downward flows.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Soundly slept Hrothgar, nor opened eye until, in +the bright light of the morning, he was roused by terrified +servants, forgetful of his august royalty, impelled by +terror, crying aloud their terrible tale. They had +come, they said, to lay on the floor of the banqueting-hall, +sweet, fresh rushes from the meadows, and to clear +away all trace of the feasting overnight. But the two-and-thirty +knights who, in full armour, had lain down +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +to sleep were all gone, and on the floor was the spoor +of something foul and noisome, and on the walls and on +the trampled rushes were great and terrible smears of +human blood.</p> + +<p>They tracked the Grendel back to the marsh from +whence he had come, and shuddered at the sight of +bestial footprints that left blood-stains behind.</p> + +<p>Terrible indeed was the grief of Hrothgar, but still +more terrible was his anger. He offered a royal reward to +any man who would slay the Grendel, and full gladly ten +of his warriors pledged themselves to sleep that night in +the great hall and to slay the Grendel ere morning came.</p> + +<p>But dawn showed once more a piteous sight. Again +there were only trampled and blood-stained rushes, +with the loathsome smell of unclean flesh. Again the +foul tracks of the monster were found where it had +padded softly back to its noisome fens.</p> + +<p>There were many brave men in the kingdom of +Hrothgar the Dane, and yet again did they strive to +maintain the dignity of the great hall, Heorot, and to +uphold the honour of their king. But through twelve +dismal years the Grendel took its toll of the bravest in +the realm, and to sleep in the place that Hrothgar had +built as monument to his magnificent supremacy, ever +meant, for the sleeper, shameful death. Well content +was the Grendel, that grew fat and lusty amongst the +grey mists of the black marshes, unknowing that in the +land of the Goths there was growing to manhood one +whose feet already should be echoing along that path +from which Death was to come.</p> + +<p>In the realm of the Goths, Hygelac was king, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +no greater hero lived in his kingdom than Beowulf, +his own sister’s son. From the age of seven Beowulf +was brought up at the court of his uncle.</p> + +<p>A great, fair, blue-eyed lad was Beowulf, lazy, and +very slow to wrath. When he had at last become +a yellow-haired giant, of wondrous good-temper, and +leisurely in movement, the other young warriors of +Gothland had mocked at him as at one who was only +a very huge, very amiable child. But, like others of +the same descent, Beowulf’s anger, if slow to kindle, +was a terrible fire once it began to flame. A few +of those flares-up had shown the folk of his uncle’s +kingdom that no mean nor evil deed might lightly be +done, nor evil word spoken in the presence of Beowulf. +In battle against the Swedes, no sword had hewn down +more men than the sword of Beowulf. And when the +champion swimmer of the land of the Goths challenged +the young giant Beowulf to swim a match with +him, for five whole days they swam together. A tempest +driving down from the twilight land of the ice and +snow parted them then, and he who had been champion +was driven ashore and thankfully struggled on +to the beach of his own dear country once again. But +the foaming seas cast Beowulf on some jagged cliffs, +and would fain have battered his body into broken +fragments against them, and as he fought and struggled +to resist their raging cruelty, mermaids and nixies and +many monsters of the deep joined forces with the waves +and strove to wrest his life from him. And while with +one hand he held on to a sharp rock, with the other he +dealt with his sword stark blows on those children of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +the deep who would fain have devoured him. Their +bodies, deep-gashed and dead, floated down to the +coast of Gothland, and the king and all those who +looked for the corpse of Beowulf saw them, amazed. +Then at length came Beowulf himself, and with great +gladness was he welcomed, and the king, his uncle, gave +him his treasured sword, Nägeling, in token of his valour.</p> + +<p>In the court of Hrothgar, the number of brave warriors +ever grew smaller. One man only had witnessed +the terrible slaughter of one of those black nights and +yet had kept his life. He was a bard—a scald—and from +the land where he had seen such grim horror, he fled to +the land of the Goths, and there, in the court of the king, +he sang the gloomy tale of the never-ending slaughter +of noble warriors by the foul Grendel of the fens and +moors.</p> + +<p>Beowulf listened, enthralled, to his song. But those +who knew him saw his eyes gleam as the good steel +blade of a sword gleams when it is drawn for battle, +and when he asked his uncle to allow him to go to the +land of the Danes and slay this filthy thing, his uncle +smiled, with no surprise, and was very well content.</p> + +<p>So it came to pass that Beowulf, in his black-prowed +ship, with fourteen trusty followers, set sail from Gothland +for the kingdom of Hrothgar.</p> + +<p>The warden of the Danish coast was riding his +rounds one morning when he beheld from the white cliffs +a strange war-vessel making for the shore. Skilfully +the men on board her ran her through the surf, and +beached her in a little creek between the cliffs, and +made her fast to a rock by stout cables. Only for a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +little time the valiant warden watched them from afar, +and then, one man against fifteen, he rode quickly down +and challenged the warriors.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“What are ye warlike men<span class="s1"> </span>wielding bright weapons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wearing grey corselets and<span class="s1"> </span>boar-adorned helmets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who o’er the water-paths<span class="s1"> </span>come with your foaming keel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ploughing the ocean surge?<span class="s1"> </span>I was appointed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warden of Denmark’s shores;<span class="s1"> </span>watch hold I by the wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That on this Danish coast<span class="s1"> </span>no deadly enemy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leading troops over sea<span class="s1"> </span>should land to injure.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None have here landed yet<span class="s1"> </span>more frankly coming<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than this fair company:<span class="s1"> </span>and yet ye answer not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The password of warriors,<span class="s1"> </span>and customs of kinsmen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ne’er have mine eyes beheld<span class="s1"> </span>a mightier warrior,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An earl more lordly than<span class="s1"> </span>is he the chief of you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is no common man;<span class="s1"> </span>if looks belie him not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is a hero bold,<span class="s1"> </span>worthily weaponed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anon must I know of you<span class="s1"> </span>kindred and country,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest ye of spies should go<span class="s1"> </span>free on our Danish soil.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now ye men from afar,<span class="s1"> </span>sailing the surging sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have heard my earnest thought:<span class="s1"> </span>best is a quick reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I may swiftly know<span class="s1"> </span>whence ye have hither come.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Then Beowulf, with fearless eyes, gazed in the face +of the warden and told him simply and unboastfully +who he was, from whence he came, and what was his +errand. He had come as the nation’s deliverer, to slay +the thing that</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Cometh in dark of night,<span class="s1"> </span>sateth his secret hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worketh through fearsome awe,<span class="s1"> </span>slaughter and shame.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>With joy the warden heard his noble words.</p> + +<p>“My men shall beach your ship,” he said, “and +make her fast with a barrier of oars against the greedy +tide. Come with me to the king.”</p> + +<p>It was a gallant band that strode into Heorot, where +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +sat the old king, gloom overshadowing his soul. And +fit leader for a band of heroes was Beowulf, a giant figure +in ring-mail, spear and shield gleaming in his hand, +and by his side the mighty sword, Nägeling. To Hrothgar, +as to the warden, Beowulf told the reason of his +coming, and hope began again to live in the heart of the +king.</p> + +<p>That night the warriors from the land of the Goths +were feasted in the great banqueting-hall where, for +twelve unhappy years, voices had never rung out so +bravely and so merrily. The queen herself poured out +the mead with which the king and the men from Gothland +pledged each other, and with her own hand she +passed the goblet to each one. When, last of it all, +it came to the guest of honour, Beowulf took the cup of +mead from the fair queen and solemnly pledged himself +to save the land from the evil thing that devoured +it like a pestilence, or to die in his endeavour.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Needs must I now perform knightly deeds in this hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or here must meet my doom in darksome night.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>When darkness fell the feast came to an end, and all +left the hall save Beowulf and his fourteen followers. +In their armour, with swords girt on their sides, the +fourteen heroes lay down to rest, but Beowulf laid aside +all his arms and gave his sword to a thane to bear away. +For, said he,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I have heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That that foul miscreant’s dark and stubborn flesh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recks not the force of arms ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hand to hand ... Beowulf will grapple with the mighty foe.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +From his fastnesses in the fens, the Grendel had +heard the shouts of revelry, and as the Goths closed their +eyes to sleep, knowing they might open them again only +to grapple with hideous death, yet unafraid because of +their sure belief that “What is to be goes ever as it +must,” the monster roused himself. Through the dank, +chill, clinging mists he came, and his breath made the +poisonous miasma of the marshes more deadly as he +padded over the shivering reeds and trembling rushes, +across the bleak moorland and the high cliffs where +the fresh tang of the grey sea was defiled by the hideous +stench of a foul beast of prey. There was fresh food for +him to-night, he knew, some blood more potent than +any that for twelve years had come his bestial way. +And he hastened on with greedy eagerness, nightmare +incarnate. He found the great door of the banqueting-hall +bolted and barred, but one angry wrench set at +naught the little precautionary measures of mere men.</p> + +<p>The dawn was breaking dim and grey and very chill +when Beowulf heard the stealthy tread without, and the +quick-following crash of the bolts and bars that gave +so readily. He made no movement, but only waited. +In an instant the dawn was blotted out by a vast black +shadow, and swifter than any great bear could strike, +a scaly hand had struck one of the friends of Beowulf. +In an instant the man was torn from limb to limb, and +in a wild disgust and hatred Beowulf heard the lapping +of blood, the scrunching of bones and chewing of warm +flesh as the monster ravenously devoured him. Again +the loathsome hand was stretched out to seize and to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +devour. But in the darkness two hands, like hands +of iron, gripped the outstretched arm, and the Grendel +knew that he had met his match at last. The warriors +of Beowulf awoke to find a struggle going on such as +their eyes never before beheld, for it was a fight to the +death between man and monster. Vainly they tried +to aid their leader, but their weapons only glanced harmlessly +off the Grendel’s scaly hide. Up and down the +hall the combatants wrestled, until the walls shook and +the great building itself rocked to its foundations. +Ever and again it seemed as though no human power +could prevail against teeth and claws and demonic fury, +and as tables and benches crashed to the ground and +broke under the tramping feet of the Grendel, it appeared +an impossible thing that Beowulf should overcome. +Yet ever tighter and more tight grew the iron +grip of Beowulf. His fingers seemed turned to iron. +His hatred and loathing made his grasp crash through +scales, into flesh, and crush the marrow out of the bone +it found there. And when at length the Grendel could +no more, and with a terrible cry wrenched himself free, +and fled, wailing, back to the fenland, still in his grasp +Beowulf held the limb. The Grendel had freed himself by +tearing the whole arm out of its socket, and, for once, the +trail of blood across the moors was that of the monster +and not of its victims.</p> + +<p>Great indeed was the rejoicing of Hrothgar and of his +people when, in the morning, instead of crimson-stained +rushes and the track of vermin claws imbrued in human +blood, they found all but one of the men from Gothland +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +alive, and looked upon the hideous trophy that told +them that their enemy could only have gone to find +a shameful death in the marshes. They cleansed out +the great hall, hung it with lordly trappings, and made +it once more fit habitation for the lordliest in the land. +That night a feast was held in it, such as had never +before been held all through the magnificent reign of +Hrothgar. The best of the scalds sung songs in honour +of the triumph of Beowulf, and the queen herself pledged +the hero in a cup of mead and gave to him the beautiful +most richly jewelled collar Brisingamen, of exquisite +ancient workmanship, that once was owned by Freya, +queen of the gods, and a great ring of the purest red gold. +To Beowulf, too, the king gave a banner, all broidered +in gold, a sword of the finest, with helmet and +corselet, and eight fleet steeds, and on the back of the +one that he deemed the best Hrothgar had placed +his own saddle, cunningly wrought, and decked with +golden ornaments. To each of the warriors of Beowulf +there were also given rich gifts. And ere the queen, with +her maidens, left the hall that night she said to Beowulf:</p> + +<p>“Enjoy thy reward, O dear Beowulf, while enjoy it +thou canst. Live noble and blessed! Keep well thy +great fame, and to my dear sons, in time to come, should +ever they be in need, be a kind protector!”</p> + +<p>With happy hearts in very weary bodies, Beowulf and +his men left the hall when the feast was ended, and they +slept through the night in another lodging as those sleep +who have faced death through a very long night, and to +whom joy has come in the morning.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +But the Danish knights, careless in the knowledge +that the Grendel must even now be in his dying agonies, +and that once more Hereot was for them a safe and +noble sleeping-place, lay themselves down to sleep in +the hall, their shields at their heads, and, fastened +high up on the roof above them, the hideous trophy of +Beowulf.</p> + +<p>Next morning as the grey dawn broke over the northern +sea, it saw a sight that made it more chill than +death. Across the moorland went a thing—half wolf, +half woman—the mother of Grendel. The creature she +had borne had come home to die, and to her belonged +his avenging. Softly she went to Hereot. Softly she +opened the unguarded door. Gladly, in her savage jaws, +she seized Aschere, the thane who was to Hrothgar +most dear, and from the roof she plucked her desired +treasure—the arm of Grendel, her son. Then she +trotted off to her far-off, filthy den, leaving behind her +the noise of lamentation.</p> + +<p>Terrible was the grief of Hrothgar over the death +of Aschere, dearest of friends and sharer of his councils. +And to his lamentations Beowulf listened, sad at heart, +humble, yet with a heart that burned for vengeance. +The hideous creature of the night was the mother of +Grendel, as all knew well. On her Beowulf would be +avenged, for Aschere’s sake, for the king’s, and for the +sake of his own honour. Then once again did he +pledge himself to do all that man’s strength could do +to rid the land of an evil thing. Well did he know how +dangerous was the task before him, and he gave directions +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +for the disposal of all that he valued should he +never return from his quest. To the King, who feared +greatly that he was going forth on a forlorn hope, he said:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Grieve not!... Each man must undergo death at the end of life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let him win, while he may, warlike fame in the world!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is best after death for the slain warrior.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>His own men, and Hrothgar, and a great company +of Danes went with him when he set out to trace the +blood-stained tracks of the Grendel’s mother. Near +the edge of a gloomy mere they found the head of +Aschere. And when they looked at the fiord itself, it +seemed to be blood-stained—stained with blood that +ever welled upwards, and in which revelled with a +fierce sort of joy—the rapture of bestial cruelty—water-monsters +without number.</p> + +<p>Beowulf, his face white and grim like that of an +image of Thor cast in silver, watched a little while, +then drew his bow and drove a bolt into the heart +of one of them, and when they had drawn the slain +carcase to shore, the thanes of Hrothgar marvelled at +the horror of it.</p> + +<p>Then Beowulf took leave of Hrothgar and told him +that if in two days he did not return, certain it would +be that he would return no more. The hearts of all who +said farewell to him were heavy, but Beowulf laughed, +and bade them be of good cheer. Then into the black +waters he dived, sword in hand, clad in ring-armour, +and the dark pool closed over him as the river of Death +closes over the head of a man when his day is done. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +To him it seemed as if the space of a day had passed +ere he reached the bottom, and in his passing he encountered +many dread dangers from tusk and horn of +a myriad evil creatures of the water who sought to +destroy him. Then at length he reached the bottom +of that sinister mere, and there was clasped in the +murderous grip of the Wolf-Woman who strove to crush +his life out against her loathsome breast. Again and +again, when her hideous embrace failed to slay him, she +stabbed him with her knife. Yet ever did he escape. +His good armour resisted the power of her arm, and his +own great muscles thrust her from him. Yet his own +sword failed him when he would have smitten her, and +the hero would have been in evil case had he not spied, +hanging on the wall of that most foul den,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">“A glorious sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An old brand gigantic,<span class="s1"> </span>trusty in point and edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An heirloom of heroes.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Swiftly he seized it, and with it he dealt the Wolf-Woman +a blow that shore her head from her body. +Through the foul blood that flowed from her and that +mingled with the black water of the mere, Beowulf +saw a very terrible horror—the body of the Grendel, +lying moaning out the last of his life. Again his strong +arm descended, and, his left hand gripping the coiled +locks of the Evil Thing, he sprang upwards through +the water, that lost its blackness and its clouded crimson +as he went ever higher and more high. In his hand +he still bore the sword that had saved him, but the +poisonous blood of the dying monsters had made the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +water of such fiery heat that the blade melted as he rose, +and only the hilt, with strange runes engraved upon it, +remained in his hand.</p> + +<p>Where he left them, his followers, and the Danes +who went with them, remained, watching, waiting, +ever growing more hopeless as night turned into day, +and day faded into night, and they saw the black waters +of the lonely fen bubbling up, terrible and blood-stained. +But when the waters cleared, hope returned to their +hearts, and when, at length, Beowulf uprose from the +water of the mere and they saw that in his hand he +bore the head of the Grendel, there was no lonely scaur, +nor cliff, nor rock of the land of the Danes that did not +echo the glad cry of “<em>Beowulf! Beowulf!</em>”</p> + +<p>Well-nigh overwhelmed by gifts from those whom +he had preserved was the hero, Beowulf. But in modest, +wise words he spoke to the King:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“Well hast thou treated us.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If on this earth I can<span class="s1"> </span>do more to win thy love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O prince of warriors,<span class="s1"> </span>than I have wrought as yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here stand I ready now<span class="s1"> </span>weapons to wield for thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I shall ever hear<span class="s1"> </span>o’er the encircling flood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That any neighbouring foes<span class="s1"> </span>threaten thy nation’s fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Grendel grim before,<span class="s1"> </span>swift will I bring to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thousands of noble thanes,<span class="s1"> </span>heroes to help thee.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Then, in their ship, that the Warden of the Coast once +had challenged, Beowulf and his warriors set sail for their +own dear land.</p> + +<p>Gaily the vessel danced over the waves, heavy +though it was with treasure, nobly gained. And when +Beowulf had come in safety to his homeland and had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +told his kinsman the tale of the slaying of the Grendel +and of the Wolf-Woman, he gave the finest of his steeds +to the King, and to the Queen the jewelled collar, +Brisingamen, that the Queen of the Goths had bestowed +on him. And the heart of his uncle was glad and proud +indeed, and there was much royal banqueting in the +hero’s honour. Of him, too, the scalds made up songs, +and there was no hero in all that northern land whose +fame was as great as was the fame of Beowulf.</p> + +<p>“The Must Be often helps an undoomed man when +he is brave” was the precept on which he ruled his life, +and he never failed the King whose chief champion +and warrior he was. When, in an expedition against +the Frieslanders, King Hygelac fell a victim to the +cunning of his foes, the sword of Beowulf fought nobly +for him to the end, and the hero was a grievously +wounded man when he brought back to Gothland the +body of the dead King. The Goths would fain have +made him their King, in Hygelac’s stead, but Beowulf +was too loyal a soul to supplant his uncle’s own son. On +his shield he laid the infant prince, Hardred, and held +him up for the people to see. And when he had proclaimed +the child King and vowed to serve him faithfully +all the days of his life, there was no man there who +did not loyally echo the promise of their hero, Beowulf.</p> + +<p>When Hardred, a grown man, was treacherously slain +by a son of Othere, he who discovered the North Cape, +Beowulf once again was chosen King, and for forty years +he reigned wisely and well. The fame of his arms kept +war away from the land, and his wisdom as a statesman +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +brought great prosperity and happiness to his people. +He had never known fear, and so for him there was +nothing to dread when the weakness of age fell upon +him and when he knew that his remaining years could +be but few:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Seeing that Death, a necessary end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will come when it will come.”<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Through all those years of peace, the thing that was +to bring death to him had lurked, unknown, unimagined, +in a cave in the lonely mountains.</p> + +<p>Many centuries before the birth of Beowulf, a family +of mighty warriors had won by their swords a priceless +treasure of weapons and of armour, of richly chased +goblets and cups, of magnificent ornaments and precious +jewels, and of gold “beyond the dreams of avarice.” +In a great cave among the rocks it was hoarded by the +last of their line, and on his death none knew where it +was hidden. Upon it one day there stumbled a fiery +dragon—a Firedrake—and for three hundred years the +monster gloated, unchallenged, over the magnificent +possession. But at the end of that time, a bondsman, +who fled before his master’s vengeance and sought +sanctuary in the mountains, came on an opening in the +rocks, and, creeping in, found the Firedrake asleep upon +a mass of red gold and of sparkling gems that dazzled +his eyes even in the darkness. For a moment he stood, +trembling, then, sure of his master’s forgiveness if he +brought him as gift a golden cup all studded with jewels, +he seized one and fled with it ere the monster could +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +awake. With its awakening, terror fell upon the land. +Hither and thither it flew, searching for him who had +robbed it, and as it flew, it sent flames on the earth and +left behind it a black trail of ruin and of death.