417 files changed, 48871 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/22693-0.txt b/22693-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6e27eba
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11515 @@
+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: UTF-8
+
+*** 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
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+          A
+    BOOK OF MYTHS
+
+     BY JEAN LANG
+
+   (MRS. JOHN LANG)
+
+ WITH SIXTEEN ORIGINAL
+  DRAWINGS IN COLOUR
+   BY HELEN STRATTON
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+ THOMAS NELSON & SONS
+       NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "WHAT WAS HE DOING, THE GREAT GOD PAN, DOWN IN THE
+REEDS BY THE RIVER?" (See page 209)]
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+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 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[1] 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."
+
+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[2] 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."
+
+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 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 _Heroes_ and of
+Hawthorne's _Tanglewood Tales_. 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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 Odyssey and the Iliad, the
+translations of which probably take rank amongst the finest
+translations in any language.
+
+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.
+
+    "Great God! I'd rather be
+    A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
+    So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
+    Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
+    Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
+    Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn."
+
+        JEAN LANG.
+
+
+POSTSCRIPT
+
+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.
+
+We speak of things that took place "_Before the War_"; and between
+that time and this stands a barrier immeasurable.
+
+This book, with its Preface, was completed in 1914--"_Before the
+War._"
+
+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 GOD in
+whom we believe as a GOD 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.
+
+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?
+
+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."
+
+And, surely, to all those who are fighting, and suffering, and dying
+for a noble cause, the GOD of gods, the GOD of battles, who is also
+the GOD of peace, and the GOD of Love, has become an ever near and
+eternally living entity.
+
+    "Our little systems have their day;
+    They have their day and cease to be,
+    They are but broken lights of Thee,
+    And Thou, oh Lord, art more than they."
+
+        JEAN LANG.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1] _Teutonic Heathendom._
+
+[2] John Kelman, D.D., _Among Famous Books_.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                  PAGE
+
+  PROMETHEUS AND PANDORA                             1
+
+  PYGMALION                                         11
+
+  PHAETON                                           16
+
+  ENDYMION                                          26
+
+  ORPHEUS                                           31
+
+  APOLLO AND DAPHNE                                 42
+
+  PSYCHE                                            46
+
+  THE CALYDONIAN HUNT                               69
+
+  ATALANTA                                          78
+
+  ARACHNE                                           82
+
+  IDAS AND MARPESSA                                 90
+
+  ARETHUSA                                         100
+
+  PERSEUS THE HERO                                 105
+
+  NIOBE                                            124
+
+  HYACINTHUS                                       129
+
+  KING MIDAS OF THE GOLDEN TOUCH                   134
+
+  CEYX AND HALCYONE                                144
+
+  ARISTÆUS THE BEE-KEEPER                          154
+
+  PROSERPINE                                       161
+
+  LATONA AND THE RUSTICS                           169
+
+  ECHO AND NARCISSUS                               174
+
+  ICARUS                                           181
+
+  CLYTIE                                           189
+
+  THE CRANES OF IBYCUS                             192
+
+  SYRINX                                           197
+
+  THE DEATH OF ADONIS                              202
+
+  PAN                                              209
+
+  LORELEI                                          220
+
+  FREYA, QUEEN OF THE NORTHERN GODS                227
+
+  THE DEATH OF BALDUR                              234
+
+  BEOWULF                                          244
+
+  ROLAND THE PALADIN                               266
+
+  THE CHILDREN OF LÃŽR                              289
+
+  DEIRDRÊ                                          306
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  "What was he doing, the great god Pan,
+  Down in the reeds by the river?"                   _Frontispiece_
+
+                                                               PAGE
+
+  Then Pygmalion covered his eyes                                12
+
+  She checked her hounds, and stood beside Endymion              28
+
+  Swiftly he turned, and found his wife behind him               38
+
+  Thus did Psyche lose her fear, and enter the golden doors      52
+
+  She stopped, and picked up the treasure                        80
+
+  Marpessa sat alone by the fountain                             92
+
+  They whimpered and begged of him                              112
+
+  Darkness fell on the eyes of Hyacinthus                       132
+
+  A grey cold morning found her on the seashore                 152
+
+  She haunted him like his shadow                               176
+
+  Freya sat spinning the clouds                                 228
+
+  "Baldur the Beautiful is dead!"                               240
+
+  A stroke shivered the sword                                   262
+
+  Roland seized once more his horn                              282
+
+  One touch for each with a magical wand of the Druids          294
+
+
+
+
+A BOOK OF MYTHS
+
+
+
+
+PROMETHEUS AND PANDORA
+
+
+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.
+
+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, _I_?"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+Armed with fire, the beasts became his vassals. With fire he forged
+weapons, defied the frost and cold, coined money, made implements for
+tillage, introduced the arts, and was able to destroy as well as to
+create.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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,
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+                          "Yet I argue not
+    Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot
+    Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
+    Right onward."
+
+So spoke Milton, the blind Titan of the seventeenth century; and
+Shakespeare says:
+
+    "True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;
+    Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings."
+
+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, the smell
+of the unclean thing, and again with fierce beak and talons the
+vulture greedily began its work.
+
+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.
+
+    "Three thousand years of sleep-unsheltered hours,
+    And moments aye divided by keen pangs
+    Till they seemed years, torture and solitude,
+    Scorn and despair,--these are mine empire.
+    More glorious far than that which thou surveyest
+    From thine unenvied throne, O, Mighty God!
+    Almighty, had I deigned to share the shame
+    Of thine ill tyranny, and hung not here
+    Nailed to this wall of eagle-baffling mountain,
+    Black, wintry, dead, unmeasured; without herb,
+    Insect, or beast, or shape or sound of life.
+    Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, for ever!"
+
+        Shelley.
+
+    "Titan! to whose immortal eyes
+    The sufferings of mortality
+    Seen in their sad reality,
+    Were not as things that gods despise;
+    What was thy pity's recompense?
+    A silent suffering, and intense;
+    The rock, the vulture, and the chain,
+    All that the proud can feel of pain,
+    The agony they do not show,
+    The suffocating sense of woe,
+    Which speaks but in its loneliness,
+    And then is jealous lest the sky
+    Should have a listener, nor will sigh
+    Until its voice is echoless."
+
+        Byron.
+
+    "Yet, I am still Prometheus, wiser grown
+    By years of solitude,--that holds apart
+    The past and future, giving the soul room
+    To search into itself,--and long commune
+    With this eternal silence;--more a god,
+    In my long-suffering and strength to meet
+    With equal front the direst shafts of fate,
+    Than thou in thy faint-hearted despotism ...
+    Therefore, great heart, bear up! thou art but type
+    Of what all lofty spirits endure that fain
+    Would win men back to strength and peace through love:
+    Each hath his lonely peak, and on each heart
+    Envy, or scorn or hatred tears lifelong
+    With vulture beak; yet the high soul is left;
+    And faith, which is but hope grown wise, and love
+    And patience, which at last shall overcome."
+
+        Lowell.
+
+
+
+
+PYGMALION
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _should_
+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.
+
+[Illustration: THEN PYGMALION COVERED HIS EYES]
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"O Aphrodite!" he said, "who can do all things, give me, I pray you,
+one like my Galatea for my wife!"
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+PHAETON
+
+    "The road, to drive on which unskilled were Phaeton's hands."
+
+        Dante--_Purgatorio_.
+
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Clymene listened with grief to his complaint. He was so young, so
+gallant, so foolish.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"In truth thou art my dear son," he said, "and by 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."
+
+But the boy pled on:
+
+"I am shamed for ever, my father," he said. "Surely thou wouldst not
+have son of thine proved liar and braggart?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Only tell me the way, my father!" cried Phaeton. "So soon I could
+learn."
+
+Half in sadness, Apollo smiled.
+
+"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...."
+
+"I fear none of these things, oh my father!" cried Phaeton. "Grant
+that for one day only I drive thy white-maned steeds!"
+
+Very pitifully Apollo looked at him, and for a little space he was
+silent.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Rather Death than Dishonour," said Phaeton, and proudly he added,
+"For once would I drive like the god, my father. I have no fear."
+
+So was Apollo vanquished, and Phaeton gained his heart's desire.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+To Phaeton the Italian Naiades reared a tomb, and inscribed on the
+stone these words:
+
+    "Driver of Phœbus' chariot, Phaëton,
+    Struck by Jove's thunder, rests beneath this stone,
+    He could not rule his father's car of fire,
+    Yet was it much, so nobly to aspire."
+
+        Ovid.
+
+
+
+
+ENDYMION
+
+
+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.
+
+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 Diana who now has for hunting-ground the
+blue firmament of heaven where the pale Pleiades
+
+    "Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid."
+
+        Tennyson.
+
+    "She gleans her silvan trophies; down the wold
+    She hears the sobbing of the stags that flee
+    Mixed with the music of the hunting roll'd,
+    But her delight is all in archery,
+    And naught of ruth and pity wotteth she
+    More than her hounds that follow on the flight;
+    The goddess draws a golden bow of might
+    And thick she rains the gentle shafts that slay.