</p> + +<p>When news of its destroyings came to the ears of +the father of his people, Beowulf knew that to him +belonged the task of saving the land for them and for +all those to come after them. But he was an old man, +and strength had gone from him, nor was he able now +to wrestle with the Firedrake as once he had wrestled +with the Grendel and the Wolf-Woman, but had to trust +to his arms. He had an iron shield made to withstand +the Firedrake’s flaming breath, and, with a band of +eleven picked followers, and taking the bondsman as +guide, Beowulf went out to fight his last fight. As they +drew near the place, he bade his followers stay where +they were, “For I alone,” he said, “will win the gold +and save my people, or Death shall take me.”</p> + +<p>From the entrance to the cave there poured forth +a sickening cloud of steam and smoke, suffocating and +blinding, and so hot that he could not go forward. But +with a loud voice the old warrior shouted an arrogant +challenge of defiance to his enemy, and the Firedrake +rushed forth from its lair, roaring with the roar of an +unquenchable fire whose fury will destroy a city. From +its wings of flame and from its eyes heat poured forth +scorchingly, and its great mouth belched forth devouring +flames as it cast itself on Beowulf.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 276px;"> +<a name="BEOWULF" id="BEOWULF"></a> +<a href="images/abom17.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom17th.jpg" width="276" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">A STROKE SHIVERED THE SWORD</span> +</div> + +<p>The hero’s sword flashed, and smote a stark blow +upon its scaly head. But Beowulf could not deal death +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +strokes as once he had done, and only for a moment was +his adversary stunned. In hideous rage the monster +coiled its snaky folds around him, and the heat from his +body made the iron shield redden as though the blacksmith +in his smithy were welding it, and each ring of the +armour that Beowulf wore seared right into his flesh. +His breast swelled with the agony, and his great heart +must have come near bursting for pain and for sorrow. +For he saw that panic had come on his followers and +that they were fleeing, leaving him to his fate. Yet not +all of them were faithless. Wiglaf, young and daring, a +dear kinsman of Beowulf, from whom he had received +many a kindness, calling shame on the dastards who +fled, rushed forward, sword in hand, and with no protection +but that of his shield of linden wood. Like a +leaf scorched in a furnace the shield curled up, but new +strength came to Beowulf with the knowledge that +Wiglaf had not failed him in his need. Together the two +heroes made a gallant stand, although blood flowed in +a swift red stream from a wound that the monster had +made in Beowulf’s neck with its venomous fangs, and +ran down his corselet. A stroke which left the Firedrake +unharmed shivered the sword that had seen many fights, +but Wiglaf smote a shrewd blow ere his lord could be +destroyed, and Beowulf swiftly drew his broad knife and, +with an effort so great that all the life that was left in him +seemed to go with it, he shore the Firedrake asunder.</p> + +<p>Then Beowulf knew that his end drew very near, +and when he had thanked Wiglaf for his loyal help, he +bade him enter the cave and bring forth the treasure +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +that he might please his dying eyes by looking on the +riches that he had won for his people. And Wiglaf +hastened into the cave, for he knew that he raced with +Death, and brought forth armfuls of weapons, of magnificent +ornaments, of goblets and of cups, of bars of +red gold. Handfuls of sparkling jewels, too, he brought, +and each time he came and went, seizing without choosing, +whatever lay nearest, it seemed as though the Firedrake’s +hoard were endless. A magical golden standard +and armour and swords that the dwarfs had made +brought a smile of joy into the dying King’s eyes. And +when the ten shamed warriors, seeing that the fight +was at an end, came to where their mighty ruler lay, +they found him lying near the vile carcase of the monster +he had slain, and surrounded by a dazzlement of treasure +uncountable. To them, and to Wiglaf, Beowulf spoke +his valediction, urging on them to maintain the honour +of the land of the Goths, and then he said:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I thank God eternal,<span class="s1"> </span>the great King of Glory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the vast treasures<span class="s1"> </span>which I here gaze upon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I ere my death-day<span class="s1"> </span>might for my people<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Win so great wealth—<span class="s1"> </span>Since I have given my life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou must now look to<span class="s1"> </span>the needs of the nation;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here dwell I no longer,<span class="s1"> </span>for Destiny calleth me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bid thou my warriors<span class="s1"> </span>after my funeral pyre<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Build me a burial-cairn<span class="s1"> </span>high on the sea-cliffs head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It shall for memory<span class="s1"> </span>tower up to Hronesness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So that the sea-farers<span class="s1"> </span>Beowulf’s Barrow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Henceforth shall name it,<span class="s1"> </span>they who drive far and wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the mighty flood<span class="s1"> </span>their foaming Reels.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art the last of all<span class="s1"> </span>the kindred of Wagmund!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wyrd<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> has swept all my kin,<span class="s1"> </span>all the brave chiefs away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now must I follow them!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +Such was the passing of Beowulf, greatest of Northern +heroes, and under a mighty barrow on a cliff very high +above the sea, they buried him, and with him a great +fortune from the treasure he had won. Then with +heavy hearts, “round about the mound rode his hearth-sharers, +who sang that he was of kings, of men, the +mildest, kindest, to his people sweetest, and the readiest +in search of praise”:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Gentlest, most gracious, most keen to win glory.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>And if, in time, the great deeds of a mighty king of +the Goths have become more like fairy tale than solid +history, this at least we know, that whether it is in +Saeland or on the Yorkshire coast—where</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“High on the sea-cliff ledges<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The white gulls are trooping and crying”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>—the barrow of Beowulf covers a very valiant hero, a +very perfect gentleman.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Shakespeare (<i>Julius Cæsar</i>).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Goddess of Fate.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> +<h2>ROLAND THE PALADIN</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Roland, the flower of chivalry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Expired at Roncevall.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Thomas Campbell.</span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Hero-worship endures for ever while man endures.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Carlyle.</span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Roland, the gode knight.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Turpin’s</span> <i>History of Charlemagne</i>.</p> + + +<p>The old chroniclers tell us that on that momentous +morning when William the Conqueror led his army to +victory at Hastings, a Norman knight named Taillefer +(and a figure of iron surely was his) spurred his horse +to the front. In face of the enemy who hated all things +that had to do with France, he lifted up his voice +and chanted aloud the exploits of Charlemagne and of +Roland. As he sang, he threw his sword in the air +and always caught it in his right hand as it fell, and, +proudly, the whole army, moving at once, joined with +him in the <i>Chanson de Roland</i>, and shouted, as chorus, +“God be our help! God be our help!”</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Taillefer ... chantoit de Rollant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Et d’Olivier, et de Vassaux<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Qui mourent en Rainschevaux.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Wace</span>, <i>Roman de Rose</i>.</p> + +<p>Fifteen thousand of those who sang fell on that +bloody day, and one wonders how many of those who +went down to the Shades owed half their desperate +courage to the remembrance of the magnificent deeds +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +of the hero of whom they sang, ere ever sword met +sword, or spear met the sullen impact of the stark frame +of a Briton born, fighting for his own.</p> + +<p>The story of Roland, so we are told, is only a splendid +coating of paint put on a very slender bit of drawing. +A contemporary chronicle tells of the battle of Roncesvalles, +and says: “In which battle was slain Roland, +prefect of the marches of Brittany.” Merely a Breton +squire, we are told to believe—a very gallant country +gentleman whose name would not have been preserved +in priestly archives had he not won for himself, by his +fine courage, such an unfading laurel crown. But because +we are so sure that “it is the memory that the +soldier leaves after him, like the long trail of light that +follows the sunken sun,” and because so often oral +tradition is less misleading than the written word, we +gladly and undoubtingly give Roland high place in the +Valhalla of heroes of all races and of every time.</p> + +<p>777 or 778 <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> is the date fixed for the great fight +at Roncesvalles, where Roland won death and glory. +Charlemagne, King of the Franks, and Head of the Holy +Roman Empire, was returning victoriously from a seven +years’ campaign against the Saracens in Spain.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“No fortress stands before him unsubdued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor wall, nor city left to be destroyed,”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>save one—the city of Saragossa, the stronghold of King +Marsile or Marsiglio. Here amongst the mountains the +King and his people still held to their idols, worshipped +“Mahommed, Apollo, and Termagaunt,” and looked +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +forward with horror to a day when the mighty Charlemagne +might, by the power of the sword, thrust upon +them the worship of the crucified Christ. Ere Charlemagne +had returned to his own land, Marsile held a +council with his peers. To believe that the great conqueror +would rest content with Saragossa still unconquered +was too much to hope for. Surely he would +return to force his religion upon them. What, then, +was it best to do? A very wily emir was Blancandrin, +brave in war, and wise in counsel, and on his advice +Marsile sent ambassadors to Charlemagne to ask of him +upon what conditions he would be allowed to retain +his kingdom in peace and to continue to worship the +gods of his fathers. Mounted on white mules, with +silver saddles, and with reins of gold, and bearing olive +branches in their hands, Blancandrin and the ten messengers +sent by Marsile arrived at Cordova, where +Charlemagne rested with his army. Fifteen thousand +tried veterans were with him there, and his “Douzeperes”—his +Twelve Peers—who were to him what the +Knights of the Round Table were to King Arthur of +Britain. He held his court in an orchard, and under +a great pine tree from which the wild honeysuckle +hung like a fragrant canopy, the mighty king and +emperor sat on a throne of gold.</p> + +<p>The messengers of Marsile saw a man of much more +than ordinary stature and with the commanding presence +of one who might indeed conquer kingdoms, but his +sword was laid aside and he watched contentedly the +contests between the older of his knights who played +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +chess under the shade of the fruit trees, and the fencing +bouts of the younger warriors. Very dear to him were +all his Douzeperes, yet dearest of all was his own nephew, +Roland. In him he saw his own youth again, his own +imperiousness, his reckless gallantry, his utter fearlessness—all +those qualities which endeared him to the +hearts of other men. Roland was his sister’s son, and it +was an evil day for the fair Bertha when she told her +brother that, in spite of his anger and scorn, she had +disobeyed his commands and had wed the man she +loved, Milon, a poor young knight.</p> + +<p>No longer would Charlemagne recognise her as +sister, and in obscurity and poverty Roland was born. +He was still a very tiny lad when his father, in attempting +to ford a flooded river, was swept down-stream and +drowned, and Bertha had no one left to fend for her +and for her child. Soon they had no food left, and the +little Roland watched with amazed eyes his famished +mother growing so weak that she could not rise from the +bed where she lay, nor answer him when he pulled her +by the hand and tried to make her come with him to +seek his father and to find something to eat. And +when he saw that it was hopeless, the child knew that +he must take his father’s place and get food for the +mother who lay so pale, and so very still. Into a great +hall where Charlemagne and his lords were banqueting +Roland strayed. Here was food in plenty! Savoury +smelling, delicious to his little empty stomach were the +daintily cooked meats which the Emperor and his +court ate from off their silver platters. Only one +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +plateful of food such as this must, of a surety, make his +dear mother strong and well once more. Not for a +moment did Roland hesitate. Even as a tiny sparrow +darts into a lion’s cage and picks up a scrap almost out +of the monarch’s hungry jaws, so acted Roland. A +plateful of food stood beside the King. At this Roland +sprang, seized it with both hands, and joyfully ran off +with his prey. When the serving men would have +caught him, Charlemagne, laughing, bade them desist.</p> + +<p>“A hungry one this,” he said, “and very bold.”</p> + +<p>So the meal went on, and when Roland had fed his +mother with some pieces of the rich food and had seen +her gradually revive, yet another thought came to his +baby mind.</p> + +<p>“My father gave her wine,” he thought. “They +were drinking wine in that great hall. It will make her +white cheeks red again.”</p> + +<p>Thus he ran back, as fast as his legs could carry +him, and Charlemagne smiled yet more when he saw +the beautiful child, who knew no fear, return to the +place where he had thieved. Right up to the King’s +chair he came, solemnly measured with his eye the cups +of wine that the great company quaffed, saw that the +cup of Charlemagne was the most beautiful and the +fullest of the purple-red wine, stretched out a daring +little hand, grasped the cup, and prepared to go off +again, like a marauding bright-eyed bird. Then the +King seized in his own hand the hand that held +the cup.</p> + +<p>“No! no! bold thief,” he said, “I cannot have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +my golden cup stolen from me, be it done by ever +so sturdy a robber. Tell me, who sent thee out to +steal?”</p> + +<p>And Roland, an erect, gallant, little figure, his hand +still in the iron grip of the King, fearlessly and proudly +gazed back into the eyes of Charlemagne.</p> + +<p>“No one sent me,” he said. “My mother lay very +cold and still and would not speak, and she had said +my father would come back no more, so there was none +but me to seek her food. Give me the wine, I say! for +she is so cold and so very, very white”—and the child +struggled to free his hand that still held the cup.</p> + +<p>“Who art thou, then?” asked Charlemagne.</p> + +<p>“My name is Roland—let me go, I pray thee,” and +again he tried to drag himself free. And Charlemagne +mockingly said:</p> + +<p>“Roland, I fear thy father and mother have taught +thee to be a clever thief.”</p> + +<p>Then anger blazed in Roland’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“My mother is a lady of high degree!” he cried, +“and I am her page, her cupbearer, her knight! +I do not speak false words!”—and he would have +struck the King for very rage.</p> + +<p>Then Charlemagne turned to his lords and asked—“Who +is this child?”</p> + +<p>And one made answer: “He is the son of thy +sister Bertha, and of Milon the knight, who was drowned +these three weeks agone.”</p> + +<p>Then the heart of Charlemagne grew heavy with +remorse when he found that his sister had so nearly died +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +of want, and from that day she never knew aught but +kindness and tenderness from him, while Roland was +dear to him as his own child.</p> + +<p>He was a Douzepere now, and when the envoys from +Saragossa had delivered their message to Charlemagne, +he was one of those who helped to do them honour at +a great feast that was held for them in a pavilion raised +in the orchard.</p> + +<p>Early in the morning Charlemagne heard mass, and +then, on his golden throne under the great pine, he sat +and took counsel with his Douzeperes. Not one of them +trusted Marsile, but Ganelon, who had married the +widowed Bertha and who had a jealous hatred for his +step-son—so beloved by his mother, so loved and +honoured by the King—was ever ready to oppose the +counsel of Roland. Thus did he persuade Charlemagne +to send a messenger to Marsile, commanding him to +deliver up the keys of Saragossa, in all haste to become +a Christian, and in person to come and, with all humility, +pay homage as vassal to Charlemagne.</p> + +<p>Then arose the question as to which of the peers +should bear the arrogant message. Roland, ever greedy +for the post of danger, impetuously asked that he might +be chosen. But Charlemagne would have neither him +nor his dear friend and fellow-knight, Oliver—he who +was the Jonathan of Roland’s David—nor would he +have Naismes de Bavière, nor Turpin, “the chivalrous +and undaunted Bishop of Rheims.” He could not +afford to risk their lives, and Marsile was known to be +treacherous. Then he said to his peers:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +“Choose ye for me whom I shall send. Let it be +one who is wise; brave, yet not over-rash, and who will +defend mine honour valiantly.”</p> + +<p>Then Roland, who never knew an ungenerous thought, +quickly said: “Then, indeed, it must be Ganelon who +goes, for if he goes, or if he stays, you have none better +than he.”</p> + +<p>And all the other peers applauded the choice, and +Charlemagne said to Ganelon:</p> + +<p>“Come hither, Ganelon, and receive my staff and +glove, which the voice of all the Franks have given to +thee.”</p> + +<p>But the honour which all the others coveted was +not held to be an honour by Ganelon. In furious rage +he turned upon Roland:</p> + +<p>“You and your friends have sent me to my death!” +he cried. “But if by a miracle I should return, look +you to yourself, Roland, for assuredly I shall be revenged!”</p> + +<p>And Roland grew red, then very white, and said:</p> + +<p>“I had taken thee for another man, Ganelon. Gladly +will I take thy place. Wilt give me the honour to bear +thy staff and glove to Saragossa, sire?” And eagerly +he looked Charlemagne in the face—eager as, when a +child, he had craved the cup of wine for his mother’s +sake.</p> + +<p>But Charlemagne, with darkened brow, shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Ganelon must go,” he said, “for so have I commanded. +Go! for the honour of Jesus Christ, and for +your Emperor.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +Thus, sullenly and unwillingly, and with burning +hatred against Roland in his heart, Ganelon accompanied +the Saracens back to Saragossa. A hate so bitter was +not easy to hide, and as he rode beside him the wily +Blancandrin was not long in laying a probing finger on +this festering sore. Soon he saw that Ganelon would +pay even the price of his honour to revenge himself +upon Roland and on the other Douzeperes whose lives +were more precious than his in the eyes of Charlemagne. +Yet, when Saragossa was reached, like a brave man and +a true did Ganelon deliver the insulting message that his +own brain had conceived and that the Emperor, with +magnificent arrogance, had bidden him deliver. And +this he did, although he knew his life hung but by a thread +while Marsile and the Saracen lords listened to his words. +But Marsile kept his anger under, thinking with comfort +of what Blancandrin had told him of his discovery by +the way. And very soon he had shown Ganelon how he +might be avenged on Roland and on the friends of Roland, +and in a manner which his treachery need never be +known, and very rich were the bribes that he offered +to the faithless knight.</p> + +<p>Thus it came about that Ganelon sold his honour, +and bargained with the Saracens to betray Roland and +his companions into their hands in their passage of +the narrow defiles of Roncesvalles. For more than fifty +pieces of silver Marsile purchased the soul of Ganelon, +and when this Judas of the Douzeperes returned in +safety to Cordova, bringing with him princely gifts for +Charlemagne, the keys of Saragossa, and the promise +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +that in sixteen days Marsile would repair to France +to do homage and to embrace the Christian faith, the +Emperor was happy indeed. All had fallen out as he +desired. Ganelon, who had gone forth in wrath, had +returned calm and gallant, and had carried himself +throughout his difficult embassy as a wise statesman and +a brave and loyal soldier.</p> + +<p>“Thou hast done well, Ganelon,” said the king. +“I give thanks to my God and to thee. Thou shalt be +well rewarded.”</p> + +<p>The order then was speedily given for a return to +France, and for ten miles the great army marched +before they halted and encamped for the night. But +when Charlemagne slept, instead of dreams of peace he +had two dreams which disturbed him greatly. In the +first, Ganelon roughly seized the imperial spear of tough +ash-wood and it broke into splinters in his hand. In +the next, Charlemagne saw himself attacked by a leopard +and a bear, which tore off his right arm, and as a greyhound +darted to his aid he awoke, and rose from his couch +heavy at heart because of those dreams of evil omen.</p> + +<p>In the morning he held a council and reminded his +knights of the dangers of the lonely pass of Roncesvalles. +It was a small oval plain, shut in all round, +save on the south where the river found its outlet, by +precipitous mountain ridges densely covered with beech +woods. Mountains ran sheer up to the sky above it, +precipices rushed sheer down below, and the path that +crossed the crest of the Pyrenees and led to it was so +narrow that it must be traversed in single file. The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +dangers for the rearguard naturally seemed to Charlemagne +to be the greatest, and to his Douzeperes he +turned, as before, for counsel.</p> + +<p>“Who, then, shall command the rearguard?” he asked. +And quickly Ganelon answered, “Who but Roland? +Ever would he seek the post where danger lies.”</p> + +<p>And Charlemagne, feeling he owed much to Ganelon, +gave way to his counsel, though with heavy forebodings +in his heart. Then all the other Douzeperes, save +Ganelon, said that for love of Roland they would go +with him and see him safely through the dangers of the +way. Loudly they vaunted his bravery:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“<i>For dred of dethe, he hid neuer his hed.</i>”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Leaving them behind with twenty thousand men, and +with Ganelon commanding the vanguard, Charlemagne +started.</p> + +<p>“Christ keep you!” he said on parting with Roland—“<em>I +betak you to Crist.</em>”</p> + +<p>And Roland, clad in his shining armour, his lordly +helmet on his head, his sword Durendala by his side, +his horn Olifant slung round him, and his flower-painted +shield on his arm, mounted his good steed +Veillantif, and, holding his bright lance with its white +pennon and golden fringe in his hand, led the way for +his fellow-knights and for the other Franks who so +dearly loved him.</p> + +<p>Not far from the pass of Roncesvalles he saw, gleaming +against the dark side of the purple mountain, the +spears of the Saracens. Ten thousand men, under Sir +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +Gautier, were sent by Roland to reconnoitre, but from +every side the heathen pressed upon them, and every +one of the ten thousand were slain—hurled into the valley +far down below. Gautier alone, sorely wounded, returned +to Roland, to tell him, ere his life ebbed away, +of the betrayal by Ganelon, and to warn him of the +ambush. Yet even then they were at Roncesvalles, +and the warning came too late. Afar off, amongst the +beech trees, and coming down amongst the lonely passes +of the mountains, the Franks could see the gleam of +silver armour, and Oliver, well knowing that not even +the most dauntless valour could withstand such a host +as the one that came against them, besought Roland +to blow a blast on his magic horn that Charlemagne might +hear and return to aid him. And all the other Douzeperes +begged of him that thus he would call for help. +But Roland would not listen to them.