+    She tosses loose her locks upon the night,
+    And through the dim wood Dian threads her way."
+
+        Andrew Lang.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Now one night as she passed Mount Latmos, there 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 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.
+
+[Illustration: SHE CHECKED HER HOUNDS, AND STOOD BESIDE ENDYMION]
+
+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,
+
+    "There came a lovely vision of a maid,
+    Who seemed to step as from a golden car
+    Out of the low-hung moon."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+ORPHEUS
+
+    "Orpheus with his lute made trees,
+    And the mountain tops that freeze,
+    Bow themselves when he did sing;
+    To his music plants and flowers
+    Ever sprung, as sun and showers
+    There had made a lasting spring.
+    Everything that heard him play,
+    Even the billows of the sea,
+    Hung their heads, and then lay by,
+    In sweet music is such art,
+    Killing care and grief of heart
+    Fall asleep, or hearing die."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+    "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?"
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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....
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 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.
+
+He took his lyre again then and played:
+
+    "Such strains as would have won the ear
+    Of Pluto, to have quite set free
+    His half-regained Eurydice."
+
+        Milton.
+
+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!"
+
+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:
+
+    "At that elm-vista's end I trace,
+    Dimly thy sad leave-taking face,
+    Eurydice! Eurydice!
+    The tremulous leaves repeat to me
+    Eurydice! Eurydice!"
+
+        Lowell.
+
+[Illustration: SWIFTLY HE TURNED, AND FOUND HIS WIFE BEHIND HIM]
+
+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.
+
+"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."[3]
+
+But in the good ship _Argo_, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 remained unhealed. Again the trees listened to the songs
+of longing. Again they echoed, "Eurydice! Eurydice!"
+
+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!"
+
+"Combien d'autres sont morts de même! C'est la lutte éternelle de la
+force brutale contre l'intelligence douce et sublime inspirée du ciel,
+dont le royaume n'est pas de ce monde."
+
+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.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[3] Kingsley.
+
+
+
+
+APOLLO AND DAPHNE
+
+
+Conqueror of all conquerable earth, yet not always victorious over the
+heart of a maid was the golden-locked Apollo.
+
+As mischievous Eros played one day with his bow and arrows, Apollo
+beheld him and spoke to him mockingly.
+
+"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."
+
+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!"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+With beseeching hands, Apollo followed her. A god was he, yet to him
+had come the vast humility of 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Help me, Peneus!" she cried. "Save me, oh my father, from him whose
+love I fear!"
+
+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 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!"
+
+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.
+
+                "I espouse thee for my tree:
+    Be thou the prize of honour and renown;
+    The deathless poet, and the poem, crown;
+    Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn,
+    And, after poets, be by victors worn."
+
+        Ovid (_Dryden's translation_).
+
+
+
+
+PSYCHE
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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
+
+    "Straight he rose from earth and down the wind
+    Went glittering 'twixt the blue sky and the sea."
+
+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 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.
+
+"They spoke truth!" said the lad to himself. "Not even my mother is as
+fair as this princess."
+
+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.
+
+    "From place to place Love followed her that day
+    And ever fairer to his eyes she grew,
+    So that at last when from her bower he flew,
+    And underneath his feet the moonlit sea
+    Went shepherding his waves disorderly,
+    He swore that of all gods and men, no one
+    Should hold her in his arms but he alone;
+    That she should dwell with him in glorious wise
+    Like to a goddess in some paradise;
+    Yea, he would get from Father Jove this grace
+    That she should never die, but her sweet face
+    And wonderful fair body should endure
+    Till the foundations of the mountains sure
+    Were molten in the sea; so utterly
+    Did he forget his mother's cruelty."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"No mortal lover shall fair Psyche know," said the 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!"
+
+    "... Of dead corpses shalt thou be the king,
+    And stumbling through the dark land shalt thou go,
+    Howling for second death to end thy woe."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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."
+
+[Illustration: THUS DID PSYCHE LOSE HER FEAR, AND ENTER THE GOLDEN
+DOORS]
+
+Thus did Psyche lose her fear, and enter the golden 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 vocabulary. Love loved, and Psyche listened, and
+soon she knew that her lover was Love himself.
+
+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:
+
+    "I am with thee only while I keep
+    My visage hidden; and if thou once shouldst see
+    My face, I must forsake thee; the high gods
+    Link Love with Faith, and he withdraws himself
+    From the full gaze of knowledge."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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. 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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+"What, then, shall I do?" piteously she asked of her sisters. And the
+women, pitilessly, and well content, answered:
+
+"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."
+
+Shaking with sobs, Psyche made answer:
+
+"I love him so!... I love him so!"
+
+And her sisters turned upon her with furious scorn and well-simulated
+wrath.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "Farewell! though I, a god, can never know
+    How thou canst lose thy pain, yet time will go
+    Over thine head, and thou mayst mingle yet
+    The bitter and the sweet, nor quite forget,
+    Nor quite remember, till these things shall seem
+    The wavering memory of a lovely dream."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+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.
+
+"I have lost my Love," she moaned. "What is Life to me any longer!
+Come to me then, O Death!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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:
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+With flaming scorn and anger Aphrodite received her.
+
+    "O thou fool," she said, "I will not let thee die!
+    But thou shalt reap the harvest thou hast sown,
+    And many a day that wretched lot bemoan;
+    Thou art my slave, and not a day shall be
+    But I will find some fitting task for thee."
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"Eros sent them to me:" she thought. "Even yet his love for me is not
+dead."
+
+And what she thought was true.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 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
+
+    "O'er her head there flew the bird of Jove,
+    The bearer, of his servant, friend of Love,
+    Who, when he saw her, straightway towards her flew,
+    And asked her why she wept, and when he knew,
+    And who she was, he said, 'Cease all thy fear,
+    For to the black waves I thy ewer will bear,
+    And fill it for thee; but, remember me,
+    When thou art come unto thy majesty.'"
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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 exquisite than any that the eyes of gods or of
+men had as yet looked upon.
+
+"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."
+
+And at these scornful words, the heart of Psyche leaped within her.
+
+"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.
+
+"Better were it for me to hasten my journey to the shades," she
+thought.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"For my beauty, Eros--_Love_--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!"
+
+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.
+
+But Eros, who had loved her ever, with a love that knew the ebb and
+flow of no tides, rose from his bed and 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.
+
+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.
+
+"My _Belovèd_!" 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:
+
+               "Dear, unclose thine eyes.
+    Thou mayst look on me now. I go no more,
+    But am thine own forever."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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 of gold, the
+voice of the great Father and King of Olympus rang out loud and clear:
+
+    "Drink now, O beautiful, and have no fear!
+    For with this draught shalt thou be born again,
+    And live for ever free from care and pain."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+In this wise did Psyche, a human soul, attain by bitter suffering to
+the perfect happiness of purified love.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE CALYDONIAN HUNT
+
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"To thee, O New-Born," she said, "and to this wood that burns, do we
+give the same span of days to live."
+
+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."
+
+And the baby laughed.
+
+    "Those grey women with bound hair
+    Who fright the gods frighted not him; he laughed
+    Seeing them, and pushed out hands to feel and haul
+    Distaff and thread."
+
+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.
+
+But his victory brought evil upon him. When his father Å’neus, 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 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.
+
+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. 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+                      "The sudden string
+    Rang, and sprang inward, and the waterish air
+    Hissed, and the moist plumes of the songless reeds
+    Moved as a wave which the wind moves no more.
+    But the boar heaved half out of ooze and slime,
+    His tense flank trembling round the barbed wound,
+    Hateful; and fiery with invasive eyes
+    And bristling with intolerable hair
+    Plunged, and the hounds clung, and green flowers and white
+    Reddened and broke all round them where they came.
+    And charging with sheer tusk he drove, and smote
+    Hyleus; and sharp death caught his sudden soul,
+    And violent sleep shed night upon his eyes."
+
+        Swinburne.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Aimed on the left side his well-handled spear
+    Grasped where the ash was knottiest hewn, and smote,
+    And with no missile wound, the monstrous boar
+    Right in the hairiest hollow of his hide
+    Under the last rib, sheer through bulk and bone,
+    Deep in; and deeply smitten, and to death,
+    The heavy horror with his hanging shafts,
+    Leapt, and fell furiously, and from raging lips
+    Foamed out the latest wrath of all his life."
+
+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.
+
+"This is thy spoil, not mine," he said. "The wounding shaft was sped
+by thee. To thee belongs the praise."
+
+And Atalanta blushed rosily, and laughed low and 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.
+
+At that the brows of the heroes grew dark, and angrily one cried:
+
+                                "Lo, now,
+    Shall not the Arcadian shoot out lips at us,
+    Saying all we were despoiled by this one girl."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+So ended the Calydonian Hunt, and Atalanta 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.