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I will fight with them that us hathe sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And or I se my brest blod throughe my harnes ryn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow never horn for no help then.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Through the night they knew their enemies were +coming ever nearer, hemming them in, but there were +no night alarms, and day broke fair and still. There +was no wind, there was dew on the grass; “dew dymmd +the floures,” and amongst the trees the birds sang merrily. +At daybreak the good Bishop Turpin celebrated Mass +and blessed them, and even as his voice ceased they beheld +the Saracen host close upon them. Then Roland +spoke brave words of cheer to his army and commended +their souls and his own to Christ, “who suffrid for us +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +paynes sore,” and for whose sake they had to fight the +enemies of the Cross. Behind every tree and rock +a Saracen seemed to be hidden, and in a moment the +whole pass was alive with men in mortal strife.</p> + +<p>Surely never in any fight were greater prodigies of +valour performed than those of Roland and his comrades. +Twelve Saracen kings fell before their mighty swords, +and many a Saracen warrior was hurled down the cliffs +to pay for the lives of the men of France whom they +had trapped to their death. Never before, in one day, +did one man slay so many as did Roland and Oliver his +friend—“A Roland for an Oliver” was no good exchange, +and yet a very fair one, as the heathen quickly learned.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Red was Roland, red with bloodshed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Red his corselet, red his shoulders,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Red his arm, and red his charger.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>In the thickest of the fight he and Oliver came together, +and Roland saw that his friend was using for weapon +and dealing death-blows with the truncheon of a spear.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘Friend, what hast thou there?’ cried Roland.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘In this game ’tis not a distaff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a blade of steel thou needest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where is now Hauteclaire, thy good sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Golden-hilted, crystal-pommelled?’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘Here,’ said Oliver; ‘so fight I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I have not time to draw it.’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘Friend,’ quoth Roland, ‘more I love thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ever henceforth than a brother.’”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>When the sun set on that welter of blood, not a single +Saracen was left, and those of the Frankish rearguard +who still lived were very weary men.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +Then Roland called on his men to give thanks to +God, and Bishop Turpin, whose stout arm had fought +well on that bloody day, offered up thanks for the +army, though in sorry plight were they, almost none +unwounded, their swords and lances broken, and their +hauberks rent and blood-stained. Gladly they laid +themselves down to rest beside the comrades whose +eyes never more would open on the fair land of France, +but even as Roland was about to take his rest he saw +descending upon him and his little band a host of +Saracens, led by Marsile himself.</p> + +<p>A hundred thousand men, untired, and fiercely thirsting +for revenge, came against the handful of wearied, +wounded heroes. Yet with unwavering courage the +Franks responded to their leaders’ call.</p> + +<p>The war-cry of the soldiers of France—“Montjoie! +Montjoie!”—rang clear above the fierce sound of the +trumpets of the Saracen army.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘Soldiers of the Lord,’ cried Turpin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘Be ye valiant and steadfast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For this day shall crowns be given you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Midst the flowers of Paradise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the name of God our Saviour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be ye not dismayed nor frighted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest of you be shameful legends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chanted by the tongues of minstrels.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rather let us die victorious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since this eve shall see us lifeless!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaven has no room for cowards!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knights, who nobly fight, and vainly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye shall sit among the holy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the blessed fields of Heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On then, Friends of God, to glory!’”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +Marsile fell, the first victim to a blow from the sword +of Roland, and even more fiercely than the one that had +preceded it, waged this terrible fight.</p> + +<p>And now it seemed as though the Powers of Good and +of Evil also took part in the fray, for a storm swept down +from the mountains, thick darkness fell, and the rumble +of thunder and the rush of heavy rain dulled the shouts +of those who fought and the clash and clang of their +weapons. When a blood-red cloud came up, its lurid +light showed the trampled ground strewn with dead and +dying. At that piteous sight Roland proposed to send +a messenger to Charlemagne to ask him for aid, but it +was then too late.</p> + +<p>When only sixty Franks remained, the pride of Roland +gave way to pity for the men whom he had led to death, +and he took the magic horn Olifant in his hand, that he +might blow on it a blast that would bring Charlemagne, +his mighty army behind him, to wipe out the Saracen +host that had done him such evil. But Oliver bitterly +protested. Earlier in the day, when he had willed it, +Roland had refused to call for help. Now the day was +done. The twilight of death—Death the inevitable—was +closing in upon them. Why, then, call now for Charlemagne, +when nor he nor any other could help them? +But Turpin with all his force backed the wish of Roland.</p> + +<p>“The blast of thy horn cannot bring back the dead +to life,” he said. “Yet if our Emperor return he can +save our corpses and weep over them and bear them +reverently to la belle France. And there shall they lie +in sanctuary, and not in a Paynim land where the wild +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +beasts devour them and croaking wretches with foul +beaks tear our flesh and leave our bones dishonoured.”</p> + +<p>“That is well said,” quoth Roland and Oliver.</p> + +<p>Then did Roland blow three mighty blasts upon his +horn, and so great was the third that a blood-vessel +burst, and the red drops trickled from his mouth.</p> + +<p>For days on end Charlemagne had been alarmed at +the delay of his rearguard, but ever the false Ganelon +had reassured him.</p> + +<p>“Why shouldst thou fear, sire?” he asked. “Roland +has surely gone after some wild boar or deer, so fond is +he of the chase.”</p> + +<p>But when Roland blew the blast that broke his +mighty heart, Charlemagne heard it clearly, and no +longer had any doubt of the meaning of its call. He +knew that his dreams had come true, and at once he +set his face towards the dire pass of Roncesvalles that +he might, even at the eleventh hour, save Roland and +his men.</p> + +<p>Long ere Charlemagne could reach the children +of his soul who stood in such dire need, the uncle of +Marsile had reached the place of battle with a force of +fifty thousand men. Pierced from behind by a cowardly +lance, Oliver was sobbing out his life’s blood. Yet ever +he cried, “Montjoie! Montjoie!” and each time his +voice formed the words, a thrust from his sword, or from +the lances of his men, drove a soul down to Hades. +And when he was breathing his last, and lay on the +earth, humbly confessing his sins and begging God to +grant him rest in Paradise, he asked God’s blessing upon +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +Charlemagne, his lord the king, and upon his fair land +of France, and, above all other men, to keep free from +scathe his heart’s true brother and comrade, Roland, +the gallant knight. Then did he gently sigh his last +little measure of life away, and as Roland bent over +him he felt that half of the glamour of living was gone. +Yet still so dearly did he love Aude the Fair, the sister +of Oliver, who was to be his bride, that his muscles +grew taut as he gripped his sword, and his courage was +the dauntless courage of a furious wave that faces all +the cliffs of a rocky coast in a winter storm, when again, +he faced the Saracen host.</p> + +<p>Of all the Douzeperes, only Gautier and Turpin and +Roland now remained, and with them a poor little +handful of maimed men-at-arms. Soon a Saracen arrow +drove through the heart of Gautier, and Turpin, wounded +by four lances, stood alone by Roland’s side. But for +each lance thrust he slew a hundred men, and when at +length he fell, Roland, himself sorely wounded, seized +once more his horn and blew upon it a piercing blast:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">“... a blast of that dread horn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Fontarabian echoes borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That to King Charles did come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Rowland brave, and Olivier,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every paladin and peer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On Roncesvalles died.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Sir Walter Scott.</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 278px;"> +<a name="ROLAND" id="ROLAND"></a> +<a href="images/abom18.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom18th.jpg" width="278" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">ROLAND SEIZED ONCE MORE HIS HORN</span> +</div> + +<p>That blast pierced right into the heart of Charlemagne, +and straightway he turned his army towards the pass of +Roncesvalles that he might succour Roland, whom he so +greatly loved. Yet then it was too late. Turpin was +nearly dead. Roland knew himself to be dying. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> +Veillantif, Roland’s faithful warhorse, was enduring agonies +from wounds of the Paynim arrows, and him Roland slew +with a shrewd blow from his well-tried sword. From +far, far away the hero could hear the blare of the trumpets +of the Frankish army, and, at the sound, what was left +of the Saracen host fled in terror. He made his way, +blindly, painfully, to where Turpin lay, and with fumbling +fingers took off his hauberk and unlaced his golden +helmet. With what poor skill was left to him, he strove +to bind up his terrible wounds with strips of his own +tunic, and he dragged him, as gently as he could, to a +spot under the beech trees where the fresh moss still +was green.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘Ah, gentle lord,’ said Roland, ‘give me leave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To carry here our comrades who are dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom we so dearly loved; they must not lie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unblest; but I will bring their corpses here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou shalt bless them, and me, ere thou die.’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘Go,’ said the dying priest, ‘but soon return.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thank God! the victory is yours and mine!’”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>With exquisite pain Roland carried the bodies +of Oliver and of the rest of the Douzeperes from +the places where they had died to where Turpin, their +dear bishop, lay a-dying. Each step that he took cost +him a pang of agony; each step took from him a +toll of blood. Yet faithfully he performed his task, +until they all lay around Turpin, who gladly blessed +them and absolved them all. And then the agony of +soul and of heart and body that Roland had endured +grew overmuch for him to bear, and he gave a great cry, +like the last sigh of a mighty tree that the woodcutters +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +fell, and dropped down, stiff and chill, in a deathly swoon. +Then the dying bishop dragged himself towards him +and lifted the horn Olifant, and with it in his hand he +struggled, inch by inch, with very great pain and labour, +to a little stream that trickled down the dark ravine, +that he might fetch some water to revive the hero +that he and all men loved. But ere he could reach the +stream, the mists of death had veiled his eyes. He +joined his hands in prayer, though each movement +meant a pang, and gave his soul to Christ, his Saviour +and his Captain. And so passed away the soul of a +mighty warrior and a stainless priest.</p> + +<p>Thus was Roland alone amongst the dead when consciousness +came back to him. With feeble hands he unlaced +his helmet and tended to himself as best he might. +And, as Turpin had done, so also did he painfully crawl +towards the stream. There he found Turpin, the horn +Olifant by his side, and knew that it was in trying +to fetch him water that the brave bishop had died, +and for tenderness and pity the hero wept.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Alas! brave priest, fair lord of noble birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy soul I give to the great King of Heaven!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">May thy fair soul escape the pains of Hell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Paradise receive thee in its bowers!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Then did Roland know that for him, also, there +“was no other way but death.” With dragging steps +he toiled uphill a little way, his good sword Durendala in +one hand, and in the other his horn Olifant. Under a little +clump of pines were some rough steps hewn in a boulder of +marble leading yet higher up the hill, and these Roland +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +would have climbed, but his throbbing heart could no +more, and again he fell swooning on the ground. A Saracen +who, out of fear, had feigned death, saw him lying there +and crawled out of the covert where he lay concealed.</p> + +<p>“It is Roland, the nephew of the Emperor!” he joyously +thought, and in triumph he said to himself, “I shall +bear his sword back with me!” But as his Pagan hand +touched the hilt of the sword and would have torn it from +Roland’s dying grasp, the hero was aroused from his swoon. +One great stroke cleft the Saracen’s skull and laid him dead +at Roland’s feet. Then to Durendala Roland spoke:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I surely die; but, ere I end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me be sure that thou art ended too my friend!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For should a heathen grasp thee when I am clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My ghost would grieve full sore until the judgment day!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>More ghost than man he looked as with a mighty +effort of will and of body he struggled to his feet and +smote with his blade the marble boulder. Before the +stroke the marble split asunder as though the pick-axe +of a miner had cloven it. On a rock of sardonyx he +strove to break it then, but Durendala remained unharmed. +A third time he strove, and struck a rock of +blue marble with such force that the sparks rushed +out as from a blacksmith’s anvil. Then he knew that +it was in vain, for Durendala would not be shattered. +And so he raised Olifant to his lips and blew a dying +blast that echoed down the cliffs and up to the mountain +tops and rang through the trees of the forest. And still, +to this day, do they say, when the spirit of the warrior +rides by night down the heights and through the dark +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +pass of Roncesvalles, even such a blast may be heard, +waking all the echoes and sounding through the lonely +hollows of the hills.</p> + +<p>Then he made confession, and with a prayer for pardon +of his sins and for mercy from the God whose faithful +servant and soldier he had been unto his life’s end, the +soul of Roland passed away.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">“... With hands devoutly joined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He breathed his last. God sent his Cherubim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saint Raphael, Saint Michel del Peril.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Together with them Gabriel came.—All bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soul of Count Rolland to Paradise.<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Aoi.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Charlemagne and his army found him lying thus, and +very terrible were the grief and the rage of the Emperor +as he looked on him and on the others of his Douzeperes +and on the bodies of that army of twenty thousand.</p> + +<p>“All the field was with blod ouer roun”—“Many +a good swerd was broken ther”—“Many a fadirles +child ther was at home.”</p> + +<p>By the side of Roland, Charlemagne vowed vengeance, +but ere he avenged his death he mourned over +him with infinite anguish:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘The Lord have mercy, Roland, on thy soul!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never again shall our fair France behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A knight so worthy, till France be no more!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How widowed lies our fair France, and how lone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How will the realms that I have swayed rebel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now thou art taken from my weary age!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So deep my woe that fain would I die too<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And join my valiant Peers in Paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While men inter my weary limbs with thine!’”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +A terrible vengeance was the one that he took next +day, when the Saracen army was utterly exterminated; +and when all the noble dead had been buried where +they fell, save only Roland, Oliver, and Turpin, the +bodies of these three heroes were carried to Blaye and +interred with great honour in the great cathedral +there.</p> + +<p>Charlemagne then returned to Aix, and as he entered +his palace, Aude the Fair, sister of Oliver, and the +betrothed of Roland, hastened to meet him. Where +were the Douzeperes? What was the moaning murmur +as of women who wept, that had heralded the arrival +in the town of the Emperor and his conquering army? +Eagerly she questioned Charlemagne of the safety of +Roland, and when the Emperor, in pitying grief, told +her:</p> + +<p>“Roland, thy hero, like a hero died,” Aude gave a +bitter cry and fell to the ground like a white lily slain +by a cruel wind. The Emperor thought she had +fainted, but when he would have lifted her up, he found +that she was dead, and, in infinite pity, he had her +taken to Blaye and buried by the side of Roland.</p> + +<p>Very tender was Charlemagne to the maiden whom +Roland had loved, but when the treachery of Ganelon +had been proved, for him there was no mercy. At +Aix-la-Chapelle, torn asunder by wild horses, he met a +shameful and a horrible death, nor is his name forgotten +as that of the blackest of traitors. But the memory +of Roland and of the other Douzeperes lives on and is, +however fanciful, forever fragrant.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> +<span class="i8">“... Roland, and Olyvere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of the twelve Tussypere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dieden in the batayle of Runcyvale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jesu lord, heaven king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his bliss hem and us both bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To liven withouten bale!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Sir Otuel.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CHILDREN OF LÎR</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While murmuring mournfully, Lîr’s lonely daughter<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Moore.</span></p> + + +<p>They are the tragedies, not the comedies of the old, +old days that are handed down to us, and the literature +of the Celts is rich in tragedy. To the romantic and +sorrowful imagination of the Celts of the green island +of Erin we owe the hauntingly piteous story of the +children of Lîr.</p> + +<p>In the earliest times of all, when Ireland was ruled +by the Dedannans, a people who came from Europe +and brought with them from Greece magic and other +arts so wonderful that the people of the land believed +them to be gods, the Dedannans had so many chiefs +that they met one day to decide who was the best +man of them all, that they might choose him to be +their king. The choice fell upon Bodb the Red, and +gladly did every man acclaim him as king, all save Lîr +of Shee Finnaha, who left the council in great wrath +because he thought that he, and not Bodb, should have +been chosen. In high dudgeon he retired to his own +place, and in the years that followed he and Bodb the +Red waged fierce war against one another. At last a +great sorrow came to Lîr, for after an illness of three +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +days his wife, who was very dear to him, was taken from +him by death. Then Bodb saw an opportunity for reconciliation +with the chief whose enemy he had no wish to +be. And to the grief-stricken husband he sent a message:</p> + +<p>“My heart weeps for thee, yet I pray thee to be +comforted. In my house have I three maidens, my +foster-daughters, the most beautiful and the best instructed +in all Erin. Choose which one thou wilt for +thy wife, and own me for thy lord, and my friendship +shall be thine forever.”</p> + +<p>And the message brought comfort to Lîr, and he set +out with a gallant company of fifty chariots, nor ever +halted until he had reached the palace of Bodb the Red +at Lough Derg, on the Shannon. Warm and kindly was +the welcome that Lîr received from his overlord, and +next day, as the three beautiful foster-daughters of Bodb +sat on the same couch as his queen, Bodb said to Lîr:</p> + +<p>“Behold my three daughters. Choose which one +thou wilt.”</p> + +<p>And Lîr answered, “They are all beautiful, but +Eve is the eldest, so she must be the noblest of the three. +I would have her for my wife.”</p> + +<p>That day he married Eve, and Lîr took his fair young +wife back with him to his own place, Shee Finnaha, and +happy were both of them in their love. To them in +course of time were born a twin son and a daughter. +The daughter they named Finola and the son Aed, and +the children were as beautiful, as good, and as happy +as their mother. Again she bore twins, boys, whom they +named Ficra and Conn, but as their eyes opened on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +the world, the eyes of their mother closed on pleasant +life forever, and once again Lîr was a widower, more bowed +down by grief than before.</p> + +<p>The tidings of the death of Eve brought great sorrow +to the palace of Bodb the Red, for to all who knew her +Eve was very dear. But again the king sent a message +of comfort to Lîr:</p> + +<p>“We sorrow with thee, yet in proof of our friendship +with thee and our love for the one who is gone, we would +give thee another of our daughters to be a mother to the +children who have lost their mother’s care.”</p> + +<p>And again Lîr went to the palace at Loch Derg, the +Great Lake, and there he married Eva, the second of the +foster-daughters of the king.</p> + +<p>At first it seemed as if Eva loved her dead sister’s +children as though they were her own. But when she +saw how passionate was her husband’s devotion to +them, how he would have them to sleep near him and +would rise at their slightest whimper to comfort and to +caress them, and how at dawn she would wake to find +he had left her side to see that all was well with them, +the poisonous weed of jealousy began to grow up in the +garden of her heart. She was a childless woman, and she +knew not whether it was her sister who had borne them +whom she hated, or whether she hated the children +themselves. But steadily the hatred grew, and the love +that Bodb the Red bore for them only embittered her +the more. Many times in the year he would come to +see them, many times would take them away to stay +with him, and each year when the Dedannans held the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +Feast of Age—the feast of the great god Mannanan, of +which those who partook never grew old—the four +children of Lîr were present, and gave joy to all who +beheld them by their great beauty, their nobility, and +their gentleness.