+
+
+
+
+ATALANTA
+
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 loved.
+How he was to use the apples she then told him, and, well content,
+Milanion returned home.
+
+Next day he spoke to Atalanta.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Look for look did the virgin huntress give him.
+
+Then her cheeks grew red, as though the rosy-fingered dawn had touched
+them, and the dawning of love came into her heart.
+
+Even Meleager was not quite so goodly a youth as this. Not even
+Meleager had been so wholly fearless.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: SHE STOPPED, AND PICKED UP THE TREASURE]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+ARACHNE
+
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 coming of Demeter, and Athené was fain to admire, while
+she marvelled at the magic skill of the fair Arachne.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Didst say _equal_ 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
+_equalling_ the work of Athené; _excelling_ were the better word."
+
+In anger Pallas Athené made answer.
+
+"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."
+
+Laughing still, Arachne made reply:
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+    "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 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."
+
+        Ovid.
+
+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.
+
+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,
+
+    "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."
+
+        Moschus.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+    "Not anie damzell, which her vaunteth most
+    In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne,
+    Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast
+    In dieper, in damaske, or in lyne,
+    Nor anie skil'd in workmanship embost,
+    Nor anie skil'd in loupes of fingring fine,
+    Might in their divers cunning ever dare
+    With this so curious networke to compare."
+
+        Spenser.
+
+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.
+
+    "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."
+
+        Bartholomew.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+IDAS AND MARPESSA
+
+
+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.
+
+More beautiful than any flower that grew in the 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.
+
+"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.
+
+To Evenos Apollo quickly imparted his desire. He was not used to
+having his imperial wishes denied, nor 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.
+
+"Am I in truth so wondrous fair?" she asked her father.
+
+"Fair enough to mate with Apollo himself!" proudly answered Evenos.
+
+And joyously Marpessa replied, "Ah, then am I happy indeed! I would be
+beautiful for my Idas' sake!"
+
+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 gush of tenderness, and made her eyes sparkle
+so that Apollo gladly thought, "Soon she will be mine."
+
+[Illustration: MARPESSA SAT ALONE BY THE FOUNTAIN]
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _Evenos_ forever.
+
+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 earth
+by Jupiter. While the echoes still re-echoed, there came from Olympus
+the voice of Zeus himself.
+
+"_Let her decide!_" he said.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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."
+
+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:
+
+    "After such argument what can I plead?
+    Or what pale promise make? Yet since it is
+    In woman to pity rather than to aspire,
+    A little I will speak. I love thee then
+    Not only for thy body packed with sweet
+    Of all this world, that cup of brimming June,
+    That jar of violet wine set in the air,
+    That palest rose sweet in the night of life;
+    Nor for that stirring bosom all besieged
+    By drowsing lovers, or thy perilous hair;
+    Nor for that face that might indeed provoke
+    Invasion of old cities; no, nor all
+    Thy freshness stealing on me like strange sleep.
+    Nor for this only do I love thee, but
+    Because Infinity upon thee broods;
+    And thou art full of whispers and of shadows.
+    Thou meanest what the sea has striven to say
+    So long, and yearned up the cliffs to tell;
+    Thou art what all the winds have uttered not,
+    What the still night suggesteth to the heart.
+    Thy voice is like to music heard ere birth,
+    Some spirit lute touched on a spirit sea;
+    Thy face remembered is from other worlds,
+    It has been died for, though I know not when,
+    It has been sung of, though I know not where.
+    It has the strangeness of the luring West,
+    And of sad sea-horizons; beside thee
+    I am aware of other times and lands,
+    Of birth far-back, of lives in many stars.
+    O beauty lone and like a candle clear
+    In this dark country of the world! Thou art
+    My woe, my early light, my music dying."
+
+        Stephen Phillips.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Marpessa spoke at last, in low words that seemed to come "remembered
+from other worlds."
+
+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?
+
+    "Yet I, being human, human sorrow miss."
+
+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 endless existence in which no life was, yoked to one whose youth
+was immortal, whose beauty was everlasting?
+
+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:
+
+    "But if I live with Idas, then we two
+    On the low earth shall prosper hand in hand
+    In odours of the open field, and live
+    In peaceful noises of the farm, and watch
+    The pastoral fields burned by the setting sun.
+    And he shall give me passionate children, not
+    Some radiant god that will despise me quite,
+    But clambering limbs and little hearts that err.
+    ... So shall we live,
+    And though the first sweet sting of love be past,
+    The sweet that almost venom is; though youth,
+    With tender and extravagant delight,
+    The first and secret kiss by twilight hedge,
+    The insane farewell repeated o'er and o'er,
+    Pass off; there shall succeed a faithful peace;
+    Beautiful friendship tried by sun and wind,
+    Durable from the daily dust of life."
+
+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.
+
+But Marpessa spoke on:
+
+    "And thou beautiful god, in that far time,
+    When in thy setting sweet thou gazest down
+    On his grey head, wilt thou remember then
+    That once I pleased thee, that I once was young?"
+
+So did her voice cease, and on the earth fell sudden darkness. For to
+Apollo had come the shame of love 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.
+
+
+
+
+ARETHUSA
+
+
+"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.
+
+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
+
+    "Have glimpse of Proteus rising from the sea,
+    Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "The Earth seemed to love her
+    And Heaven smiled above her."
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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
+_Fiori Maggio_ 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.
+
+"Arethusa!" she heard him cry, in a voice of piteous
+longing--"Arethusa!--my belovèd!"
+
+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 red geranium flowers and the great snow-capped
+mountain of Sicily.
+
+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.
+
+      "And now from their fountains
+      In Enna's mountains,
+    Down one vale where the morning basks,
+      Like friends once parted
+      Grown single-hearted,
+    They ply their watery tasks,
+      At sunrise they leap
+      From their cradles steep
+    In the cave of the shelving hill;
+      At noontide they flow
+      Through the woods below
+    And the meadows of asphodel;
+      And at night they sleep
+      In the rocking deep
+    Beneath the Ortygian shore;
+      Like spirits that lie
+      In the azure sky
+    When they love but live no more."
+
+        Shelley.
+
+
+
+
+PERSEUS THE HERO
+
+    "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."
+
+        Charles Kingsley.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+To her at length was born a son, a beautiful and 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.
+
+    "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.'"
+
+        Simonides of Keos.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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?"
+
+And in his dream Perseus answered without hesitation:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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, 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:
+
+"Perseus, wilt even end the sorrow of this piteous sinful one?" he
+answered, "Even that will I do--the gods helping me."
+
+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.
+
+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 was to be a great vengeance,
+and the vengeance was delayed.
+
+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.
+
+"Thou sayest that thy father is one of the gods!" they said. "Where is
+thy godlike gift, O Perseus!"
+
+And Polydectes, glad to humble the lad who was keeper of his mother's
+honour, echoed their foolish taunt.
+
+"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.
+
+Then Perseus, his head thrown back, gazed in the bold eyes of
+Polydectes.
+
+Son of Zeus he was indeed, as he looked with royal scorn at those whom
+he despised.
+
+"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."
+
+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
+to win what he sought, right would triumph, and wrong must be worsted.
+
+Still quivering with anger, Perseus went down to the blue sea that
+gently whispered its secrets to the shore on which he stood.
+
+"If Pallas Athené would but come," he thought--"if only my dreams
+might come true."
+
+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.
+
+So he prayed, "Come to me! I pray you, Pallas Athené, come! and let me
+dream true."
+
+His prayer was answered.
+
+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.
+
+In his hand she placed a polished shield, than which no mirror shone
+more brightly.
+
+"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."
+
+"But how, then, shall I cross the wet grey fields of this watery
+way?" asked Perseus. "Would that I were a white-winged bird that skims
+across the waves."
+
+And, with the smile of a loving comrade, Hermes laid his hand on the
+shoulder of Perseus.
+
+"My winged shoes shall be thine," he said, "and the white-winged
+sea-birds shalt thou leave far, far behind."
+
+"Yet another gift is thine," said Athené. "Gird on, as gift from the
+gods, this sword that is immortal."
+
+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?"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+the eye, and muttered and shivered in the blackness and the cold.
+
+[Illustration: THEY WHIMPERED AND BEGGED OF HIM]
+
+Boldly Perseus spoke to them and asked them to guide him to the place
+where Medusa and her sisters the Gorgons dwelt.
+
+"No others know where they dwell," he said. "Tell me, I pray thee, the
+way that I may find them."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+Then they whimpered and begged of him, and when they found that all
+their beseeching was in vain, at length they told him.
+
+"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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+And with the nymphs Perseus went up the mountain and asked the patient
+giant to guide him to the place of his quest.
+
+"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."
+
+"What is this helmet?" asked Perseus, "and how can I gain it?"
+
+"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."
+
+"What wouldst thou?" asked Perseus.
+
+And Atlas said, "For many a long year have I 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Two of them, like monstrous swine, lay asleep,
+
+    "But a third woman paced about the hall,
+    And ever turned her head from wall to wall,
+    And moaned aloud and shrieked in her despair,
+    Because the golden tresses of her hair
+    Were moved by writhing snakes from side to side,
+    That in their writhing oftentimes would glide
+    On to her breast or shuddering shoulders white;
+    Or, falling down, the hideous things would light
+    Upon her feet, and, crawling thence, would twine
+    Their slimy folds upon her ankles fine."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+In the shield of Pallas Athené the picture was mirrored, and as
+Perseus gazed on it his soul grew heavy for 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+So Perseus uncovered the face of Medusa and held it up for the Titan
+to gaze upon.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Far down below him as he flew one day he saw 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"Lo! he comes!" she cried. "Save me! ah, save me! I am so young to
+die."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Who so grateful then as the king and queen of Ethiopia? and who so
+happy as Andromeda? for Perseus, 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.
+
+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.
+
+For seven days the marriage feast lasted, but on the eighth night
+Pallas Athené came to Perseus in a dream.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"So thou hast returned? oh nameless son of a deathless god," he said.
+"Thou didst boast, but methinks thy boast was an empty one!"
+
+But even as he spoke, the jeering smile froze on his face, and the
+faces of those who sat with him stiffened in horror.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"I go to seek Acrisius," he said. "My mother's father is your king."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"Further still!" they cried. "Further still canst thou hurl! thou art
+a hero indeed!"
+
+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:
+
+"Behold me! I am Perseus, grandson of the man I have slain! Who can
+avoid the decree of the gods?"
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+NIOBE
+
+    "... Like Niobe, all tears."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+
+The quotation is an overworked quotation, like many another of those
+from _Hamlet_; 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.
+
+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 nor in heaven. Even in our
+own day there are mortal mothers who feel as Niobe felt.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+And to her boastful words Latona gave ear, and anger began to grow in
+her heart.
+
+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.
+
+"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 seven daughters, and see if they in beauty and all else
+do not equal the dwellers in Olympus!"
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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. 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.
+
+"She is so little!" she wailed. "So young--so dear! Ah, spare me
+_one_," she said, "only one out of so many!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+HYACINTHUS
+
+                ... "The sad death
+    Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath
+    Of Zephyr slew him--Zephyr penitent
+    Who now, ere Phœbus mounts the firmament,
+    Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain."
+
+        Keats.
+
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.[4]
+
+[Illustration: DARKNESS FELL ON THE EYES OF HYACINTHUS]
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[4] Legend says that on the petals of the hyacinth Apollo transcribed
+the letters "Aì,"--"Alas!"
+
+
+
+
+KING MIDAS OF THE GOLDEN TOUCH
+
+
+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 "_History_" 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.
+
+This is the story of Midas, one of the chief tragic comedians of
+mythology.
+
+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:
+
+"The first man who enters your city riding in a car shall be your
+king."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Therefore one day when he and his court were sitting 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.
+
+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.
+
+Not even for a moment did Midas ponder.
+
+"I would have gold," he said hastily--"much gold. I would have that
+touch by which all common and valueless things become golden
+treasures."
+
+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."
+
+Then Bacchus and Silenus went away, a rout of singing revellers at
+their heels, and Midas quickly put to proof the words of Bacchus.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+In despair, at length he cried to the god who had given him the gift
+that he hated.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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:
+
+"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."
+
+Apollo heard his boast, and heard it angrily.
+
+"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?"
+
+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:
+
+"Yea, would I, Apollo! Willingly would I play thee a match--thou on
+thy golden lyre--I on my reeds from the river."
+
+Thus did it come to pass that Apollo and Pan matched against each
+other their music, and King Midas was one of the judges.
+
+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.
+
+"Canst, then, make music like unto my music, Apollo?" he said.
+
+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 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.
+
+For the space of many seconds all was silence.
+
+Then, in low voice, Apollo asked:
+
+"Ye who listen--who is the victor?"
+
+And earth and sea and sky, and all the creatures of earth and sky, and
+of the deep, replied as one:
+
+"The victory is thine, Divine Apollo."
+
+Yet was there one dissentient voice.
+
+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."
+
+Therefore he raised his voice, and called very loud: "Pan's music is
+sweeter and truer and greater than the music of Apollo. Pan is the
+victor, and I, King Midas, give him the victor's crown!"
+
+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.
+
+Then he spoke:
+
+"The ears of an ass have heard my music," he said. "Henceforth shall
+Midas have ass's ears."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 whispered to the damp earth:
+"King Midas has ass's ears."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CEYX AND HALCYONE
+
+    "St. Martin's summer, halcyon days."
+
+        _King Henry VI_, i. 2, 131.
+
+
+"Halcyon days"--how often is the expression made use of, how seldom do
+its users realise from whence they have borrowed it.
+
+"These were halcyon days," says the old man, and his memory wanders
+back to a time when for him
+
+      "All the world is young, lad,
+    And all the trees are green;
+    And every goose a swan, lad,
+    And every lass a queen."
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 joy it is to lash the waves into rage and to strew
+with dead men and broken timber the angry, surf-beaten shore.
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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, 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A GREY COLD MORNING FOUND HER ON THE SEASHORE]
+
+Yet the gods were not merciless--or, perhaps, the love of Halcyone was
+an all-conquering love. For as 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Ceyx!" they cry. "Remember Ceyx!"
+
+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.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    _Note._--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."
+
+
+
+
+ARISTÆUS THE BEE-KEEPER
+
+    "... Every sound is sweet;
+    Myriads of rivers hurrying thro' the lawn,
+    The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
+    And murmuring of innumerable bees."
+
+        Tennyson.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 perilous voyagings and beguiled to
+swarm in the sanctuary of a hive.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"This do I already know, my son," said Cyrene, and smiled upon
+Aristæus.
+
+"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 to the hives
+their honeyed treasure. The comb is empty. The bees are all dead--or,
+if not dead, they have forsaken me forever."
+
+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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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 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
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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 the heart of a man who has striven valiantly in a great
+fight and to whom the battle is assured.
+
+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."
+
+"Out of the eater came forth meat, out of the strong came forth
+sweetness."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+PROSERPINE
+
+    "Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,
+    Thou from whose immortal bosom,
+    Gods, and men, and beasts have birth,
+    Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
+    Breathe thine influence most divine
+    On thine own child, Proserpine.
+
+    If with mists of evening dew
+    Thou dost nourish those young flowers
+    Till they grow, in scent and hue,
+    Fairest children of the hours,
+    Breathe thine influence most divine
+    On thine own child, Proserpine."
+
+        Shelley.
+
+
+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!"
+
+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 grow
+with more dazzling colours and more fragrant perfume than in the fair
+garden of Sicily.
+
+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.
+
+    "'The coal-black horses rise--they rise,
+    O mother, mother!' low she cries--
+    Persephone--Persephone!
+    'O light, light, light!' she cries, 'farewell;
+    The coal-black horses wait for me.
+    O shade of shades, where I must dwell,
+    Demeter, mother, far from thee!'"[5]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "What ails her that she comes not home?
+    Demeter seeks her far and wide,
+    And gloomy-browed doth ceaseless roam
+    From many a morn till eventide.
+    'My life, immortal though it be,
+    Is nought,' she cries, 'for want of thee,
+    Persephone--Persephone!'"
+
+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.
+
+    "'My life is nought for want of thee,--
+    Persephone! Persephone!'" ...
+
+The cry is borne down through the ages, to echo and re-echo so long as
+mothers love and Death is still unchained.
+
+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.
+
+"Let us go to the Sun God," said Hecate. "Surely 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Then upon the earth did there come dearth and drought and barrenness.
+
+    "The wheat
+    Was blighted in the ear, the purple grapes
+    Blushed no more on the vines, and all the gods
+    Were sorrowful ..."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Unwillingly Zeus granted the request of Demeter.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 Demeter to save her child.
+She "had eaten of Love's seed" and "changed into another."
+
+    "He takes the cleft pomegranate seeds:
+    'Love, eat with me this parting day;'
+    Then bids them fetch the coal-black steeds--
+    'Demeter's daughter, wouldst away?'
+    The gates of Hades set her free;
+    'She will return full soon,' saith he--
+    'My wife, my wife Persephone.'"
+
+        Ingelow.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Time calls, and Change
+    Commands both men and gods, and speeds us on
+    We know not whither; but the old earth smiles
+    Spring after spring, and the seed bursts again
+    Out of its prison mould, and the dead lives
+    Renew themselves, and rise aloft and soar
+    And are transformed, clothing themselves with change,
+    Till the last change be done."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[5] Jean Ingelow.
+
+
+
+
+LATONA AND THE RUSTICS
+
+
+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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Surely, good people," she said, and her voice was sad and low, "water
+is free to all. Very far have I 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 in the mud of the
+green-scummed pools, thy homes in the water that thy flat feet have
+defiled."