</p> + +<p>But as the love that all others gave to the four +children of Lîr grew, the hatred of Eva, their stepmother, +kept pace with it, until at length the poison +in her heart ate into her body as well as her soul, and she +grew worn and ill out of her very wickedness. For +nearly a year she lay sick in bed, while the sound of the +children’s laughter and their happy voices, their lovely +faces like the faces of the children of a god, and the +proud and loving words with which their father spoke +of them were, to her, like acid in a festering wound. +At last there came a black day when jealousy had +choked all the flowers of goodness in her heart, and only +treachery and merciless cruelty remained. She rose +from her couch and ordered the horses to be yoked to +her chariot that she might take the four children to +the Great Lake to see the king, her foster-father. They +were but little children, yet the instinct that sometimes +tells even a very little child when it is near an evil thing, +warned Finola that harm would come to her and to +her brothers were they to go. It may also have been, +perhaps, that she had seen, with the sharp vision of a +woman child, the thing to which Lîr was quite blind, +and that in a tone of her stepmother’s voice, in a look +she had surprised in her eyes, she had learned that the +love that her father’s wife professed for her and for the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +others was only hatred, cunningly disguised. Thus +she tried to make excuses for herself and the little brothers +to whom she was a child-mother, so that they need +not go. But Eva listened with deaf ears, and the +children said farewell to Lîr, who must have wondered +at the tears that stood in Finola’s eyes and the shadow +that darkened their blue, and drove off in the chariot +with their stepmother.</p> + +<p>When they had driven a long way, Eva turned to +her attendants: “Much wealth have I,” she said, “and +all that I have shall be yours if you will slay for me +those four hateful things that have stolen from me +the love of my man.”</p> + +<p>The servants heard her in horror, and in horror and +shame for her they answered: “Fearful is the deed +thou wouldst have us do; more fearful still is it that +thou shouldst have so wicked a thought. Evil will +surely come upon thee for having wished to take the +lives of Lîr’s innocent little children.”</p> + +<p>Angrily, then, she seized a sword and herself would +fain have done what her servants had scorned to do. +But she lacked strength to carry out her own evil +wish, and so they journeyed onwards. They came +to Lake Darvra at last—now Lough Derravaragh, in +West Meath—and there they all alighted from the chariot, +and the children, feeling as though they had been +made to play at an ugly game, but that now it was over +and all was safety and happiness again, were sent into +the loch to bathe. Joyously and with merry laughter +the little boys splashed into the clear water by the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +rushy shore, all three seeking to hold the hands of their +sister, whose little slim white body was whiter than the +water-lilies and her hair more golden than their hearts.</p> + +<p>It was then that Eva struck them, as a snake +strikes its prey. One touch for each, with a magical +wand of the Druids, then the low chanting of an old +old rune, and the beautiful children had vanished, and +where their tiny feet had pressed the sand and their +yellow hair had shown above the water like four daffodil +heads that dance in the wind, there floated four white +swans. But although to Eva belonged the power of +bewitching their bodies, their hearts and souls and speech +still belonged to the children of Lîr. And when Finola +spoke, it was not as a little timid child, but as a woman +who could look with sad eyes into the future and could +there see the terrible punishment of a shameful act.</p> + +<p>“Very evil is the deed that thou hast done,” she +said. “We only gave thee love, and we are very young, +and all our days were happiness. By cruelty and +treachery thou hast brought our childhood to an end, +yet is our doom less piteous than thine. Woe, woe unto +thee, O Eva, for a fearful doom lies before thee!”</p> + +<p>Then she asked—a child still, longing to know when +the dreary days of its banishment from other children +should be over—“Tell us how long a time must pass +until we can take our own forms again.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 278px;"> +<a name="LIR" id="LIR"></a> +<a href="images/abom19.jpg"> +<img src="images/abom19th.jpg" width="278" height="400" +alt="" /></a> +<span class="caption">ONE TOUCH FOR EACH, WITH A MAGICAL WAND OF THE DRUIDS</span> +</div> + +<p>And, relentlessly, Eva made answer: “Better had +it been for thy peace hadst thou left unsought that +knowledge. Yet will I tell thee thy doom. Three +hundred years shall ye live in the smooth waters of Lake +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +Darvra; three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle,<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> +which is between Erin and Alba; three hundred years +more at Ivros Domnann<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> and at Inis Glora,<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> on the +Western Sea. Until a prince from the north shall +marry a princess from the south; until the Tailleken +(St. Patrick) shall come to Erin, and until ye shall hear +the sound of the Christian bell, neither my power nor +thy power, nor the power of any Druid’s runes can set +ye free until that weird is dreed.”</p> + +<p>As she spoke, a strange softening came into the +evil woman’s heart. They were so still, those white +creatures who gazed up at her with eager, beseeching +eyes, through which looked the souls of the little children +that once she had loved. They were so silent and +piteous, the little Ficra and Conn, whose dimpled baby +faces she often used to kiss. And she said, that her +burden of guilt might be the lighter:</p> + +<p>“This relief shall ye have in your troubles. Though +ye keep your human reason and your human speech, +yet shall ye suffer no grief because your form is the +form of swans, and you shall sing songs more sweet than +any music that the earth has ever known.”</p> + +<p>Then Eva went back to her chariot and drove to the +palace of her foster-father at the Great Lake, and the +four white swans were left on the lonely waters of Darvra.</p> + +<p>When she reached the palace without the children, +the king asked in disappointment why she had not +brought them with her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +“Lîr loves thee no longer,” she made answer. “He +will not trust his children to thee, lest thou shouldst work +them some ill.”</p> + +<p>But her father did not believe her lying words. +Speedily he sent messengers to Shee Finnaha that they +might bring back the children who ever carried joy +with them. Amazed, Lîr received the message, and +when he learned that Eva had reached the palace alone, +a terrible dread arose in his heart. In great haste he +set out, and as he passed by Lake Darvra he heard +voices singing melodies so sweet and moving that he +was fain, in spite of his fears, to stop and listen. And +lo, as he listened, he found that the singers were four +swans, that swam close up to where he stood, and +greeted him in the glad voices of his own dear children. +All that night he stayed beside them, and when +they had told him their piteous tale and he knew that +no power could free them till the years of their doom +were accomplished, Lîr’s heart was like to break with +pitying love and infinite sorrow. At dawn he took a +tender leave of them and drove to the house of Bodb +the Red. Terrible were the words of Lîr, and dark +was his face as he told the king the evil thing that Eva +had done. And Eva, who had thought in the madness +of her jealousy that Lîr would give her all his love when +he was a childless man, shrank, white and trembling, +away from him when she saw the furious hatred in his +eyes. Then said the king, and his anger was even as the +anger of Lîr:</p> + +<p>“The suffering of the little children who are dear +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +to our souls shall come to an end at last. Thine shall +be an eternal doom.”</p> + +<p>And he put her on oath to tell him “what shape of +all others, on the earth, or above the earth, or beneath +the earth, she most abhorred, and into which she most +dreaded to be transformed.”</p> + +<p>“A demon of the air,” answered the cowering woman.</p> + +<p>“A demon of the air shalt thou be until time shall +cease!” said her foster-father. Thereupon he smote +her with his druidical wand, and a creature too hideous +for men’s eyes to look upon, gave a great scream of +anguish, and flapped its black wings as it flew away to +join the other demons of the air.</p> + +<p>Then the king of the Dedannans and all his people +went with Lîr to Lake Darvra, and listened to the +honey-sweet melodies that were sung to them by the +white swans that had been the children of their hearts. +And such magic was in the music that it could lull +away all sorrow and pain, and give rest to the grief-stricken +and sleep to the toil-worn and the heavy at +heart. And the Dedannans made a great encampment +on the shores of the lake that they might never be +far from them. There, too, as the centuries went by, +came the Milesians, who succeeded the Dedannans in +Erin, and so for the children of Lîr three hundred years +passed happily away.</p> + +<p>Sad for them and for Lîr, and for all the people +of the Dedannans, was the day when the years at +Darvra were ended and the four swans said farewell +to their father and to all who were so dear to them, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +spread their snowy pinions, and took flight for the +stormy sea. They sang a song of parting that made +grief sit heavy on the hearts of all those who listened, +and the men of Erin, in memory of the children of Lîr +and of the good things they had wrought by the magic +of their music, made a law, and proclaimed it throughout +all the land, that from that time forth no man of their +land should harm a swan.</p> + +<p>Weary were the great white wings of the children +of Lîr when they reached the jagged rocks by the side +of the fierce grey sea of Moyle, whose turbulent waves +fought angrily together. And the days that came to +them there were days of weariness, of loneliness, and +of hardship. Very cold were they often, very hungry, +and yet the sweetness of their song pierced through the +vicious shriek of the tempest and the sullen boom and +crash of the great billows that flung themselves against +the cliffs or thundered in devouring majesty over the +wrack-strewn shore, like a thread of silver that runs +through a pall. One night a tempest drove across and +down the Sea of Moyle from the north-east, and lashed +it into fury. And the mirk darkness and the sleet +that drove in the teeth of the gale like bullets of ice, +and the huge, irresistible breakers that threshed the +shore, filled the hearts of the children of Lîr with dread. +For always they had desired love and beauty, and the +ugliness of unrestrained cruelty and fury made them +sick at soul.</p> + +<p>To her brothers Finola said: “Beloved ones, of a +surety the storm must drive us apart. Let us, then, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +appoint a place of meeting, lest we never look upon +each other again.”</p> + +<p>And, knowing that she spoke wisely and well, the +three brothers appointed as their meeting-place the +rock of Carricknarone.</p> + +<p>Never did a fiercer storm rage on the sea between +Alba and Erin than the storm that raged that night. +Thunderous, murky clouds blotted out stars and moon, +nor was there any dividing line between sky and sea, +but both churned themselves up together in a passion +of destruction. When the lightning flashed, it showed +only the fury of the cruel seas, the shattered victims +of the destroying storm. Very soon the swans were +driven one from another and scattered over the face +of the angry deep. Scarcely could their souls cling +to their bodies while they struggled with the winds and +waves. When the long, long night came to an end, +in the grey and cheerless dawn Finola swam to the rock +of Carricknarone. But no swans were there, only the +greedy gulls that sought after wreckage, and the terns +that cried very dolorously.</p> + +<p>Then great grief came upon Finola, for she feared +she would see her brothers nevermore. But first of +all came Conn, his feathers all battered and broken +and his head drooping, and in a little Ficra appeared, +so drenched and cold and beaten by the winds that no +word could he speak. And Finola took her younger +brothers under her great white wings, and they were +comforted and rested in that warm shelter.</p> + +<p>“If Aed would only come,” she said, “then should +we be happy indeed.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> +And even as she spoke, they beheld Aed sailing +towards them like a proud ship with its white sails +shining in the sun, and Finola held him close to the snowy +plumage of her breast, and happiness returned to the +children of Lîr.</p> + +<p>Many another tempest had they to strive with, and +very cruel to them were the snow and biting frosts +of the dreary winters. One January night there +came a frost that turned even the restless sea into +solid ice, and in the morning, when the swans strove +to rise from the rock of Carricknarone, the iron frost +clung to them and they left behind them the skin of +their feet, the quills of their wings, and the soft feathers +of their breasts, and when the frost had gone, the salt +water was torture for their wounds. Yet ever they sang +their songs, piercing sweet and speaking of the peace +and joy to come, and many a storm-tossed mariner by +them was lulled to sleep and dreamt the happy dreams +of his childhood, nor knew who had sung him so magical +a lullaby. It was in those years that Finola sang the +song which a poet who possessed the wonderful heritage +of a perfect comprehension of the soul of the Gael has +put into English words for us.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Happy our father Lîr afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With mead, and songs of love and war:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The salt brine, and the white foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With these his children have their home.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the sweet days of long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft-clad we wandered to and fro:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now cold winds of dawn and night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pierce deep our feathers thin and light.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 20%;" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath my wings my brothers lie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the fierce ice-winds hurtle by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On either side and ’neath my breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lîr’s sons have known no other rest.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod (William Sharp).</span></p> + +<p>Only once during those dreary three hundred years +did the children of Lîr see any of their friends. When +they saw, riding down to the shore at the mouth of the +Bann on the north coast of Erin, a company in gallant +attire, with glittering arms, and mounted on white +horses, the swans hastened to meet them. And glad +were their hearts that day, for the company was led +by two sons of Bodb the Red, who had searched for the +swans along the rocky coast of Erin for many a day, +and who brought them loving greetings from the good +king of the Dedannans and from their father Lîr.</p> + +<p>At length the three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle +came to an end, and the swans flew to Ivros Domnann +and the Isle of Glora in the western sea. And there +they had sufferings and hardships to bear that were +even more grievous than those that they had endured +on the Sea of Moyle, and one night the snow that drifted +down upon them from the ice was scourged on by a +north-west wind, and there came a moment when the +three brothers felt that they could endure no more.</p> + +<p>But Finola said to them:</p> + +<p>“It is the great God of truth who made both land +and sea who alone can succour us, for He alone can +wholly understand the sorrows of our hearts. Put +your trust in Him, dear brothers, and He will send us +comfort and help.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +Then said her brothers: “In Him we put our trust,” +and from that moment the Lord of Heaven gave them +His help, so that no frost, nor snow, nor cold, nor tempest, +nor any of the creatures of the deep could work them +any harm.</p> + +<p>When the nine hundred years of their sorrowful +doom had ended, the children of Lîr joyously spread +their wings and flew to their father’s home at Shee +Finnaha.</p> + +<p>But the house was there no more, for Lîr, their +father, was dead. Only stones, round which grew +rank grass and nettles, and where no human creature +had his habitation, marked the place for which they +had longed with an aching, hungry longing, through +all their weary years of doom. Their cries were piteous +as the cries of lost children as they looked on the desolate +ruins, but all night they stayed there, and their songs +were songs that might have made the very stones shed +tears.</p> + +<p>Next day they winged their way back to Inis Glora, +and there the sweetness of their singing drew so many +birds to listen that the little lake got the name of +the Lake of the Bird-Flocks. Near and far, for long +thereafter, flew the swans, all along the coast of the +Western Sea, and at the island of Iniskea they held +converse with the lonely crane that has lived there +since the beginning of the world, and which will live +there until time is no more.</p> + +<p>And while the years went by, there came to Erin +one who brought glad tidings, for the holy Patrick came +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +to lead men out of darkness into light. With him came +Kemoc, and Kemoc made his home on Inis Glora.</p> + +<p>At dawn one morning, the four swans were roused by +the tinkle of a little bell. It was so far away that it +rang faintly, but it was like no sound they had ever +known, and the three brothers were filled with fear and +flew hither and thither, trying to discover from whence +the strange sound came. But when they returned to +Finola, they found her floating at peace on the water.</p> + +<p>“Dost not know what sound it is?” she asked, +divining their thoughts.</p> + +<p>“We heard a faint, fearful voice,” they said, “but +we know not what it is.”</p> + +<p>Then said Finola: “It is the voice of the Christian +bell. Soon, now, shall our suffering be ended, for such +is the will of God.”</p> + +<p>So very happily and peacefully they listened to the +ringing of the bell, until Kemoc had said matins. Then +said Finola: “Let us now sing our music,” and they +praised the Lord of heaven and earth.</p> + +<p>And when the wonderful melody of their song reached +the ears of Kemoc, he knew that none but the children +of Lîr could make such magic-sweet melody. So he +hastened to where they were, and when he asked them if +they were indeed the children of Lîr, for whose sake he had +come to Inis Glora, they told him all their piteous tale.</p> + +<p>Then said Kemoc, “Come then to land, and put your +trust in me, for on this island shall your enchantment +come to an end.” And when most gladly they came, he +caused a cunning workman to fashion two slender silver +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +chains; one he put between Finola and Aed, and the other +between Ficra and Conn, and so joyous were they to know +again human love, and so happy to join each day with +Kemoc in praising God, that the memory of their suffering +and sorrow lost all its bitterness. Thus in part +were the words of Eva fulfilled, but there had yet to +take place the entire fulfilment of her words.</p> + +<p>Decca, a princess of Munster, had wed Larguen, king +of Connaught, and when news came to her of the wonderful +swans of Kemoc, nothing would suffice her but that +she should have them for her own. By constant beseeching, +she at length prevailed upon Larguen to send +messengers to Kemoc, demanding the swans. When +the messengers returned with a stern refusal from +Kemoc, the king was angry indeed. How dared a +mere cleric refuse to gratify the whim of the queen of +Larguen of Connaught! To Inis Glora he went, posthaste, +himself.</p> + +<p>“Is it truth that ye have dared to refuse a gift of +your birds to my queen?” he asked, in wrath.</p> + +<p>And Kemoc answered: “It is truth.”</p> + +<p>Then Larguen, in furious anger, seized hold of the +silver chain that bound Finola and Aed together, and +of the chain by which Conn and Ficra were bound, and +dragged them away from the altar by which they sat, +that he might take them to his queen.</p> + +<p>But as the king held their chains in his rude grasp, +a wondrous thing took place.</p> + +<p>Instead of swans, there followed Larguen a very old +woman, white-haired and feeble, and three very old men, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +bony and wrinkled and grey. And when Larguen beheld +them, terror came upon him and he hastened homeward, +followed by the bitter denunciations of Kemoc. Then +the children of Lîr, in human form at last, turned to +Kemoc and besought him to baptize them, because they +knew that death was very near.</p> + +<p>“Thou art not more sorrowful at parting from us +than we are to part with you, dear Kemoc,” they said. +And Finola said, “Bury us, I pray you, together.”</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“As oft in life my brothers dear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were sooth’d by me to rest—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ficra and Conn beneath my wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Aed before my breast;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So place the two on either hand—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Close, like the love that bound me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Place Aed as close before my face,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And twine their arms around me.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Joyce.</span></p> + +<p>So Kemoc signed them in Holy Baptism with the +blessed Cross, and even as the water touched their +foreheads, and while his words were in their ears, death +took them. And, as they passed, Kemoc looked up, +and, behold, four beautiful children, their faces radiant +with joy, and with white wings lined with silver, flying +upwards to the clouds. And soon they vanished from +his sight and he saw them no more.</p> + +<p>He buried them as Finola had wished, and raised a +mound over them, and carved their names on a stone.</p> + +<p>And over it he sang a lament and prayed to the God +of all love and purity, a prayer for the pure and loving +souls of those who had been the children of Lîr.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> The North Channel.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Erris, in Mayo.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> A small island off Benmullet.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p> +<h2>DEIRDRÊ</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Her beauty filled the old world of the Gael with a sweet, wonderful, +and abiding rumour. The name of Deirdrê has been as a harp to a +thousand poets. In a land of heroes and brave and beautiful women, +how shall one name survive? Yet to this day and for ever, men will +remember Deirdrê....”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod.</span></p> + + +<p>So long ago, that it was before the birth of our Lord, +so says tradition, there was born that</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">“Morning star of loveliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unhappy Helen of a Western land,”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>who is known to the Celts of Scotland as Darthool, to +those of Ireland as Deirdrê. As in the story of Helen, +it is not easy, or even possible in the story of Deirdrê, +to disentangle the old, old facts of actual history from +the web of romantic fairy tale that time has woven +about them, yet so great is the power of Deirdrê, even +unto this day, that it has been the fond task of those +men and women to whom the Gael owes so much, to +preserve, and to translate for posterity, the tragic romance +of Deirdrê the Beautiful and the Sons of Usna.</p> + +<p>In many ancient manuscripts we get the story in +more or less complete form. In the Advocates’ Library +of Edinburgh, in the Glenmasan MS. we get the best +and the fullest version, while the oldest and the shortest +is to be found in the twelfth-century <i>Book of Leinster</i>.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +But those who would revel in the old tale and have +Deirdrê lead them by the hand into the enchanted +realm of the romance of misty, ancient days of our +Western Isles must go for help to Fiona Macleod, to +Alexander Carmichael, to Lady Gregory, to Dr. Douglas +Hyde, to W. F. Skene, to W. B. Yeats, to J. M. Synge, +and to those others who, like true descendants of the +Druids, possess the power of unlocking the entrance +gates of the Green Islands of the Blest.</p> + +<p>Conchubar, or Conor, ruled the kingdom of the +Ultonians, now Ulster, when Deirdrê was born in Erin. +All the most famous warriors of his time, heroes whose +mighty deeds live on in legend, and whose title was +“The Champions of the Red Branch,” he gathered +round him, and all through Erin and Alba rang the +fame of the warlike Ultonians.