+
+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
+"_Krroak! krroak! krroak!_" that we know so well.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+And on this sanctuary there were born to Latona twin children,
+thereafter to be amongst the most famed of the deathless gods--the
+god and goddess, Apollo and Diana.
+
+    "... Those hinds that were transformed to frogs
+    Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny,
+    Which after held the sun and moon in fee."
+
+        Milton.
+
+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.
+
+"We did not know! We did not understand! Pity us! Ah, pity us!
+_Krroak! krroak! krroak!_"
+
+
+
+
+ECHO AND NARCISSUS
+
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Narcissus, the beautiful son of a nymph and a river 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Who's here?" he called.
+
+"_Here!_" answered Echo.
+
+Narcissus, peering amongst the trees' long shadows and seeing no one,
+called "Come!"
+
+And "_Come!_" called the glad voice of Echo, while the nymph, with
+fast-beating heart, felt that her day of happiness had come indeed.
+
+"Why do you shun me?" then called Narcissus.
+
+"_Why do you shun me?_" Echo repeated.
+
+"Let us join one another," said the lad, and the simple words seemed
+turned into song when Echo said them over.
+
+"_Let us join one another!_" 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 she pushed aside the leaves of the trackless
+wood, and ran forward with white arms outstretched to him who was lord
+of her life.
+
+[Illustration: SHE HAUNTED HIM LIKE HIS SHADOW]
+
+With cold eyes and colder heart the one she loved beheld her.
+
+"Away!" he cried, shrinking back as if from something that he hated.
+"_Away!_ I would rather die than that you should have me!"
+
+"_Have me!_" 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.
+
+Heartwhole and happy, Narcissus, slayer of happiness, 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.
+
+Hot and tired from the chase, Narcissus sought one day a lonely pool
+in the woods, there to rest and to quench his thirst.
+
+    "In some delicious ramble, he had found
+    A little space, with boughs all woven round;
+    And in the midst of all, a clearer pool
+    Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool
+    The blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping
+    Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+Echo and the other nymphs were avenged, yet when they looked on the
+beautiful dead Narcissus, they were 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.
+
+                  "A lonely flower he spied,
+    A meek and forlorn flower, with naught of pride,
+    Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clearness,
+    To woo its own sad image into nearness;
+    Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move,
+    But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love."
+
+        Keats.
+
+
+
+
+ICARUS
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+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.
+
+For his crime Dædalus was banished from Athens, and in the court of
+Minos, king of Crete, he found 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.
+
+Many a Cretan bird was sacrificed before the task 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+On the dead, still face of Icarus they shone, and they spangled as if
+with diamonds the wet plumage that still, widespread, bore him up on
+the waves.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+So much had he dared--so little accomplished.
+
+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?
+
+
+
+
+CLYTIE
+
+
+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?
+
+"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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+    "The heart that has truly loved never forgets,
+      But as truly loves on to the close;
+    As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets
+      The same look that she turned when he rose."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRANES OF IBYCUS
+
+    "For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
+    With most miraculous organ."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+
+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.
+
+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
+sands of Egypt, to dance and beck and bow to each other by the marshes
+of his homeland.
+
+"Welcome back, little brothers!" he cried. "May you and I both meet
+with naught but kindness from the people of this land!"
+
+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.
+
+"Take up my cause, dear cranes!" he said, "since no voice but yours
+answers my cry!"
+
+And the cranes screamed hoarsely and mournfully as if in farewell, as
+they flapped their way towards Corinth and left the poet lying dead.
+
+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.
+
+"Is it thus I find you restored to me?" said he who had expected him
+in Corinth as his honoured guest; "I who hoped to place the victor's
+laurels on your head when you triumphed in the temple of song!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+
+    "With all the pomp of horror, dy'd in gore."
+
+        Virgil.
+
+In solemn cadence, while the thousands of beholders watched and
+listened enthralled, the Furies walked round the theatre and sang
+their song of terror:
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"_See there! see there! behold, comrade, the cranes of Ibycus!_"
+
+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.
+
+"Seize him! seize him!" cried in unison the voices of thousands.
+"Seize the man, and him to whom he spoke!"
+
+Frantically the trembling wretch tried to deny his words, but it was
+too late. The roar of the multitudes 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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+SYRINX
+
+    "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?"
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+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.
+
+This is the story of Syrinx, the reed, as Ovid has told it to us.
+
+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.
+
+    "But as for Love, truly I know him not,
+    I have passionately turned my lips therefrom,
+    And from that fate the careless gods allot."
+
+        Lady Margaret Sackville.
+
+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.
+
+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. He was Life itself. So
+did they talk, and Syrinx listened with a smile. Not Pan himself could
+bring Fear to her.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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, 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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"Thus shalt thou still be mine, my Syrinx," he said.
+
+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.
+
+So did the god make music.
+
+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:
+
+    "A note of music by its own breath slain,
+    Blown tenderly from the frail heart of a reed,"
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE DEATH OF ADONIS
+
+    "The fairest youth that ever maiden's dream conceived."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 on him and bring
+him death, the boy laughed mockingly and with scorn.
+
+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.
+
+With terrible foreboding, Aphrodite tried to dissuade him from his
+venture.
+
+    "O, be advised: thou know'st not what it is
+    With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
+    Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,
+    Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Alas, he naught esteems that face of thine,
+    To which love's eyes pay tributary gazes;
+    Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,
+    Whose full perfection all the world amazes;
+    But having thee at vantage--wondrous dread!--
+    Would root these beauties as he roots the mead."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+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.
+
+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 maybe persuade him, for love of her, to give up the
+perilous chase because she loved him so.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+And as, _in extremis_, 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "A cruel, cruel wound on his thigh hath Adonis, but a
+    deeper wound in her heart doth Cytherea[6] 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:
+
+    "'_Woe, woe for Cytherea, he hath perished, the lovely
+    Adonis!_'"
+
+        Bion.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Never can it be that the Queen of Love and of 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."
+
+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.
+
+    "But even in death, so strong is love,
+    I could not wholly die; and year by year,
+    When the bright springtime comes, and the earth lives,
+    Love opens these dread gates, and calls me forth
+    Across the gulf. Not here, indeed, she comes,
+    Being a goddess and in heaven, but smooths
+    My path to the old earth, where still I know
+    Once more the sweet lost days, and once again
+    Blossom on that soft breast, and am again
+    A youth, and rapt in love; and yet not all
+    As careless as of yore; but seem to know
+    The early spring of passion, tamed by time
+    And suffering, to a calmer, fuller flow,
+    Less fitful, but more strong."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 _Sursum Corda_, 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
+
+    "Le ciel tout en fleur semble une immense rose
+    Qu'un Adonis céleste a teinte de son sang."
+
+        De Heredia.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[6] Aphrodite.
+
+
+
+
+PAN
+
+    "What was he doing, the great god Pan,
+      Down in the reeds by the river?
+    Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
+    Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
+    And breaking the golden lilies afloat
+      With the dragon-fly on the river.
+
+    He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
+      From the deep cool bed of the river:
+    The limpid water turbidly ran,
+    And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
+    And the dragon-fly had fled away,
+      Ere he brought it out of the river.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    'This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan
+      (Laughed while he sat by the river),
+    'The only way, since gods began
+    To make sweet music, they could succeed.'
+    Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
+      He blew in power by the river.
+
+    Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
+      Piercing sweet by the river!
+    Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
+    The sun on the hill forgot to die,
+    And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
+      Came back to dream on the river.
+
+    Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
+      To laugh as he sits by the river,
+    Making a poet out of a man:
+    The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,
+    For the reed which grows nevermore again
+      As a reed with the reeds in the river."
+
+        E. B. Browning.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 _motif_--the
+clear, magical fluting of the pipes of Pan.
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _All_.
+
+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 whom
+he made melody from the pipes for whose creation a maid had perished.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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. _Panic_ was the name given to this
+fear--the name by 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, _Fear_ 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--
+
+    "_To Pan, and to the Sylvan deities_"?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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."
+
+"_The Beauty and the terror of the world_"--was not this what Pan
+stood for to the Greeks of long ago?
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+    "In Being's floods, in Action's storm,
+    I walk and work, above, beneath,
+    Work and weave in endless motion!
+            Birth and Death,
+            An infinite ocean;
+            A seizing and giving
+            The fire of Living;
+    'Tis thus at the roaring loom of Time I ply,
+    And weave for God the Garment thou seest Him by."
+
+So speaks the _Erdgeist_ in Goethe's _Faust_, and yet another of the
+greatest of the poets writes:
+
+    "The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains--
+    Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns?
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    And the ear of man cannot hear, and the eye of man cannot see;
+    But if we could see and hear, this Vision--were it not He?"
+
+        Tennyson.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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, _Great Pan is dead!_"
+
+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--"_Pan is dead--Pan is dead._"
+
+    "The lonely mountains o'er
+    And the resounding shore,
+    A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;
+    From haunted spring and dale
+    Edg'd with poplar pale,
+    The parting genius is with sighing sent;
+    With flow'r-inwoven tresses torn,
+    The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn."
+
+        Milton.
+
+Pan was dead, and the gods died with him.
+
+    "Gods of Hellas, gods of Hellas,
+    Can ye listen in your silence?
+    Can your mystic voices tell us
+    Where ye hide? In floating islands,
+    With a wind that evermore
+    Keeps you out of sight of shore?
+          Pan, Pan is dead.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Gods! we vainly do adjure you,--
+    Ye return nor voice nor sign!
+    Not a votary could secure you
+    Even a grave for your Divine!
+    Not a grave to show thereby,
+    '_Here these grey old gods do lie,_'
+          Pan, Pan is dead."
+
+        E. B. Browning.
+
+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, "_Joie de vivre_," and De Musset speaks
+of "_Le vin de la jeunesse_" which ferments "_dans les veines de
+Dieu_." 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."
+
+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 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
+_Weltschmerz_--the echo of the pipes of Pan.
+
+    "... Oftenest in the dark woods I hear him sing
+    Dim, half-remembered things, where the old mosses cling
+    To the old trees, and the faint wandering eddies bring
+    The phantom echoes of a phantom spring."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+
+
+LORELEI
+
+    "Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
+    Dass ich so traurig bin;
+    Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,
+    Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
+    Dort oben wunderbar,
+    Ihr gold'nes Geschmeide blitzet,
+    Sie kämmt ihr gold'nes Haar.
+
+    Sie kämmt es mit gold'nem Kamme,
+    Und singt ein Lied dabei;
+    Das hat eine wundersame,
+    Gewaltige Melodei."
+
+        Heine.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Such were the sirens who would have compassed the 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 given to them by one of the earliest poets of Greece[7] 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."[8]
+
+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:
+
+    "Once I sat upon a promontory,
+    And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
+    Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
+    That the rude sea grew civil at her song;
+    And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
+    To hear the sea-maid's music."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Her voice was like the voice the stars
+    Had when they sang together."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+It is "ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten"--a legend of long ago.
+
+But it is a very much older _Märchen_ that tells us of the warning of
+Circe to Odysseus:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+    "_Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,_
+    _Dass ich so traurig bin._"
+
+For the sadness of heart, the melancholy that their music brings us is
+a mystery which none on this earth may ever unravel.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[7] Archilochus of Paros.
+
+[8] Fiona Macleod (_The Winged Destiny_).
+
+
+
+
+FREYA, QUEEN OF THE NORTHERN GODS
+
+
+"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 _Frouwa_ (=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.
+
+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 home," is commemorating the name of the Lady, Freya, to whom
+his ancestors offered their prayers.
+
+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.
+
+    "Of me the gods are sprung;
+    And all that is to come I know, but lock
+    In my own breast, and have to none reveal'd."
+
+        Matthew Arnold.
+
+[Illustration: FREYA SAT SPINNING THE CLOUDS]
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Take thou thy women-folk,
+    Maidens and wives;
+    Over your ankles
+    Lace on the white war-hose;
+    Over your bosoms
+    Link up the hard mail-nets;
+    Over your lips
+    Plait long tresses with cunning;--
+    So war beasts full-bearded
+    King Odin shall deem you,
+    When off the grey sea-beach
+    At sunrise ye greet him."
+
+        Charles Kingsley.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 _Langobarden_ 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.
+
+With the coming of Christianity, Freya, the Beloved, was cast out
+along with all the other old forgotten gods. 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.
+
+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--
+
+    "Saxon and Norman and Dane are we"--
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE DEATH OF BALDUR
+
+    "I heard a voice, that cried,
+    'Baldur the Beautiful
+    Is dead, is dead!'
+    And through the misty air
+    Passed like the mournful cry
+    Of sunward sailing cranes."
+
+        Longfellow.
+
+
+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.
+
+    "My strength is of the strength of ten,
+    Because my heart is pure."
+
+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 _Baldrsbrá_. The god of the
+Norsemen was essentially a god of battles, and we are told by great
+authorities that Baldur was originally 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+Odin alone remained unsatisfied. Mounted on his 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.
+
+    "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.'"
+
+        Dasent.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"_Who_," he asked, "_would refuse to weep at Baldur's death?_"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _sans peur et sans reproche_.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"All things?" queried Loki.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+Hodur stood aside, while the other gods merrily pursued their sport.
+
+"Why dost thou not take aim at Baldur with a weapon that fails and so
+join in the laughter?" asked Loki.
+
+And Hodur sadly made answer:
+
+"Well dost thou know that darkness is my lot, nor have I ought to
+cast at my brother."
+
+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. "_Baldur the Beautiful is dead! is dead!_"
+
+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.
+
+"That was the greatest woe that ever befell gods and men," says the
+story.
+
+The sound of terrible mourning in place of laughter brought Freya to
+where
+
+    "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."
+
+        Matthew Arnold.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+    "Come then! if Baldur was so dear beloved,
+    And this is true, and such a loss is Heaven's--
+    Hear, how to Heaven may Baldur be restored.
+    Show me through all the world the signs of grief!
+    Fails but one thing to grieve, here Baldur stops!
+    Let all that lives and moves upon the earth
+    Weep him, and all that is without life weep;
+    Let Gods, men, brutes, beweep him; plants and stones,
+    So shall I know the loss was dear indeed,
+    And bend my heart, and give him back to Heaven."
+
+        Matthew Arnold.
+
+Gladly Hermoder made answer:
+
+"All things shall weep for Baldur!"
+
+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.
+
+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 _Ringhorn_,
+the largest in the world.
+
+[Illustration: "BALDUR THE BEAUTIFUL IS DEAD"]
+
+    "Seventy ells and four extended
+    On the grass the vessel's keel;
+    High above it, gilt and splendid,
+    Rose the figure-head ferocious
+    With its crest of steel."
+
+        Longfellow.
+
+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.
+
+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, "_All creatures weep, and
+Baldur shall return!_"
+
+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:
+
+    "Neither in life, nor yet in death,
+    Gave he me gladness.
+    Let Hel keep her prey."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "They launched the burning ship!
+    It floated far away
+    Over the misty sea,
+    Till like the sun it seemed,
+    Sinking beneath the waves,
+    Baldur returned no more!"
+
+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 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
+_Resurrection_.
+
+    "So perish the old Gods!
+    But out of the sea of time
+    Rises a new land of song,
+    Fairer than the old."
+
+        Longfellow.
+
+    "Heartily know,
+    When half-gods go,
+    The gods arrive."
+
+        Emerson.
+
+
+
+
+BEOWULF
+
+    "He was of mankind
+    In might the strongest."
+
+        Longfellow's Translation.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+and his hearth-sharers once lived, and there, on the highest ness of
+our eastern coast, under a great barrow, that Beowulf was buried.
+_Beowulfesby_--_Bowlby_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+
+    "A fair troop of warrior thanes guarding it found he;
+    Heedlessly sleeping, they recked not of sorrow."
+
+Never a thought did they give to the Grendel,--
+
+    "A haunter of marshes, a holder of moors,
+                                ... Secret
+    The land he inhabits; dark, wolf-haunted ways
+    Of the windy hillside, by the treacherous tarn;
+    Or where, covered up in its mist, the hill stream
+    Downward flows."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+In the realm of the Goths, Hygelac was king, and 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 little time the valiant warden
+watched them from afar, and then, one man against fifteen, he rode
+quickly down and challenged the warriors.
+
+    "What are ye warlike men      wielding bright weapons,
+    Wearing grey corselets and      boar-adorned helmets,
+    Who o'er the water-paths      come with your foaming keel
+    Ploughing the ocean surge?      I was appointed
+    Warden of Denmark's shores;      watch hold I by the wave
+    That on this Danish coast      no deadly enemy
+    Leading troops over sea      should land to injure.
+    None have here landed yet      more frankly coming
+    Than this fair company:      and yet ye answer not
+    The password of warriors,      and customs of kinsmen.
+    Ne'er have mine eyes beheld      a mightier warrior,
+    An earl more lordly than      is he the chief of you;
+    He is no common man;      if looks belie him not,
+    He is a hero bold,      worthily weaponed.
+    Anon must I know of you      kindred and country,
+    Lest ye of spies should go      free on our Danish soil.
+    Now ye men from afar,      sailing the surging sea,
+    Have heard my earnest thought:      best is a quick reply,
+    That I may swiftly know      whence ye have hither come."
+
+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
+
+    "Cometh in dark of night,      sateth his secret hate,
+    Worketh through fearsome awe,      slaughter and shame."
+
+With joy the warden heard his noble words.
+
+"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."
+
+It was a gallant band that strode into Heorot, where 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Needs must I now perform knightly deeds in this hall,
+    Or here must meet my doom in darksome night."
+
+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,
+
+    "I have heard
+    That that foul miscreant's dark and stubborn flesh
+    Recks not the force of arms ...