</p> + +<p>There came a day when Conor and his champions, gorgeous +in their gala dress of crimson tunic with brooches of +inlaid gold and white-hooded shirt embroidered in red +gold, went to a feast in the house of one called Felim. +Felim was a bard, and because not only was his arm in +war strong and swift to strike, but because, in peace, his +fingers could draw the sweetest of music from his harp, +he was dear to the king. As they feasted, Conor beheld +a dark shadow of horror and of grief fall on the face of +Cathbad, a Druid who had come in his train, and saw +that his aged eyes were gazing far into the Unseen. +Speedily he bade him tell him what evil thing it was that +he saw, and Cathbad turned to the childless Felim and +told him that to his wife there was about to be born a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +daughter, with eyes like stars that are mirrored by night +in the water, with lips red as the rowan berries and teeth +more white than pearls; with a voice more sweet than the +music of fairy harps. “A maiden fair, tall, long haired, +for whom champions will contend ... and mighty +kings be envious of her lovely, faultless form.” For her +sweet sake, he said, more blood should be spilt in Erin +than for generations and ages past, and many heroes +and bright torches of the Gaels should lose their lives. +For love of her, three heroes of eternal renown must +give their lives away, the sea in which her starry eyes +should mirror themselves would be a sea of blood, and +woe unutterable should come on the sons of Erin. +Then up spoke the lords of the Red Branch, and grimly +they looked at Felim the Harper:</p> + +<p>“If the babe that thy wife is about to bear is to +bring such evil upon our land, better that thou shouldst +shed her innocent blood ere she spills the blood of our +nation.”</p> + +<p>And Felim made answer:</p> + +<p>“It is well spoken. Bitter it is for my wife and for +me to lose a child so beautiful, yet shall I slay her that +my land may be saved from such a doom.”</p> + +<p>But Conor, the king, spoke then, and because the +witchery of the perfect beauty and the magic charm of +Deirdrê was felt by him even before she was born, he +said: “She shall not die. Upon myself I take the +doom. The child shall be kept apart from all men +until she is of an age to wed. Then shall I take her for +my wife, and none shall dare to contend for her.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +His voice had barely ceased, when a messenger +came to Felim to tell him that a daughter was born to +him, and on his heels came a procession of chanting +women, bearing the babe on a flower-decked cushion. +And all who saw the tiny thing, with milk-white skin, +and locks “more yellow than the western gold of the +summer sun,” looked on her with the fear that even +the bravest heart feels on facing the Unknown. And +Cathbad spoke: “Let Deirdrê be her name, sweet +menace that she is.” And the babe gazed up with starry +eyes at the white-haired Druid as he chanted to her:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<i>Many will be jealous of your face, O flame of beauty; for your sake +heroes shall go to exile. For there is harm in your face; it will bring banishment +and death on the sons of kings. In your fate, O beautiful child, are +wounds and ill-doings, and shedding of blood.</i></p> + +<p>“<i>You will have a little grave apart to yourself; you will be a tale of wonder +for ever, Deirdrê.</i>”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lady Gregory’s Translation.</span></p> + +<p>As Conor commanded, Deirdrê, the little “babe +of destiny,” was left with her mother for only a month +and a day, and then was sent with a nurse and with +Cathbad the Druid to a lonely island, thickly wooded, +and only accessible by a sort of causeway at low tide. +Here she grew into maidenhood, and each day became +more fair. She had instruction from Cathbad in religion +and in all manner of wisdom, and it would seem +as though she also learned from him some of that mystical +power that enabled her to see things hidden from +human eyes.</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” one day she asked her teacher, “who +made the stars, the firmament above, the earth, the +flowers, both thee and me?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +And Cathbad answered: “God. But who God is, +alas! no man can say.”</p> + +<p>Then Deirdrê, an impetuous child, seized the druidical +staff from the hand of Cathbad, broke it in two, +and flung the pieces far out on the water. “Ah, Cathbad!” +she cried, “there shall come One in the dim future +for whom all your Druid spells and charms are naught.”</p> + +<p>Then seeing Cathbad hang his head, and a tear +trickle down his face, for he knew that the child spoke +truth, the child, grieved at giving pain to the friend +whom she loved, threw her arms about the old man’s +neck, and by her kisses strove to comfort him.</p> + +<p>As Deirdrê grew older, Conor sent one from his court +to educate her in all that any queen should know. They +called her the Lavarcam, which, in our tongue, really +means the Gossip, and she was one of royal blood who +belonged to a class that in those days had been trained +to be chroniclers, or story-tellers. The Lavarcam was +a clever woman, and she marvelled at the wondrous +beauty of the child she came to teach, and at her equally +marvellous mind.</p> + +<p>One winter day, when the snow lay deep, it came to +pass that Deirdrê saw lying on the snow a calf that had +been slain for her food. The red blood that ran from +its neck had brought a black raven swooping down +upon the snow. And to Lavarcam Deirdrê said: “If +there were a man who had hair of the blackness of that +raven, skin of the whiteness of the snow, and cheeks as +red as the blood that stains its whiteness, to him should +I give my heart.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> +And Lavarcam, without thought, made answer:</p> + +<p>“One I know whose skin is whiter than the snow, +whose cheeks are ruddy as the blood that stained the +snow, and whose hair is black and glossy as the raven’s +wing. He has eyes of the darkest blue of the sky, and +head and shoulders is he above all the men of Erin.”</p> + +<p>“And what will be the name of that man, Lavarcam?” +asked Deirdrê. “And whence is he, and what +his degree?”</p> + +<p>And Lavarcam made answer that he of whom she +spoke was Naoise, one of the three sons of Usna, a great +lord of Alba, and that these three sons were mighty +champions who had been trained at the famed military +school at Sgathaig<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> in the Isle of Skye.</p> + +<p>Then said Deirdrê: “My love shall be given to +none but Naoise, son of Usna. To him shall it belong +forever.”</p> + +<p>From that day forward, Naoise held kingship over +the thoughts and dreams of Deirdrê.</p> + +<p>And when Lavarcam saw how deep her careless +words had sunk into the heart of the maiden, she grew +afraid, and tried to think of a means by which to +undo the harm which, in her thoughtlessness, she had +wrought.</p> + +<p>Now Conor had made a law that none but Cathbad, +Lavarcam, and the nurse of Deirdrê should pass through +the forest that led to her hiding-place, and that none +but they should look upon her until his own eyes beheld +her and he took her for his wife. But as Lavarcam +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +one day came from seeing Deirdrê, and from listening +to her many eager questions about Naoise, she met a +swineherd, rough in looks and speech, and clad in the +pelt of a deer, and with him two rough fellows, bondmen +of the Ultonians, and to her quick mind there +came a plan. Thus she bade them follow her into the +forbidden forest and there to remain, by the side of a +well, until they should hear the bark of a fox and the +cry of a jay. Then they were to walk slowly on through +the woods, speaking to none whom they might meet, +and still keeping silence when they were again out of the +shadow of the trees.</p> + +<p>Then Lavarcam sped back to Deirdrê and begged +her to come with her to enjoy the beauty of the woods. +In a little, Lavarcam strayed away from her charge, and +soon the cry of a jay and the bark of a fox were heard, +and while Deirdrê still marvelled at the sounds that +came so close together, Lavarcam returned. Nor had +she been back a minute before three men came through +the trees and slowly walked past, close to where +Lavarcam and Deirdrê were hidden.</p> + +<p>“I have never seen men so near before,” said +Deirdrê. “Only from the outskirts of the forest have +I seen them very far away. Who are these men, who +bring no joy to my eyes?”</p> + +<p>And Lavarcam made answer: “These are Naoise, +Ardan, and Ainle—the three sons of Usna.”</p> + +<p>But Deirdrê looked hard at Lavarcam, and scorn and +laughter were in her merry eyes.</p> + +<p>“Then shall I have speech with Naoise, Ardan, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> +Ainle,” she said, and ere Lavarcam could stop her, +she had flitted through the trees by a path amongst +the fern, and stood suddenly before the three men.</p> + +<p>And the rough hinds, seeing such perfect loveliness, +made very sure that Deirdrê was one of the <i>sidhe</i><a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> +and stared at her with the round eyes and gaping mouths +of wondering terror.</p> + +<p>For a moment Deirdrê gazed at them. Then: +“Are ye the Sons of Usna?” she asked.</p> + +<p>And when they stood like stocks, frightened and +stupid, she lashed them with her mockery, until the +swineherd could no more, and blurted out the whole +truth to this most beautiful of all the world. Then, +very gently, like pearls from a silver string, the words +fell from the rowan-red lips of Deirdrê: “I blame thee +not, poor swineherd,” she said, “and that thou mayst +know that I deem thee a true man, I would fain ask +thee to do one thing for me.”</p> + +<p>And when the eyes of the herd met the eyes of +Deirdrê, a soul was born in him, and he knew things +of which he never before had dreamed.</p> + +<p>“If I can do one thing to please thee, that will I +do,” he said. “Aye, and gladly pay for it with my +life. Thenceforth my life is thine.”</p> + +<p>And Deirdrê said: “I would fain see Naoise, one of +the Sons of Usna.”</p> + +<p>And once more the swineherd said: “My life is +thine.”</p> + +<p>Then Deirdrê, seeing in his eyes a very beautiful +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> +thing, stooped and kissed the swineherd on his weather-beaten, +tanned forehead.</p> + +<p>“Go, then,” she said, “to Naoise. Tell him that I, +Deirdrê, dream of him all the night and think of him all +the day, and that I bid him meet me here to-morrow an +hour before the setting of the sun.”</p> + +<p>The swineherd watched her flit into the shadows +of the trees, and then went on his way, through the +snowy woods, that he might pay with his life for the kiss +that Deirdrê had given him.</p> + +<p>Sorely puzzled was Lavarcam over the doings of +Deirdrê that day, for Deirdrê told her not a word of what +had passed between her and the swineherd. On the +morrow, when she left her to go back to the court of +King Conor, she saw, as she drew near Emain Macha, +where he stayed, black wings that flapped over something +that lay on the snow. At her approach there rose +three ravens, three kites, and three hoodie-crows, and +she saw that their prey was the body of the swineherd +with gaping spear-wounds all over him. Yet even +then he looked happy. He had died laughing, and there +was still a smile on his lips. Faithfully had he delivered +his message, and when he had spoken of the beauty +of Deirdrê, rumour of his speech had reached the king, +and the spears of Conor’s men had enabled him to make +true the words he had said to Deirdrê: “I will pay for it +with my life.” In this way was shed the first blood of +that great sea of blood that was spilt for the love of +Deirdrê, the Beauty of the World.</p> + +<p>From where the swineherd lay, Lavarcam went to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> +the camp of the Sons of Usna, and to Naoise she told +the story of the love that Deirdrê bore him, and counselled +him to come to the place where she was hidden, +and behold her beauty. And Naoise, who had seen +how even a rough clod of a hind could achieve the +noble chivalry of a race of kings for her dear sake, felt +his heart throb within him. “I will come,” he said to +Lavarcam.</p> + +<p>Days passed, and Deirdrê waited, very sure that +Naoise must come to her at last. And one day she +heard a song of magical sweetness coming through the +trees. Three voices sung the song, and it was as though +one of the <i>sidhe</i> played a harp to cast a spell upon men. +The voice of Ainle, youngest of the Sons of Usna, was +like the sweet upper strings of the harp, that of Ardan +the strings in the middle, and the voice of Naoise was like +the strings whose deep resonance can play upon the +hearts of warriors and move them to tears. Then Deirdrê +knew that she heard the voice of her beloved, and +she sped to him as a bird speeds to her mate. Even as +Lavarcam had told her was Naoise, eldest of the Sons of +Usna, but no words had been able to tell Naoise of the +beauty of Deirdrê.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“It was as though a sudden flood of sunshine burst forth in that +place. For a woman came from the thicket more beautiful than any +dream he had ever dreamed. She was clad in a saffron robe over white +that was like the shining of the sun on foam of the sea, and this was +claspt with great bands of yellow gold, and over her shoulders was the +rippling flood of her hair, the sprays of which lightened into delicate +fire, and made a mist before him, in the which he could see her eyes +like two blue pools wherein purple shadows dreamed.”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> +From that moment Naoise “gave his love to Deirdrê +above every other creature,” and their souls rushed +together and were one for evermore. It was for them +the beginning of a perfect love, and so sure were they of +that love from the very first moment that it seemed +as though they must have been born loving one another.</p> + +<p>Of that love they talked, of the anger of Conor when +he knew that his destined bride was the love of Naoise, +and together they planned how it was best for Deirdrê +to escape from the furious wrath of the king who desired +her for his own.</p> + +<p>Of a sudden, the hands of Naoise gripped the iron-pointed +javelin that hung by his side, and drove it +into a place where the snow weighed down the bracken.</p> + +<p>“Is it a wolf?” cried Deirdrê.</p> + +<p>And Naoise made answer: “Either a dead man, +or the mark of where a man has lain hidden thou wilt +find under the bracken.”</p> + +<p>And when they went to look they found, like the +clap of a hare, the mark of where a man had lain hidden, +and close beside the javelin that was driven in the +ground there lay a wooden-hilted knife.</p> + +<p>Then said Naoise: “Well I knew that Conor would +set a spy on my tracks. Come with me now, Deirdrê, +else may I lose thee forever.”</p> + +<p>And with a glad heart Deirdrê went with him who +was to be her lord, and Naoise took her to where his brothers +awaited his coming. To Deirdrê, both Ainle and +Ardan swiftly gave their lifelong allegiance and their +love, but they were full of forebodings for her and for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> +Naoise because of the certain wrath of Conor, the +king.</p> + +<p>Then said Naoise: “Although harm should come, +for her dear sake I am willing to live in disgrace for the +rest of my days.”</p> + +<p>And Ardan and Ainle made answer: “Of a certainty, +evil will be of it, yet though there be, thou shalt not +be under disgrace as long as we shall be alive. We will +go with her to another country. There is not in Erin +a king who will not bid us welcome.”</p> + +<p>Then did the Sons of Usna decide to cross the Sea +of Moyle, and in their own land of Alba to find a happy +sanctuary. That night they fled, and with them took +three times fifty men, three times fifty women, three +times fifty horses, and three times fifty greyhounds. +And when they looked back to where they had had their +dwelling, they saw red flames against the deep blue +sky of the night, and knew that the vengeance of Conor +had already begun. And first they travelled round +Erin from Essa to Beinn Etair,<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> and then in a great +black galley they set sail, and Deirdrê had a heart light +as the white-winged sea-birds as the men pulled at the +long oars and sang together a rowing song, and she +leaned on the strong arm of Naoise and saw the blue +coast-line of Erin fading into nothingness.</p> + +<p>In the bay of Aros, on the eastern shores of the +island of Mull, they found their first resting-place, +but there they feared treachery from a lord of Appin. +For the starry eyes of Deirdrê were swift to discern evil +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> +that the eyes of the Sons of Usna could not see. Thus +they fared onward until they reached the great sea-loch +of Etive, with hills around it, and Ben Cruachan, its head +in mist, towering above it like a watchman placed +there by Time, to wait and to watch over the people +of those silent hills and lonely glens until Time should +give place to his brother, Eternity.</p> + +<p>Joy was in the hearts of the three Sons of Usna when +they came back to the home of their fathers. Usna +was dead, but beyond the Falls of Lora was still the great +dun—the vitrified fort—which he had built for himself +and for those who should follow him.</p> + +<p>For Deirdrê then began a time of perfect happiness. +Naoise was her heart, but very dear to her also were +the brothers of Naoise, and each of the three vied with +one another in their acts of tender and loving service. +Their thrice fifty vassals had no love for Alba, and rejoiced +when their lord, Naoise, allowed them to return +to Erin, but the Sons of Usna were glad to have none +to come between them and their serving of Deirdrê, +the queen of their hearts. Soon she came to know +well each little bay, each beach, and each little lonely +glen of Loch Etive, for the Sons of Usna did not always +stay at the dun which had been their father’s, but went +a-hunting up the loch. At various spots on the shores +of Etive they had camping places, and at Dail-an-eas<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> +they built for Deirdrê a sunny bower.</p> + +<p>On a sloping bank above the waterfall they built the +little nest, thatched with the royal fern of the mountains, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> +the red clay of the pools, and with soft feathers from the +breasts of birds. There she could sit and listen to the +murmur and drip of the clear water over the mossy +boulders, the splash of the salmon in the dark pools, and +see the distant silver of the loch. When the summer sun +was hot on the bog myrtle and heather, the hum of the +wild bees would lull her to sleep, and in autumn, when +the bracken grew red and golden and the rowan berries +grew red as Deirdrê’s lips, her keen eyes would see the +stags grazing high up among the grey boulders of the +mist-crowned mountains, and would warn the brothers +of the sport awaiting them. The crow of the grouse, +the belling of stags, the bark of the hill-fox, the swish +of the great wings of the golden eagle, the song of birds, +the lilt of running water, the complaining of the wind +through the birches—all these things made music to +Deirdrê, to whom all things were dear.</p> + +<p>“<i>Is tu mein na Dearshul agha</i>”—“The tenderness of +heartsweet Deirdrê”—so runs a line in an old, old Gaelic +verse, and it is always of her tenderness as well as her +beauty that the old <i>Oea</i> speak.</p> + +<p>Sometimes she would hunt the red deer with Naoise +and his brothers, up the lonely glens, up through the +clouds to the silent mountain tops, and in the evening, +when she was weary, her three loyal worshippers would +proudly bear her home upon their bucklers.</p> + +<p>So the happy days passed away, and in Erin the +angry heart of Conor grew yet more angry when tidings +came to him of the happiness of Deirdrê and the Sons of +Usna. Rumour came to him that the king of Alba +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> +had planned to come against Naoise, to slay him, and +to take Deirdrê for his wife, but that ere he could come +the Sons of Usna and Deirdrê had sailed yet further +north in their galley, and that there, in the land of his +mother, Naoise ruled as a king. And not only on Loch +Etive, but on Loch Awe and Loch Fyne, Loch Striven, +Loch Ard, Loch Long, Loch Lomond and all along the +sea-loch coast, the fame of the Sons of Usna spread, and +the wonder of the beauty of Deirdrê, fairest of women.</p> + +<p>And ever the hatred of Conor grew, until one day +there came into his mind a plan of evil by which his +burning thirst for revenge might be handsomely assuaged.</p> + +<p>He made, therefore, a great feast, at which all the +heroes of the Red Branch were present. When he had +done them every honour, he asked them if they were +content. As one man: “Well content indeed!” answered +they.</p> + +<p>“And that is what I am not,” said the king. Then +with the guile of fair words he told them that to him +it was great sorrow that the three heroes, with whose +deeds the Western Isles and the whole of the north and +west of Alba were ringing, should not be numbered +amongst his friends, sit at his board in peace and amity, +and fight for the Ultonians like all the other heroes of +the Red Branch.</p> + +<p>“They took from me the one who would have been +my wife,” he said, “yet even that I can forgive, and if +they would return to Erin, glad would my welcome be.”</p> + +<p>At these words there was great rejoicing amongst +the lords of the Red Branch and all those who listened, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> +and Conor, glad at heart, said, “My three best champions +shall go to bring them back from their exile,” +and he named Conall the Victorious, Cuchulainn, and +Fergus, the son of Rossa the Red. Then secretly he +called Conall to him and asked him what he would do +if he were sent to fetch the Sons of Usna, and, in spite +of his safe-conduct, they were slain when they reached +the land of the Ultonians. And Conall made answer +that should such a shameful thing come to pass he +would slay with his own hand all the traitor dogs. Then +he sent for Cuchulainn, and to him put the same +question, and, in angry scorn, the young hero replied +that even Conor himself would not be safe from his +vengeance were such a deed of black treachery to be +performed.</p> + +<p>“Well did I know thou didst bear me no love,” +said Conor, and black was his brow.</p> + +<p>He called for Fergus then, and Fergus, sore troubled, +made answer that were there to be such a betrayal, the +king alone would be held sacred from his vengeance.</p> + +<p>Then Conor gladly gave Fergus command to go to +Alba as his emissary, and to fetch back with him the three +brothers and Deirdrê the Beautiful.</p> + +<p>“Thy name of old was Honeymouth,” he said, “so +I know well that with guile thou canst bring them to +Erin. And when thou shalt have returned with them, +send them forward, but stay thyself at the house of +Borrach. Borrach shall have warning of thy coming.”</p> + +<p>This he said, because to Fergus and to all the other +of the Red Branch, a <i>geasa</i>, or pledge, was sacrosanct. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> +And well he knew that Fergus had as one of his +<i>geasa</i> that he would never refuse an invitation to a +feast.</p> + +<p>Next day Fergus and his two sons, Illann the Fair +and Buinne the Red, set out in their galley for the dun +of the Sons of Usna on Loch Etive.</p> + +<p>The day before their hurried flight from Erin, Ainle +and Ardan had been playing chess in their dun with +Conor, the king. The board was of fair ivory, and the +chessmen were of red-gold, wrought in strange devices. +It had come from the mysterious East in years far beyond +the memory of any living man, and was one of the +dearest of Conor’s possessions. Thus, when Ainle and +Ardan carried off the chess-board with them in their flight, +after the loss of Deirdrê, that was the loss that gave the +king the greatest bitterness. Now it came to pass that +as Naoise and Deirdrê were sitting in front of their dun, +the little waves of Loch Etive lapping up on the seaweed, +yellow as the hair of Deirdrê, far below, and playing +chess at this board, they heard a shout from the +woods down by the shore where the hazels and birches +grew thick.</p> + +<p>“That is the voice of a man of Erin!” said Naoise, +and stopped in his game to listen.</p> + +<p>But Deirdrê said, very quickly: “Not so! It is the +voice of a Gael of Alba.”</p> + +<p>Yet so she spoke that she might try to deceive her +own heart, that even then was chilled by the black +shadow of an approaching evil. Then came another +shout, and yet a third. And when they heard the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> +third shout, there was no doubt left in their minds, for +they all knew the voice for that of Fergus, the son of +Rossa the Red. And when Ardan hastened down to +the harbour to greet him, Deirdrê confessed to Naoise +why she had refused at first to own that it was a voice +from Erin that she heard.</p> + +<p>“I saw in a dream last night,” she said, “three birds +that flew hither from Emain Macha, carrying three +sips of honey in their beaks. The honey they left with +us, but took away three sips of blood.”</p> + +<p>And Naoise said: “What then, best beloved, dost +thou read from this dream of thine?”</p> + +<p>And Deirdrê said: “I read that Fergus comes from +Conor with honeyed words of peace, but behind his +treacherous words lies death.”</p> + +<p>As they spake, Ardan and Fergus and his following +climbed up the height where the bog-myrtle and the +heather and sweet fern yielded their sweetest incense +as they were wounded under their firm tread.</p> + +<p>And when Fergus stood before Deirdrê and Naoise, +the man of her heart, he told them of Conor’s message, +and of the peace and the glory that awaited them in +Erin if they would but listen to the words of welcome +that he brought.