+    Hand to hand ... Beowulf will grapple with the mighty foe."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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:
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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:
+
+    "Grieve not!... Each man must undergo death at the end of life.
+    Let him win, while he may, warlike fame in the world!
+    That is best after death for the slain warrior."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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,
+
+                                "A glorious sword,
+    An old brand gigantic,      trusty in point and edge,
+    An heirloom of heroes."
+
+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 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.
+
+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 "_Beowulf! Beowulf!_"
+
+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:
+
+                                "Well hast thou treated us.
+    If on this earth I can      do more to win thy love,
+    O prince of warriors,      than I have wrought as yet,
+    Here stand I ready now      weapons to wield for thee.
+    If I shall ever hear      o'er the encircling flood
+    That any neighbouring foes      threaten thy nation's fall,
+    As Grendel grim before,      swift will I bring to thee
+    Thousands of noble thanes,      heroes to help thee."
+
+Then, in their ship, that the Warden of the Coast once had challenged,
+Beowulf and his warriors set sail for their own dear land.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 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:
+
+    "Seeing that Death, a necessary end,
+    Will come when it will come."[9]
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A STROKE SHIVERED THE SWORD]
+
+The hero's sword flashed, and smote a stark blow upon its scaly head.
+But Beowulf could not deal death 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.
+
+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 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:
+
+    "I thank God eternal,      the great King of Glory,
+    For the vast treasures      which I here gaze upon,
+    That I ere my death-day      might for my people
+    Win so great wealth--      Since I have given my life,
+    Thou must now look to      the needs of the nation;
+    Here dwell I no longer,      for Destiny calleth me!
+    Bid thou my warriors      after my funeral pyre
+    Build me a burial-cairn      high on the sea-cliffs head;
+    It shall for memory      tower up to Hronesness,
+    So that the sea-farers      Beowulf's Barrow
+    Henceforth shall name it,      they who drive far and wide
+    Over the mighty flood      their foaming Reels.
+    Thou art the last of all      the kindred of Wagmund!
+    Wyrd[10] has swept all my kin,      all the brave chiefs away!
+    Now must I follow them!"
+
+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":
+
+    "Gentlest, most gracious, most keen to win glory."
+
+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
+
+    "High on the sea-cliff ledges
+    The white gulls are trooping and crying"
+
+--the barrow of Beowulf covers a very valiant hero, a very perfect
+gentleman.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[9] Shakespeare (_Julius Cæsar_).
+
+[10] Goddess of Fate.
+
+
+
+
+ROLAND THE PALADIN
+
+    "Roland, the flower of chivalry,
+    Expired at Roncevall."
+
+        Thomas Campbell.
+
+    "Hero-worship endures for ever while man
+    endures."
+
+        Carlyle.
+
+    "Roland, the gode knight."
+
+        Turpin's _History of Charlemagne_.
+
+
+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
+_Chanson de Roland_, and shouted, as chorus, "God be our help! God be
+our help!"
+
+    "Taillefer ... chantoit de Rollant
+    Et d'Olivier, et de Vassaux
+    Qui mourent en Rainschevaux."
+
+        Wace, _Roman de Rose_.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+777 or 778 A.D. 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.
+
+    "No fortress stands before him unsubdued,
+    Nor wall, nor city left to be destroyed,"
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"A hungry one this," he said, "and very bold."
+
+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.
+
+"My father gave her wine," he thought. "They were drinking wine in
+that great hall. It will make her white cheeks red again."
+
+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.
+
+"No! no! bold thief," he said, "I cannot have my golden cup stolen
+from me, be it done by ever so sturdy a robber. Tell me, who sent thee
+out to steal?"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Who art thou, then?" asked Charlemagne.
+
+"My name is Roland--let me go, I pray thee," and again he tried to
+drag himself free. And Charlemagne mockingly said:
+
+"Roland, I fear thy father and mother have taught thee to be a clever
+thief."
+
+Then anger blazed in Roland's eyes.
+
+"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.
+
+Then Charlemagne turned to his lords and asked--"Who is this child?"
+
+And one made answer: "He is the son of thy sister Bertha, and of Milon
+the knight, who was drowned these three weeks agone."
+
+Then the heart of Charlemagne grew heavy with remorse when he found
+that his sister had so nearly died 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+And all the other peers applauded the choice, and Charlemagne said to
+Ganelon:
+
+"Come hither, Ganelon, and receive my staff and glove, which the voice
+of all the Franks have given to thee."
+
+But the honour which all the others coveted was not held to be an
+honour by Ganelon. In furious rage he turned upon Roland:
+
+"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!"
+
+And Roland grew red, then very white, and said:
+
+"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.
+
+But Charlemagne, with darkened brow, shook his head.
+
+"Ganelon must go," he said, "for so have I commanded. Go! for the
+honour of Jesus Christ, and for your Emperor."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"Thou hast done well, Ganelon," said the king. "I give thanks to my
+God and to thee. Thou shalt be well rewarded."
+
+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.
+
+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
+dangers for the rearguard naturally seemed to Charlemagne to be the
+greatest, and to his Douzeperes he turned, as before, for counsel.
+
+"Who, then, shall command the rearguard?" he asked. And quickly
+Ganelon answered, "Who but Roland? Ever would he seek the post where
+danger lies."
+
+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:
+
+    "_For dred of dethe, he hid neuer his hed._"
+
+Leaving them behind with twenty thousand men, and with Ganelon
+commanding the vanguard, Charlemagne started.
+
+"Christ keep you!" he said on parting with Roland--"_I betak you to
+Crist._"
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "I will fight with them that us hathe sought
+    And or I se my brest blod throughe my harnes ryn
+    Blow never horn for no help then."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Red was Roland, red with bloodshed;
+    Red his corselet, red his shoulders,
+    Red his arm, and red his charger."
+
+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.
+
+    "'Friend, what hast thou there?' cried Roland.
+    'In this game 'tis not a distaff,
+    But a blade of steel thou needest.
+    Where is now Hauteclaire, thy good sword,
+    Golden-hilted, crystal-pommelled?'
+    'Here,' said Oliver; 'so fight I
+    That I have not time to draw it.'
+    'Friend,' quoth Roland, 'more I love thee
+    Ever henceforth than a brother.'"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The war-cry of the soldiers of France--"Montjoie! Montjoie!"--rang
+clear above the fierce sound of the trumpets of the Saracen army.
+
+    "'Soldiers of the Lord,' cried Turpin,
+    'Be ye valiant and steadfast,
+    For this day shall crowns be given you
+    Midst the flowers of Paradise.
+    In the name of God our Saviour,
+    Be ye not dismayed nor frighted,
+    Lest of you be shameful legends
+    Chanted by the tongues of minstrels.
+    Rather let us die victorious,
+    Since this eve shall see us lifeless!--
+    Heaven has no room for cowards!
+    Knights, who nobly fight, and vainly,
+    Ye shall sit among the holy
+    In the blessed fields of Heaven.
+    On then, Friends of God, to glory!'"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 beasts devour
+them and croaking wretches with foul beaks tear our flesh and leave
+our bones dishonoured."
+
+"That is well said," quoth Roland and Oliver.
+
+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.
+
+For days on end Charlemagne had been alarmed at the delay of his
+rearguard, but ever the false Ganelon had reassured him.
+
+"Why shouldst thou fear, sire?" he asked. "Roland has surely gone
+after some wild boar or deer, so fond is he of the chase."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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:
+
+      "... a blast of that dread horn,
+    On Fontarabian echoes borne,
+      That to King Charles did come,
+    When Rowland brave, and Olivier,
+    And every paladin and peer,
+      On Roncesvalles died."
+
+        Sir Walter Scott.
+
+[Illustration: ROLAND SEIZED ONCE MORE HIS HORN]
+
+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.
+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.
+
+    "'Ah, gentle lord,' said Roland, 'give me leave
+    To carry here our comrades who are dead,
+    Whom we so dearly loved; they must not lie
+    Unblest; but I will bring their corpses here
+    And thou shalt bless them, and me, ere thou die.'
+    'Go,' said the dying priest, 'but soon return.
+    Thank God! the victory is yours and mine!'"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Alas! brave priest, fair lord of noble birth,
+    Thy soul I give to the great King of Heaven!
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    May thy fair soul escape the pains of Hell,
+    And Paradise receive thee in its bowers!"
+
+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 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.
+
+"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:
+
+    "I surely die; but, ere I end,
+    Let me be sure that thou art ended too my friend!
+    For should a heathen grasp thee when I am clay,
+    My ghost would grieve full sore until the judgment day!"
+
+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 pass of
+Roncesvalles, even such a blast may be heard, waking all the echoes
+and sounding through the lonely hollows of the hills.
+
+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.
+
+              "... With hands devoutly joined
+    He breathed his last. God sent his Cherubim,
+    Saint Raphael, Saint Michel del Peril.
+    Together with them Gabriel came.--All bring
+    The soul of Count Rolland to Paradise.