</p> + +<p>Then said Naoise: “I am ready.” But his eyes +dared not meet the sea-blue eyes of Deirdrê, his queen.</p> + +<p>“Knowest thou that my pledge is one of honour?” +asked Fergus.</p> + +<p>“I know it well,” said Naoise.</p> + +<p>So in joyous feasting was that night spent, and only +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> +over the heart of Deirdrê hung that black cloud of sorrow +to come, of woe unspeakable.</p> + +<p>When the golden dawn crept over the blue hills of +Loch Etive, and the white-winged birds of the sea +swooped and dived and cried in the silver waters, the +galley of the Sons of Usna set out to sea.</p> + +<p>And Deirdrê, over whom hung a doom she had not +the courage to name, sang a song at parting:</p> + + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">The Lay of Deirdre</span><br/></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Beloved land, that Eastern land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alba, with its wonders.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O that I might not depart from it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that I go with Naoise.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beloved is Dunfidgha and Dun Fin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beloved the Dun above them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beloved is Innisdraighende;<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beloved Dun Suibhne.<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a><br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Coillchuan! O Coillchuan!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Ainnle would, alas! resort;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too short, I deem, was then my stay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Ainnle in Oirir Alban.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Glenlaidhe!<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> O Glenlaidhe!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I used to sleep by its soothing murmur;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fish, and flesh of wild boar and badger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was my repast in Glenlaidhe.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Glenmasan! O Glenmasan!<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">High its herbs, fair its boughs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Solitary was the place of our repose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On grassy Invermasan.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Gleneitche!<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> O Gleneitche!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was raised my earliest home.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beautiful its woods on rising,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the sun struck on Gleneitche.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Glen Urchain!<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> O Glen Urchain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was the straight glen of smooth ridges,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not more joyful was a man of his age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than Naoise in Glen Urchain.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Glendaruadh!<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> O Glendaruadh!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My love each man of its inheritance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet the voice of the cuckoo, on bending bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the hill above Glendaruadh.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beloved is Draighen and its sounding shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beloved is the water o’er the pure sand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O that I might not depart from the east,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that I go with my beloved!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><i>Translated by</i> <span class="smcap">W. F. Skene</span>, LL.D.</p> + +<p>Thus they fared across the grey-green sea betwixt +Alba and Erin, and when Ardan and Ainle and Naoise +heard the words of the song of Deirdrê, on their hearts +also descended the strange sorrow of an evil thing from +which no courage could save them.</p> + +<p>At Ballycastle, opposite Rathlin Island, where a +rock on the shore (“Carraig Uisneach”) still bears +the name of the Sons of Usna, Fergus and the returned +exiles landed. And scarcely were they out of sight of +the shore when a messenger came to Fergus, bidding +him to a feast of ale at the dun of Borrach. Then +Fergus, knowing well that in this was the hand of Conor +and that treachery was meant, reddened all over with +anger and with shame. But yet he dared not break +his <i>geasa</i>, even although by holding to it the honour he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> +had pledged to the three brothers for their safe-conduct +and that of Deirdrê was dragged through the mire. +He therefore gave them his sons for escort and went +to the feast at the dun of Borrach, full well knowing +that Deirdrê spoke truth when she told him sadly that +he had sold his honour. The gloomy forebodings that +had assailed the heart of Deirdrê ere they had left Loch +Etive grew ever the stronger as they went southwards. +She begged Naoise to let them go to some place of safety +and there wait until Fergus had fulfilled his <i>geasa</i> and +could rejoin them and go with them to Emain Macha. +But the Sons of Usna, strong in the knowledge of their +own strength, and simply trustful of the pledged word +of Conor and of Fergus, laughed at her fears, and continued +on their way. Dreams of dread portent haunted +her sleep, and by daytime her eyes in her white face +looked like violets in the snow. She saw a cloud of +blood always hanging over the beautiful Sons of Usna, +and all of them she saw, and Illann the Fair, with their +heads shorn off, gory and awful. Yet no pleading words +could prevail upon Naoise. His fate drove him on.</p> + +<p>“To Emain Macha we must go, my beloved,” he +said. “To do other than this would be to show that +we have fear, and fear we have none.”</p> + +<p>Thus at last did they arrive at Emain Macha, and +with courteous welcome Conor sent them word that the +house of the heroes of the Red Branch was to be theirs +that night. And although the place the king had +chosen for their lodgment confirmed all the intuitions +and forebodings of Deirdrê, the evening was spent by in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> +good cheer, and Deirdrê had the joy of a welcome there +from her old friend Lavarcam. For to Lavarcam Conor +had said: “I would have thee go to the House of the +Red Branch and bring me back tidings if the beauty +of Deirdrê has waned, or if she is still the most beautiful +of all women.”</p> + +<p>And when Lavarcam saw her whom she had loved +as a little child, playing chess with her husband at the +board of ivory and gold, she knew that love had made +the beauty of Deirdrê blossom, and that she was now +more beautiful than the words of any man or woman +could tell. Nor was it possible for her to be a tool for +Conor when she looked in the starry eyes of Deirdrê, +and so she poured forth warning of the treachery of +Conor, and the Sons of Usna knew that there was truth +in the dreams of her who was the queen of their hearts. +And even as Lavarcam ceased there came to the eyes of +Deirdrê a vision such as that of Cathbad the Druid on +the night of her birth.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I see three torches quenched this night,” she said. “And +these three torches are the Three Torches of Valour among the +Gael, and their names are the names of the Sons of Usna. And more +bitter still is this sorrow, because that the Red Branch shall ultimately +perish through it, and Uladh itself be overthrown, and blood fall this +way and that as the whirled rains of winter.”</p></div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod.</span></p> + +<p>Then Lavarcam went her way, and returned to the +palace at Emain Macha and told Conor that the cruel +winds and snows of Alba had robbed Deirdrê of all her +loveliness, so that she was no more a thing to be desired. +But Naoise had said to Deirdrê when she foretold his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> +doom: “Better to die for thee and for thy deathless +beauty than to have lived without knowledge of thee +and thy love,” and it may have been that some memory +of the face of Deirdrê, when she heard these words, +dwelt in the eyes of Lavarcam and put quick suspicion +into the evil heart of the king. For when Lavarcam had +gone forth, well pleased that she had saved her darling, +Conor sent a spy—a man whose father and three brothers +had fallen in battle under the sword of Naoise—that he +might see Deirdrê and confirm or contradict the report +of Lavarcam. And when this man reached the house +of the Red Branch, he found that the Sons of Usna +had been put on their guard, for all the doors and windows +were barred. Thus he climbed to a narrow upper +window and peered in. There, lying on the couches, +the chess-board of ivory and gold between them, were +Naoise and Deirdrê. So beautiful were they, that they +were as the deathless gods, and as they played that last +game of their lives, they spoke together in low voices of +love that sounded like the melody of a harp in the hands +of a master player. Deirdrê was the first to see the +peering face with the eyes that gloated on her loveliness. +No word said she, but silently made the gaze of Naoise +follow her own, even as he held a golden chessman in +his hand, pondering a move. Swift as a stone from a +sling the chessman was hurled, and the man fell back to +the ground with his eyeball smashed, and found his +way to Emain Macha as best he could, shaking with +agony and snarling with lust for revenge. Vividly he +painted for the king the picture of the most beautiful +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> +woman on earth as she played at the chess-board that +he held so dear, and the rage of Conor that had smouldered +ever since that day when he learned that Naoise +had stolen Deirdrê from him, flamed up into madness. +With a bellow like that of a wounded bull, he called +upon the Ultonians to come with him to the House of +the Red Branch, to burn it down, and to slay all those +within it with the sword, save only Deirdrê, who was to +be saved for a more cruel fate.</p> + +<p>In the House of the Red Branch, Deirdrê and the three +brothers and the two sons of Fergus heard the shouts of +the Ultonians and knew that the storm was about to +break. But, calm as rocks against which the angry +waves beat themselves in vain, sat those whose portion +at dawn was to be cruel death. And Naoise and Ainle +played chess, with hands that did not tremble. At the +first onslaught, Buinne the Red, son of Fergus, sallied +forth, quenched the flames, and drove back the Ultonians +with great slaughter. But Conor called to him to +parley and offered him a bribe of land, and Buinne, +treacherous son of a treacherous father, went over to +the enemy. His brother, Illann the Fair, filled with +shame, did what he could to make amends. He went +forth, and many hundreds of the besieging army fell +before him, ere death stayed his loyal hand. At his +death the Ultonians again fired the house, and first +Ardan and then Ainle left their chess for a fiercer game, +and glutted their sword blades with the blood of their +enemies. Last came the turn of Naoise. He kissed +Deirdrê, and drank a drink, and went out against the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> +men of Conor, and where his brothers had slain hundreds, +a thousand fell before his sword.</p> + +<p>Then fear came into the heart of Conor, for he foresaw +that against the Sons of Usna no man could prevail, +save by magic. Thus he sent for Cathbad the +Druid, who was even then very near death, and the +old man was carried on a litter to the House of the Red +Branch, from which the flames were leaping, and before +which the dead lay in heaps.</p> + +<p>And Conor besought him to help him to subdue +the Sons of Usna ere they should have slain every +Ultonian in the land. So by his magic Cathbad raised +a hedge of spears round the house. But Naoise, Ardan, +and Ainle, with Deirdrê in their centre, sheltered by +their shields, burst suddenly forth from the blazing +house, and cut a way for themselves through the hedge +as though they sheared green wheat. And, laughing +aloud, they took a terrible toll of lives from the Ultonians +who would have withstood them. Then again +the Druid put forth his power, and a noise like the noise +of many waters was in the ears of all who were there. +So suddenly the magic flood arose that there was no +chance of escape for the Sons of Usna. Higher it +mounted, ever higher, and Naoise held Deirdrê on his +shoulder, and smiled up in her eyes as the water rose +past his middle. Then suddenly as it had come, the +flood abated, and all was well with the Ultonians who +had sheltered on a rising ground. But the Sons of Usna +found themselves entrapped in a morass where the +water had been. Conor, seeing them in his hands at +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> +last, bade some of his warriors go and take them. But +for shame no Ultonian would go, and it was a man from +Norway who walked along a dry spit of land to where +they stood, sunk deep in the green bog. “Slay me +first!” called Ardan as he drew near, sword in hand. +“I am the youngest, and, who knows, my death may +change the tides of fate!”</p> + +<p>And Ainle also craved that death might be dealt +to him the first. But Naoise held out his own sword, +“The Retaliator,” to the executioner.</p> + +<p>“Mannanan, the son of Lîr, gave me my good +sword,” he said. “With it strike my dear brothers +and me one blow only as we stand here like three trees +planted in the soil. Then shall none of us know the +grief and shame of seeing the other beheaded.” And +because it was hard for any man to disobey the command +of Naoise, a king of men, the Norseman reached +out his hand for the sword. But Deirdrê sprang from +the shoulder of Naoise and would have killed the man +ere he struck. Roughly he threw her aside, and with +one blow he shore off the heads of the three greatest +heroes of Alba.</p> + +<p>For a little while there was a great stillness there, +like the silence before the coming of a storm. And +then all who had beheld the end of the fair and noble +Sons of Usna broke into great lamentation. Only +Conor stood silent, gazing at the havoc he had wrought. +To Cuchulainn, the mighty champion, a good man and a +true, Deirdrê fled, and begged him to protect her for +the little span of life that she knew yet remained to her. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> +And with him she went to where the head of Naoise +lay, and tenderly she cleansed it from blood and from +the stains of strife and stress, and smoothed the hair +that was black as a raven’s wing, and kissed the cold +lips again and again. And as she held it against her +white breast, as a mother holds a little child, she +chanted for Naoise, her heart, and for his brothers, a +lament that still lives in the language of the Gael.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Is it honour that ye love, brave and chivalrous Ultonians?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or is the word of a base king better than noble truth?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a surety ye must be glad, who have basely slain honour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In slaying the three noblest and best of your brotherhood.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let now my beauty that set all this warring aflame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let now my beauty be quenched as a torch that is spent—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For here shall I quench it, here, where my loved one lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A torch shall it be for him still through the darkness of death.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod’s Translation.</span></p> + +<p>Then, at the bidding of Cuchulainn, the Ultonian, +three graves were dug for the brothers, but the grave +of Naoise was made wider than the others, and when +he was placed in it, standing upright, with his head +placed on his shoulders, Deirdrê stood by him and held +him in her white arms, and murmured to him of the +love that was theirs and of which not Death itself could +rob them. And even as she spoke to him, merciful +Death took her, and together they were buried. At +that same hour a terrible cry was heard: “<em>The Red +Branch perisheth! Uladh passeth! Uladh passeth!</em>” and +when he had so spoken, the soul of Cathbad the +Druid passed away.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> +To the land of the Ultonians there came on the +morrow a mighty host, and the Red Branch was wiped +out for ever. Emain Macha was cast into ruins, and +Conor died in a madness of sorrow.</p> + +<p>And still, in that land of Erin where she died, still in +the lonely cleuchs and glens, and up the mist-hung +mountain sides of Loch Etive, where she knew her truest +happiness, we can sometimes almost hear the wind sighing +the lament: “Deirdrê the beautiful is dead ... is +dead!”</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I hear a voice crying, crying, crying: is it the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear, crying its old weary cry time out of mind?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The grey wind weeps, the grey wind weeps, the grey wind weeps:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Dust on her breast, dust on her eyes, the grey wind weeps.</i>”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod.</span></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Now Dunskaith.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Fairies.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> The Hill of Howth, at Dublin Bay.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Dale of the Waterfall: now Dalness.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Inistrynich.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Dun Sween.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Glen Lug.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> At the head of Holy Loch, Argyllshire.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Glen Etive.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Glenorchy.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> Glendaruel.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p> +<h2>INDEX</h2> + + + + +<p class="center"><br /> +<a href="#A">A</a> <a href="#B">B</a> <a href="#C">C</a> +<a href="#D">D</a> <a href="#E">E</a> <a href="#F">F</a> +<a href="#G">G</a> <a href="#H">H</a> <a href="#I">I</a> +<a href="#J">J</a> <a href="#K">K</a> <a href="#L">L</a> +<a href="#M">M</a> <a href="#N">N</a> <a href="#O">O</a> +<a href="#P">P</a> <a href="#Q">Q</a> <a href="#R">R</a> +<a href="#S">S</a> <a href="#T">T</a> <a href="#U">U</a> +<a href="#V">V</a> <a href="#W">W</a> <a href="#Y">Y</a> +<a href="#Z">Z</a></p> + +<p><a name="A" id="A"></a><br /> +Acheron, <a href="#Page_37">37</a><br /> +Achilles, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> +Acrisius, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, +<a href="#Page_123">123</a><br /> +Adam, <a href="#Page_220">220</a><br /> +Adonis, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, +<a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, +<a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a><br /> +Advocates’ Library, <a href="#Page_306">306</a><br /> +Aed, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, +<a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a><br /> +Ægean Sea, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, +<a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, +<a href="#Page_186">186</a><br /> +Ægean Islands, <a href="#Page_172">172</a><br /> +Æolus, <a href="#Page_144">144</a><br /> +Æsculapius, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br /> +Æsop, <a href="#Page_169">169</a><br /> +Ainle, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, +<a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, +<a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a><br /> +Ainnle, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Aix, <a href="#Page_287">287</a><br /> +Aix-la-Chapelle, <a href="#Page_287">287</a><br /> +Ajax, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> +Alba, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, +<a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>, +<a href="#Page_319">319</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, +<a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>, +<a href="#Page_331">331</a><br /> +Alban, Oirir, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Alexander the Great, <a href="#Page_135">135</a><br /> +Alpheus, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br /> +Althæa, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a><br /> +Amphion, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a><br /> +Anapus, <a href="#Page_101">101</a><br /> +Andromeda, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a><br /> +Angelo, Michael, <a href="#Page_203">203</a><br /> +Anglo-Saxon, <a href="#Page_245">245</a><br /> +Angrbotha, <a href="#Page_236">236</a><br /> +Aphrodite, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, +<a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, +<a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, +<a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, +<a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, +<a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, +<a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, +<a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a><br /> +Apollo, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, +<a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, +<a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, +<a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, +<a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, +<a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, +<a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, +<a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, +<a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, +<a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, +<a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, +<a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, +<a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, +<a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, +<a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, +<a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, +<a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +Apollo Belvidere, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> +Apollo, Phœbus, <a href="#Page_19">19</a><br /> +Appin, <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br /> +Arachne, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, +<a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, +<a href="#Page_89">89</a><br /> +Arcadia, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, +<a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a><br /> +Arcadian, <a href="#Page_75">75</a><br /> +Archilochus, <a href="#Page_223">223</a><br /> +Ard, Loch, <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> +Ardan, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, +<a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>, +<a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>, +<a href="#Page_331">331</a><br /> +Arethusa, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, +<a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br /> +Argo, <a href="#Page_39">39</a><br /> +Argonauts, <a href="#Page_39">39</a><br /> +Argos, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a><br /> +Aristæus, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, +<a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, +<a href="#Page_160">160</a><br /> +Aristophanes, <a href="#Page_169">169</a><br /> +Argyllshire, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Arnold, Matthew, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a><br /> +Aros, <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br /> +Artemis, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> +Arthur, King, <a href="#Page_268">268</a><br /> +Aschere, <a href="#Page_256">256</a><br /> +Asgard, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>, +<a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a><br /> +Asia, <a href="#Page_135">135</a><br /> +Atalanta, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, +<a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, +<a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a><br /> +Athené, Pallas, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, +<a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, +<a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, +<a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, +<a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, +<a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a><br /> +Athens, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a><br /> +Atlas, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a><br /> +Aude the Fair, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a><br /> +Aurora, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a><br /> +Australia, <a href="#Page_220">220</a><br /> +Awe, Loch, <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="B" id="B"></a><br /> +Bacchantes, <a href="#Page_40">40</a><br /> +Bacchus, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a><br /> +Baldrsbrá, <a href="#Page_234">234</a><br /> +Baldur, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>, +<a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, +<a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, +<a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a><br /> +Ballycastle, <a href="#Page_325">325</a><br /> +Bann, <a href="#Page_301">301</a><br /> +Bartholomew, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br /> +Bavière, Naismes de, <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br /> +Belvidere, Apollo, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> +Ben Cruachan, <a href="#Page_318">318</a><br /> +Ben Etair, <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br /> +Benmullet, <a href="#Page_295">295</a><br /> +Beowulf, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, +<a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, +<a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, +<a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, +<a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, +<a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, +<a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> +Beowulf’s Barrow, <a href="#Page_264">264</a><br /> +Beowulfesby, <a href="#Page_245">245</a><br /> +Bertha, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br /> +Bion, <a href="#Page_206">206</a><br /> +Blancandrin, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a><br /> +Blaye, <a href="#Page_287">287</a><br /> +Bodb the Red, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, +<a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a><br /> +Boreas, <a href="#Page_212">212</a><br /> +Borrach, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a><br /> +Bowlby Cliff, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a><br /> +Branch, Red, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, +<a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, +<a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, +<a href="#Page_332">332</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a><br /> +Breton, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +Brisingamen, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br /> +Britain, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a><br /> +Brittany, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +Brocken, <a href="#Page_233">233</a><br /> +Browning, E. B., <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a><br /> +Buinne the Red, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a><br /> +Byron, <a href="#Page_10">10</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="C" id="C"></a><br /> +Calliope, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> +Calvary, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> +Calvinism, <a href="#Page_215">215</a><br /> +Calydon, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, +<a href="#Page_78">78</a><br /> +Calydonian Hunt, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a><br /> +Campbell, Thos., <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Carlyle, Thos., <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Carmichael, Alexander, <a href="#Page_307">307</a><br /> +Carraig Uisneach, <a href="#Page_325">325</a><br /> +Carricknarone, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a><br /> +Cassiopeia, <a href="#Page_123">123</a><br /> +Castor, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> +Cathbad, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>, +<a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>, +<a href="#Page_332">332</a><br /> +Caucasus, Mt., <a href="#Page_8">8</a><br /> +Celts, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a><br /> +Cepheus, <a href="#Page_123">123</a><br /> +Cerberus, <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> +Ceyx, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, +<a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, +<a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a><br /> +Champions of the Red Branch, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a><br /> +Chanson de Roland, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Chaos, <a href="#Page_2">2</a><br /> +Charlemagne, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, +<a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, +<a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>, +<a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, +<a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, +<a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a><br /> +Charles, King, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br /> +Charon, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a><br /> +Chemmis, <a href="#Page_117">117</a><br /> +Chinese, <a href="#Page_208">208</a><br /> +Christian, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, +<a href="#Page_303">303</a><br /> +Christianity, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br /> +Cimmerian Mountains, <a href="#Page_148">148</a><br /> +Circe, <a href="#Page_226">226</a><br /> +Claros, <a href="#Page_145">145</a><br /> +Clio, <a href="#Page_129">129</a><br /> +Clymene, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, +<a href="#Page_24">24</a><br /> +Clytie, <a href="#Page_189">189</a><br /> +Cocytus, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, +<a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, +<a href="#Page_207">207</a><br /> +Coillchuan, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Colophon, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a><br /> +Conall, <a href="#Page_321">321</a><br /> +Conchubar, <a href="#Page_307">307</a><br /> +Conn, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, +<a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a><br /> +Connaught, <a href="#Page_304">304</a><br /> +Conor, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, +<a href="#Page_310">310</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, +<a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>, +<a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, +<a href="#Page_323">323</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>, +<a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, +<a href="#Page_330">330</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a><br /> +Copenhagen, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br /> +Cordova, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a><br /> +Corinth, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a><br /> +Crete, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a><br /> +Cruachan, Ben, <a href="#Page_318">318</a><br /> +Cuchulainn, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a><br /> +Cyane, <a href="#Page_163">163</a><br /> +Cyclades, <a href="#Page_107">107</a><br /> +Cycnus, <a href="#Page_24">24</a><br /> +Cynthian, <a href="#Page_126">126</a><br /> +Cyprus, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, +<a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a><br /> +Cyrene, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a><br /> +Cytherea, <a href="#Page_206">206</a><br /> +Cytherian shores, <a href="#Page_203">203</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="D" id="D"></a><br /> +Dædalus, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, +<a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, +<a href="#Page_188">188</a><br /> +Dail-an-eas, <a href="#Page_318">318</a><br /> +Dalness, <a href="#Page_318">318</a><br /> +Danaë, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, +<a href="#Page_121">121</a><br /> +Danaïdes, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> +Dane, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, +<a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a><br /> +Danish, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a><br /> +Dante, <a href="#Page_16">16</a><br /> +Daphne, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a><br /> +Darthool, <a href="#Page_306">306</a><br /> +Darvra, Lake, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, +<a href="#Page_297">297</a><br /> +Dasent, <a href="#Page_236">236</a><br /> +David, <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br /> +Day, <a href="#Page_2">2</a><br /> +Dearshul, <a href="#Page_319">319</a><br /> +Decca, <a href="#Page_304">304</a><br /> +Dedannans, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, +<a href="#Page_301">301</a><br /> +Deirdrê, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, +<a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, +<a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, +<a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, +<a href="#Page_318">318</a>, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, +<a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>, +<a href="#Page_324">324</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>, +<a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, +<a href="#Page_330">330</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>, +<a href="#Page_333">333</a><br /> +Delos, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a><br /> +Demeter, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, +<a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a><br /> +Denmark, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a><br /> +Derg, Lough, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a><br /> +Derravaragh, Lough, <a href="#Page_293">293</a><br /> +Destiny, The Winged, <a href="#Page_223">223</a><br /> +Diana, II., <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, +<a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, +<a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, +<a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, +<a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, +<a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, +<a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, +<a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, +<a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, +<a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, +<a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> +Diana Vernon, <a href="#Page_26">26</a><br /> +Douzeperes, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, +<a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, +<a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, +<a href="#Page_287">287</a><br /> +Draighen, <a href="#Page_325">325</a><br /> +Druid, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>, +<a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a><br /> +Druid’s runes, <a href="#Page_295">295</a><br /> +Druids, <a href="#Page_294">294</a><br /> +Dryden, <a href="#Page_45">45</a><br /> +Dryope, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a><br /> +Dublin Bay, <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br /> +Dunfidgha, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Dun Fin, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Dunskaith, <a href="#Page_311">311</a><br /> +Dun Suibhne, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Dun Sween, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Durendala, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="E" id="E"></a><br /> +Echo, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, +<a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> +Edinburgh, <a href="#Page_306">306</a><br /> +Egypt, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a><br /> +Egyptian, <a href="#Page_217">217</a><br /> +Egyptians, <a href="#Page_117">117</a><br /> +Emain Macha, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>, +<a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a><br /> +Emerson, <a href="#Page_243">243</a><br /> +Endymion, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, +<a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> +England, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br /> +Enna, <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br /> +Epaphos, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a><br /> +Epimethus, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, +<a href="#Page_7">7</a><br /> +Epirus, <a href="#Page_70">70</a><br /> +Erdgeist, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> +Erebus, <a href="#Page_2">2</a><br /> +Eridanus, <a href="#Page_24">24</a><br /> +Erin, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, +<a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, +<a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, +<a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, +<a href="#Page_319">319</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, +<a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, +<a href="#Page_333">333</a><br /> +Erris, <a href="#Page_295">295</a><br /> +Eros, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, +<a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, +<a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, +<a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, +<a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, +<a href="#Page_203">203</a><br /> +Essa, <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br /> +Etair, Ben, <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br /> +Ethiopia, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a><br /> +Ethiopians, <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> +Etive, Glen, <a href="#Page_325">325</a><br /> +Etive, Loch, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, +<a href="#Page_324">324</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a><br /> +Etna, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a><br /> +Eubœan Sea, <a href="#Page_122">122</a><br /> +Eumenides, <a href="#Page_194">194</a><br /> +Europa, <a href="#Page_87">87</a><br /> +Europe, <a href="#Page_289">289</a><br /> +Eurydice, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, +<a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, +<a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, +<a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a><br /> +Eva, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, +<a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a><br /> +Eve, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a><br /> +Evenos, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, +<a href="#Page_94">94</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="F" id="F"></a><br /> +Faust, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> +Fechin, St., <a href="#Page_222">222</a><br /> +Felim, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a><br /> +Fensalir, <a href="#Page_238">238</a><br /> +Fergus, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>, +<a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a><br /> +Ficra, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, +<a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a><br /> +Finola, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, +<a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, +<a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, +<a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a><br /> +Fiori Maggio, <a href="#Page_103">103</a><br /> +Firedrake, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, +<a href="#Page_264">264</a><br /> +Fleece, Golden, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a><br /> +Florence, <a href="#Page_124">124</a><br /> +Fontarabian, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br /> +France, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, +<a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, +<a href="#Page_286">286</a><br /> +Franks, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, +<a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a><br /> +Freya, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, +<a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, +<a href="#Page_235">235</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, +<a href="#Page_255">255</a><br /> +Friday, <a href="#Page_277">277</a><br /> +Frieslanders, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br /> +Frigga, <a href="#Page_228">228</a><br /> +Furies, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="G" id="G"></a><br /> +Gabriel, <a href="#Page_286">286</a><br /> +Gael, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, +<a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a><br /> +Gaelic, <a href="#Page_319">319</a><br /> +Galahad, <a href="#Page_234">234</a><br /> +Galatea, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a><br /> +Ganelon, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>, +<a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, +<a href="#Page_287">287</a><br /> +Gautier, Sir, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br /> +Geasa, <a href="#Page_326">326</a><br /> +Germanic language, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br /> +Germany, <a href="#Page_233">233</a><br /> +Glendaruadh, <a href="#Page_325">325</a><br /> +Glendaruel, <a href="#Page_325">325</a><br /> +Gleneitche, <a href="#Page_325">325</a><br /> +Glenlaidhe, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Glenmasan, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Glenmasan MS., <a href="#Page_306">306</a><br /> +Glenorchy, <a href="#Page_325">325</a><br /> +Goar, St., <a href="#Page_224">224</a><br /> +Goethe, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> +Golden Fleece, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a><br /> +Gordias, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a><br /> +Gorgons, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, +<a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, +<a href="#Page_123">123</a><br /> +Goths, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, +<a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, +<a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a><br /> +Gothland, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, +<a href="#Page_260">260</a><br /> +Graeæ, <a href="#Page_112">112</a><br /> +Greece, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, +<a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, +<a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, +<a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a><br /> +Greek, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a><br /> +Greeks, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a><br /> +Green Islands, <a href="#Page_307">307</a><br /> +Gregory, Lady, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a><br /> +Grendel, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, +<a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, +<a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, +<a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="H" id="H"></a><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span><br /> +Hades, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, +<a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, +<a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a><br /> +Halcyon birds, <a href="#Page_153">153</a><br /> +Halcyone, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, +<a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, +<a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a><br /> +Hamlet, <a href="#Page_124">124</a><br /> +Hardred, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br /> +Hastings, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Hauteclaire, <a href="#Page_278">278</a><br /> +Hecate, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a><br /> +Heine, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a><br /> +Hel, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, +<a href="#Page_241">241</a><br /> +Heliades, <a href="#Page_24">24</a><br /> +Hellas, <a href="#Page_217">217</a><br /> +Hellenistic, <a href="#Page_218">218</a><br /> +Henry VI, King, <a href="#Page_144">144</a><br /> +Heorot, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, +<a href="#Page_256">256</a><br /> +Hera, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a><br /> +Heredia, De, <a href="#Page_208">208</a><br /> +Hermes, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, +<a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, +<a href="#Page_211">211</a><br /> +Hermoder, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a><br /> +Hesiod, <a href="#Page_4">4</a><br /> +Hesperides, Garden of the, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, +<a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, +<a href="#Page_137">137</a><br /> +Hesperus, <a href="#Page_144">144</a><br /> +Hlidskialf, <a href="#Page_231">231</a><br /> +Hodur, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a><br /> +Holy Loch, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Homeric Hymns, <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> +Howth, Hill of, <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br /> +Hrothgar, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, +<a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, +<a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a><br /> +Hyacinthus, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, +<a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a><br /> +Hyde, Dr. Douglas, <a href="#Page_307">307</a><br /> +Hygeia, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br /> +Hygelac, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br /> +Hyleus, <a href="#Page_74">74</a><br /> +Hymen, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="I" id="I"></a><br /> +Ibycus, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, +<a href="#Page_196">196</a><br /> +Icarus, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, +<a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, +<a href="#Page_188">188</a><br /> +Ice Giants, <a href="#Page_230">230</a><br /> +Ida, Mount, <a href="#Page_185">185</a><br /> +Idas, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, +<a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, +<a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a><br /> +Idmon, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a><br /> +Illann the Fair, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a><br /> +Ingelow, Jean, <a href="#Page_167">167</a><br /> +Inis Glora, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, +<a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a><br /> +Iniskea, <a href="#Page_302">302</a><br /> +Inistrynich, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Innisdraighende, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Invermasan, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +Ionia, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a><br /> +Ionian Sea, <a href="#Page_217">217</a><br /> +Ireland, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a><br /> +Iris, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a><br /> +Ivros Domnann, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a><br /> +Ixion, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="J" id="J"></a><br /> +Jason, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, +<a href="#Page_73">73</a><br /> +Jerusalem, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> +Jonathan, <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br /> +Jove, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, +<a href="#Page_64">64</a><br /> +Joyce, <a href="#Page_305">305</a><br /> +Judas, <a href="#Page_274">274</a><br /> +Julius Cæsar, <a href="#Page_261">261</a><br /> +Juno, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a><br /> +Jupiter, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="K" id="K"></a><br /> +Keats, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a><br /> +Keos, <a href="#Page_106">106</a><br /> +Kemoc, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a><br /> +Kingsley, Charles, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="L" id="L"></a><br /> +Ladon, <a href="#Page_200">200</a><br /> +Lang, Andrew, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> +Langobarden, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br /> +Larguen, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a><br /> +Larissa, <a href="#Page_122">122</a><br /> +Latmos, Mount, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> +Latona, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, +<a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, +<a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a><br /> +Lavarcam, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, +<a href="#Page_313">313</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, +<a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a><br /> +Lebynthos, <a href="#Page_186">186</a><br /> +Leinster, Book of, <a href="#Page_306">306</a><br /> +Lethe, <a href="#Page_149">149</a><br /> +Leto, <a href="#Page_169">169</a><br /> +Libetlera, <a href="#Page_41">41</a><br /> +Libya, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a><br /> +Libyan, <a href="#Page_39">39</a><br /> +Light, <a href="#Page_2">2</a><br /> +Liguria, <a href="#Page_24">24</a><br /> +Lilith, <a href="#Page_220">220</a><br /> +Lîr, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, +<a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, +<a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, +<a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, +<a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a><br /> +Loki, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, +<a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a><br /> +Lombardy, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br /> +Lomond, Loch, <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> +London Bridge, <a href="#Page_221">221</a><br /> +Long Loch, <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> +Longbeards, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br /> +Longfellow, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>, +<a href="#Page_244">244</a><br /> +Lora, Falls of, <a href="#Page_318">318</a><br /> +Lorelei, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, +<a href="#Page_225">225</a><br /> +Love, <a href="#Page_2">2</a><br /> +Lowell, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a><br /> +Luna, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> +Lycia, <a href="#Page_170">170</a><br /> +Lycormas, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a><br /> +Lydia, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a><br /> +Lyra, <a href="#Page_41">41</a><br /> +Lysimeleia, <a href="#Page_101">101</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="M" id="M"></a><br /> +Macleod, Fiona, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, +<a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, +<a href="#Page_306">306</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, +<a href="#Page_332">332</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> +Madonna, <a href="#Page_227">227</a><br /> +Mahommed, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +Mannanan, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a><br /> +Marpessa, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, +<a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, +<a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, +<a href="#Page_99">99</a><br /> +Marsiglio, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +Marsile, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, +<a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, +<a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a><br /> +Mary, Virgin, <a href="#Page_227">227</a><br /> +Mayo, <a href="#Page_295">295</a><br /> +Meander, <a href="#Page_183">183</a><br /> +Meath, West, <a href="#Page_293">293</a><br /> +Medusa, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, +<a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, +<a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a><br /> +Meleager, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, +<a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, +<a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a><br /> +Michael, St., <a href="#Page_286">286</a><br /> +Midas, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, +<a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, +<a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, +<a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> +Milanion, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a><br /> +Milesians, <a href="#Page_297">297</a><br /> +Milo, <a href="#Page_10">10</a><br /> +Milon, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a><br /> +Milton, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a><br /> +Minos, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a><br /> +Montjoie, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a><br /> +Moore, Thos., <a href="#Page_289">289</a><br /> +Morgue, <a href="#Page_221">221</a><br /> +Morpheus, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a><br /> +Morris, William, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, +<a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a><br /> +—— Lewis, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, +<a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a><br /> +Moschus, <a href="#Page_87">87</a><br /> +Mount Olympus, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a><br /> +Mowgli, <a href="#Page_214">214</a><br /> +Moyle, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, +<a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br /> +Mull, <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br /> +Munster, <a href="#Page_304">304</a><br /> +Muses, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a><br /> +Musset, De, <a href="#Page_218">218</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="N" id="N"></a><br /> +Nägeling, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a><br /> +Naiades, <a href="#Page_25">25</a><br /> +Naismes de Bavière, <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br /> +Nanna, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a><br /> +Naoise, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, +<a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, +<a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>, +<a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>, +<a href="#Page_324">324</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>, +<a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, +<a href="#Page_330">330</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a><br /> +Narcissus, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, +<a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, +<a href="#Page_180">180</a><br /> +Nelson, <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br /> +Neptune, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a><br /> +Nereids, <a href="#Page_188">188</a><br /> +Nestor, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a><br /> +Nibelungs, <a href="#Page_224">224</a><br /> +Niflheim, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a><br /> +Niobe, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, +<a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a><br /> +Norman, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Norseman, <a href="#Page_331">331</a><br /> +Norsemen, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a><br /> +North Channel, <a href="#Page_295">295</a><br /> +North Cape, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br /> +North Sea, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br /> +Norway, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="O" id="O"></a><br /> +Odin, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, +<a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, +<a href="#Page_235">235</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a><br /> +Odysseus, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a><br /> +Oea, <a href="#Page_319">319</a><br /> +Œneus, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a><br /> +Oise, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a><br /> +Olifant, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, +<a href="#Page_285">285</a><br /> +Oliver, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, +<a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, +<a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a><br /> +Olivier, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br /> +Olympians, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, +<a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, +<a href="#Page_211">211</a><br /> +Olympus, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, +<a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, +<a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, +<a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, +<a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, +<a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, +<a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, +<a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, +<a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a><br /> +Olympus, Mount, <a href="#Page_130">130</a><br /> +Orion’s Belt, <a href="#Page_228">228</a><br /> +Orpheus, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, +<a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, +<a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, +<a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> +Orphics, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a><br /> +Ortygia, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br /> +Otuel, Sir, <a href="#Page_288">288</a><br /> +Ovid, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, +<a href="#Page_197">197</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="P" id="P"></a><br /> +Pactolus, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a><br /> +Pagan, <a href="#Page_285">285</a><br /> +Paganism, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> +Pallas Athené, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, +<a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, +<a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, +<a href="#Page_120">120</a><br /> +Palodes, <a href="#Page_217">217</a><br /> +Pan, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, +<a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, +<a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, +<a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, +<a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, +<a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, +<a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, +<a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a><br /> +Pandora, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, +<a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a><br /> +Pantheism, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> +Paphian, <a href="#Page_206">206</a><br /> +Paphos, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a><br /> +Paros, <a href="#Page_223">223</a><br /> +Parthenian Hill, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> +Patrick, St., <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a><br /> +Paxæ, <a href="#Page_217">217</a><br /> +Paynim, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a><br /> +Peleus, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> +Peneus, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, +<a href="#Page_45">45</a><br /> +Perdrix, <a href="#Page_182">182</a><br /> +Perseus, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, +<a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, +<a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, +<a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, +<a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, +<a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, +<a href="#Page_123">123</a><br /> +Persephone, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, +<a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> +Phaeton, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, +<a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, +<a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, +<a href="#Page_25">25</a><br /> +Phillips, Stephen, <a href="#Page_96">96</a><br /> +Phineus, <a href="#Page_120">120</a><br /> +Phlegethon, <a href="#Page_194">194</a><br /> +Phœbus, <a href="#Page_129">129</a><br /> +Phœbus Apollo, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a><br /> +Phœnicians, <a href="#Page_120">120</a><br /> +Phrygia, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, +<a href="#Page_142">142</a><br /> +Pied Piper, <a href="#Page_212">212</a><br /> +Pirithous, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> +Pitys, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a><br /> +Pleiades, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br /> +Plemmgrium, <a href="#Page_101">101</a><br /> +Plexippus, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> +Pluto, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, +<a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, +<a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, +<a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, +<a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, +<a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> +Pollux, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> +Polydectes, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, +<a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a><br /> +Pomona, <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> +Poseidon, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, +<a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a><br /> +Praxiteles, <a href="#Page_124">124</a><br /> +Prometheus, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, +<a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, +<a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a><br /> +Proserpine, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, +<a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, +<a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, +<a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a><br /> +Proteus, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, +<a href="#Page_159">159</a><br /> +Psyche, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, +<a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, +<a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, +<a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, +<a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, +<a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, +<a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, +<a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> +Purgatorio, <a href="#Page_16">16</a><br /> +Pygmalion, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, +<a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br /> +Pyrenees, <a href="#Page_275">275</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="Q" id="Q"></a><br /> +Quail Island, <a href="#Page_101">101</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="R" id="R"></a><br /> +Rachel, <a href="#Page_128">128</a><br /> +Rainschevaux, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Raphael, St., <a href="#Page_286">286</a><br /> +Rathlin Island, <a href="#Page_325">325</a><br /> +Red Branch, Champions of, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, +<a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>, +<a href="#Page_333">333</a><br /> +Red Branch, House of, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, +<a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a><br /> +Retaliator, The, <a href="#Page_331">331</a><br /> +Rheims, Bishop of, <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br /> +Rhine, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a><br /> +Ringhorn, <a href="#Page_240">240</a><br /> +Roland, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, +<a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, +<a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, +<a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, +<a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, +<a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>, +<a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a><br /> +Rollant, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Roman de Rose, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Roman Empire, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +Romans, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> +Roncevall, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Roncesvalles, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, +<a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, +<a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a><br /> +Rossa the Red, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a><br /> +Round Table, <a href="#Page_268">268</a><br /> +Rowland, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br /> +Runcyvale, <a href="#Page_288">288</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="S" id="S"></a><br /> +Sackville, Lady Margaret, <a href="#Page_197">197</a><br /> +Saeland, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a><br /> +Samos, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a><br /> +Samson, <a href="#Page_160">160</a><br /> +Saracens, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, +<a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, +<a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, +<a href="#Page_285">285</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a><br /> +Saragossa, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br /> +Saxon, <a href="#Page_233">233</a><br /> +Scandinavia, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a><br /> +Scotland, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a><br /> +Scott, Sir Walter, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br /> +Scyld Scefing, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> +Seine, <a href="#Page_221">221</a><br /> +Selene, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> +Seriphos, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, +<a href="#Page_121">121</a><br /> +Seumas, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a><br /> +Sgathaig, <a href="#Page_311">311</a><br /> +Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, +<a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, +<a href="#Page_261">261</a><br /> +Shannon, <a href="#Page_290">290</a><br /> +Sharp, William, <a href="#Page_301">301</a><br /> +Shee Finnaha, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, +<a href="#Page_302">302</a><br /> +Shelley, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a><br /> +Sicily, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, +<a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, +<a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a><br /> +Silenus, <a href="#Page_136">136</a><br /> +Simonides, <a href="#Page_106">106</a><br /> +Sipylus, Mount, <a href="#Page_128">128</a><br /> +Sirens, <a href="#Page_226">226</a><br /> +Sisyphus, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> +Skene, W. F., <a href="#Page_307">307</a><br /> +Skye, Isle of, <a href="#Page_311">311</a><br /> +Sleipnir, <a href="#Page_236">236</a><br /> +Socrates, <a href="#Page_153">153</a><br /> +Somnus, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a><br /> +Spain, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +Spartan, <a href="#Page_129">129</a><br /> +Spenser, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br /> +Striven, Loch, <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br /> +Styx, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a><br /> +Sweden, <a href="#Page_233">233</a><br /> +Swedes, <a href="#Page_249">249</a><br /> +Swinburne, <a href="#Page_74">74</a><br /> +Sylvan deities, <a href="#Page_214">214</a><br /> +Synge, J. M., <a href="#Page_307">307</a><br /> +Syracuse, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a><br /> +Syria, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> +Syrinx, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, +<a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="T" id="T"></a><br /> +Taenarus, <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> +Taillefer, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Tailleken, <a href="#Page_295">295</a><br /> +Talus, <a href="#Page_182">182</a><br /> +Tantalus, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> +Telamon, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a><br /> +Tennyson, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> +Termagaunt, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +Thames, <a href="#Page_221">221</a><br /> +Thamus, <a href="#Page_217">217</a><br /> +Theban, <a href="#Page_124">124</a><br /> +Thebes, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a><br /> +Theseus, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> +Thessaly, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, +<a href="#Page_152">152</a><br /> +Thrace, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, +<a href="#Page_39">39</a><br /> +Tiberius, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> +Titan, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> +Titans, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, +<a href="#Page_124">124</a><br /> +Toxeus, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> +Trachine, <a href="#Page_150">150</a><br /> +Triton, <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br /> +Tussypere, <a href="#Page_288">288</a><br /> +Turpin, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, +<a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, +<a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a><br /> +Tymolus, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a><br /> +Tyrian, <a href="#Page_86">86</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="U" id="U"></a><br /> +Uffizi Palace, <a href="#Page_124">124</a><br /> +Ulster, <a href="#Page_307">307</a><br /> +Ultonians, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, +<a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, +<a href="#Page_332">332</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a><br /> +Uladh, <a href="#Page_332">332</a><br /> +Ulva, <a href="#Page_222">222</a><br /> +Urchain, Glen, <a href="#Page_325">325</a><br /> +Usna, Sons of, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, +<a href="#Page_313">313</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, +<a href="#Page_318">318</a>, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, +<a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>, +<a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>, +<a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>, +<a href="#Page_331">331</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="V" id="V"></a><br /> +Valhalla, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> +Vali, <a href="#Page_237">237</a><br /> +Vandals, <a href="#Page_231">231</a><br /> +Vatican, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> +Veillantif, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br /> +Venus, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a><br /> +Vernon, Diana, <a href="#Page_26">26</a><br /> +Versailles, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> +Virgil, <a href="#Page_194">194</a><br /> +Vulcan, <a href="#Page_4">4</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="W" id="W"></a><br /> +Wace, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Wagmund, <a href="#Page_264">264</a><br /> +Walpurgis Night, <a href="#Page_233">233</a><br /> +Wessex, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br /> +Westminster, <a href="#Page_221">221</a><br /> +Whitby, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br /> +Wiglaf, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a><br /> +William the Conqueror, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> +Winged Destiny, The, <a href="#Page_223">223</a><br /> +Winilers, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br /> +Wolf Woman, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, +<a href="#Page_263">263</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="Y" id="Y"></a><br /> +Yeats, W. B., <a href="#Page_307">307</a><br /> +Yorkshire, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="Z" id="Z"></a><br /> +Zeus, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, +<a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, +<a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, +<a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, +<a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, +<a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, +<a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, +<a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a><br /> +Zephyr, <a href="#Page_129">129</a><br /> +Zephyrus, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, +<a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, +<a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a><br /> +</p> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + + +<div class="bbox"> +<p><b>Transcriber's Note</b></p> + +<p>Minor typographical errors (omitted punctuation, omitted or transposed letters, etc.) +have been amended without note. Inconsistent hyphenation and accent use has been +made consistent within the main text, again without note. Any inconsistencies between +quotations and the main text remain as printed.</p> + +<p>There is a lot of archaic language in this text, which remains as printed. The +author also used alternative spelling in places (e.g. Epimethus rather than the +more usual Epimetheus); this remains as printed. There is a reference to Michael +Angelo on page <a href="#Page_203">203</a> and in the Index, by which the author +presumably meant Michelangelo; this has also been left as printed.</p> + +<p>The following amendments have been made:</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_268">268</a>—were amended to +was—"... with Saragossa still unconquered was too much to hope for."</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_304">304</a>—Kemoc amended to +Larguen—"Then Larguen, in furious anger, ..."</p> + +<p>Illustrations have been moved so that they are not in mid-paragraph. The frontispiece +illustration has been moved to follow the title page. Larger versions are +available; click on the image to see them.</p> + +<p>Index entries have been made consistent with the main text, as follows:</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_334">334</a>—Aristaeus amended to Aristæus; Athene, +Pallas amended to Athené, Pallas.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_335">335</a>—page reference 230 amended to 300 in +Carricknarone entry; page reference 313 added to Deirdrê entry.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_336">336</a>—page reference 344 amended to 244 in +England entry; Eridamus amended to Eridanus.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_337">337</a>—page reference 86 added to Idmon entry; +Inis Rea amended to Iniskea.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_338">338</a>—Naïdes amended to Naiades; page +references 319 and 325 added to Naoise entry; Oeneus amended to Œneus; +entry for Olivier originally had page references duplicating the entry for +Oliver, these have been amended to the actual references in the text; page +reference 119 added to Perseus entry.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_339">339</a>—page reference 19 added to Phaeton entry; +Pirithons amended to Pirithous; Rachael amended to Rachel; Roncevalles +amended to Roncesvalles; Shee Finaha amended to Shee Finnaha; Sisyplus +amended to Sisyphus; Taillekin amended to Tailleken.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_340">340</a>—Tiberias amended to Tiberius; Uffizzi Palace +amended to Uffizi Palace; Uluadh amended to Uladh.</p> + +<p>Alphabetic links have been added to the Index for ease of navigation.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOK OF MYTHS *** + +***** This file should be named 22693-h.htm or 22693-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/6/9/22693/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sam W. and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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