+                                      Aoi."
+
+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.
+
+"All the field was with blod ouer roun"--"Many a good swerd was broken
+ther"--"Many a fadirles child ther was at home."
+
+By the side of Roland, Charlemagne vowed vengeance, but ere he avenged
+his death he mourned over him with infinite anguish:
+
+    "'The Lord have mercy, Roland, on thy soul!
+    Never again shall our fair France behold
+    A knight so worthy, till France be no more!
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    How widowed lies our fair France, and how lone!
+    How will the realms that I have swayed rebel,
+    Now thou art taken from my weary age!
+    So deep my woe that fain would I die too
+    And join my valiant Peers in Paradise,
+    While men inter my weary limbs with thine!'"
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+                    "... Roland, and Olyvere,
+    And of the twelve Tussypere,
+    That dieden in the batayle of Runcyvale;
+    Jesu lord, heaven king,
+    To his bliss hem and us both bring,
+    To liven withouten bale!"
+
+        Sir Otuel.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHILDREN OF LÃŽR
+
+    "Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water;
+    Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose;
+    While murmuring mournfully, Lîr's lonely daughter
+    Tells to the night-star her tale of woes."
+
+        Moore.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Behold my three daughters. Choose which one thou wilt."
+
+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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: ONE TOUCH FOR EACH, WITH A MAGICAL WAND OF THE DRUIDS]
+
+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
+Darvra; three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle,[11] which is
+between Erin and Alba; three hundred years more at Ivros Domnann[12]
+and at Inis Glora,[13] 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."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+When she reached the palace without the children, the king asked in
+disappointment why she had not brought them with her.
+
+"Lîr loves thee no longer," she made answer. "He will not trust his
+children to thee, lest thou shouldst work them some ill."
+
+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:
+
+"The suffering of the little children who are dear to our souls shall
+come to an end at last. Thine shall be an eternal doom."
+
+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."
+
+"A demon of the air," answered the cowering woman.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+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.
+
+To her brothers Finola said: "Beloved ones, of a surety the storm must
+drive us apart. Let us, then, appoint a place of meeting, lest we
+never look upon each other again."
+
+And, knowing that she spoke wisely and well, the three brothers
+appointed as their meeting-place the rock of Carricknarone.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"If Aed would only come," she said, "then should we be happy indeed."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Happy our father Lîr afar,
+    With mead, and songs of love and war:
+    The salt brine, and the white foam,
+    With these his children have their home.
+
+    In the sweet days of long ago,
+    Soft-clad we wandered to and fro:
+    But now cold winds of dawn and night
+    Pierce deep our feathers thin and light.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Beneath my wings my brothers lie
+    When the fierce ice-winds hurtle by;
+    On either side and 'neath my breast
+    Lîr's sons have known no other rest."
+
+        Fiona Macleod (William Sharp).
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+But Finola said to them:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+And while the years went by, there came to Erin one who brought glad
+tidings, for the holy Patrick came to lead men out of darkness into
+light. With him came Kemoc, and Kemoc made his home on Inis Glora.
+
+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.
+
+"Dost not know what sound it is?" she asked, divining their thoughts.
+
+"We heard a faint, fearful voice," they said, "but we know not what it
+is."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Is it truth that ye have dared to refuse a gift of your birds to my
+queen?" he asked, in wrath.
+
+And Kemoc answered: "It is truth."
+
+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.
+
+But as the king held their chains in his rude grasp, a wondrous thing
+took place.
+
+Instead of swans, there followed Larguen a very old woman,
+white-haired and feeble, and three very old men, 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.
+
+"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."
+
+    "As oft in life my brothers dear
+      Were sooth'd by me to rest--
+    Ficra and Conn beneath my wings,
+      And Aed before my breast;
+
+    So place the two on either hand--
+      Close, like the love that bound me;
+    Place Aed as close before my face,
+      And twine their arms around me."
+
+        Joyce.
+
+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.
+
+He buried them as Finola had wished, and raised a mound over them, and
+carved their names on a stone.
+
+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.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[11] The North Channel.
+
+[12] Erris, in Mayo.
+
+[13] A small island off Benmullet.
+
+
+
+
+DEIRDRÊ
+
+    "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...."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+So long ago, that it was before the birth of our Lord, so says
+tradition, there was born that
+
+          "Morning star of loveliness,
+    Unhappy Helen of a Western land,"
+
+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.
+
+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 _Book of Leinster_.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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:
+
+"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."
+
+And Felim made answer:
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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:
+
+    "_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._
+
+    "_You will have a little grave apart to yourself; you
+    will be a tale of wonder for ever, Deirdrê._"
+
+        Lady Gregory's Translation.
+
+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.
+
+"Tell me," one day she asked her teacher, "who made the stars, the
+firmament above, the earth, the flowers, both thee and me?"
+
+And Cathbad answered: "God. But who God is, alas! no man can say."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+And Lavarcam, without thought, made answer:
+
+"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."
+
+"And what will be the name of that man, Lavarcam?" asked Deirdrê. "And
+whence is he, and what his degree?"
+
+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[14] in the Isle of Skye.
+
+Then said Deirdrê: "My love shall be given to none but Naoise, son of
+Usna. To him shall it belong forever."
+
+From that day forward, Naoise held kingship over the thoughts and
+dreams of Deirdrê.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+And Lavarcam made answer: "These are Naoise, Ardan, and Ainle--the
+three sons of Usna."
+
+But Deirdrê looked hard at Lavarcam, and scorn and laughter were in
+her merry eyes.
+
+"Then shall I have speech with Naoise, Ardan, and 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.
+
+And the rough hinds, seeing such perfect loveliness, made very sure
+that Deirdrê was one of the _sidhe_[15] and stared at her with the
+round eyes and gaping mouths of wondering terror.
+
+For a moment Deirdrê gazed at them. Then: "Are ye the Sons of Usna?"
+she asked.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+And Deirdrê said: "I would fain see Naoise, one of the Sons of Usna."
+
+And once more the swineherd said: "My life is thine."
+
+Then Deirdrê, seeing in his eyes a very beautiful thing, stooped and
+kissed the swineherd on his weather-beaten, tanned forehead.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+From where the swineherd lay, Lavarcam went to 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.
+
+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 _sidhe_ 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.
+
+    "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."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Is it a wolf?" cried Deirdrê.
+
+And Naoise made answer: "Either a dead man, or the mark of where a man
+has lain hidden thou wilt find under the bracken."
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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
+Naoise because of the certain wrath of Conor, the king.
+
+Then said Naoise: "Although harm should come, for her dear sake I am
+willing to live in disgrace for the rest of my days."
+
+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."
+
+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,[16] 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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[17] they
+built for Deirdrê a sunny bower.
+
+On a sloping bank above the waterfall they built the little nest,
+thatched with the royal fern of the mountains, 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.
+
+"_Is tu mein na Dearshul agha_"--"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 _Oea_ speak.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+At these words there was great rejoicing amongst the lords of the Red
+Branch and all those who listened, 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.
+
+"Well did I know thou didst bear me no love," said Conor, and black
+was his brow.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+This he said, because to Fergus and to all the other of the Red
+Branch, a _geasa_, or pledge, was sacrosanct. And well he knew that
+Fergus had as one of his _geasa_ that he would never refuse an
+invitation to a feast.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"That is the voice of a man of Erin!" said Naoise, and stopped in his
+game to listen.
+
+But Deirdrê said, very quickly: "Not so! It is the voice of a Gael of
+Alba."
+
+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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+And Naoise said: "What then, best beloved, dost thou read from this
+dream of thine?"
+
+And Deirdrê said: "I read that Fergus comes from Conor with honeyed
+words of peace, but behind his treacherous words lies death."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Then said Naoise: "I am ready." But his eyes dared not meet the
+sea-blue eyes of Deirdrê, his queen.
+
+"Knowest thou that my pledge is one of honour?" asked Fergus.
+
+"I know it well," said Naoise.
+
+So in joyous feasting was that night spent, and only over the heart
+of Deirdrê hung that black cloud of sorrow to come, of woe
+unspeakable.
+
+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.
+
+And Deirdrê, over whom hung a doom she had not the courage to name,
+sang a song at parting:
+
+THE LAY OF DEIRDRE
+
+    "Beloved land, that Eastern land,
+    Alba, with its wonders.
+    O that I might not depart from it,
+    But that I go with Naoise.
+
+    Beloved is Dunfidgha and Dun Fin;
+    Beloved the Dun above them;
+    Beloved is Innisdraighende;[18]
+    And beloved Dun Suibhne.[19]
+
+    Coillchuan! O Coillchuan!
+    Where Ainnle would, alas! resort;
+    Too short, I deem, was then my stay
+    With Ainnle in Oirir Alban.
+
+    Glenlaidhe![20] O Glenlaidhe!
+    I used to sleep by its soothing murmur;
+    Fish, and flesh of wild boar and badger,
+    Was my repast in Glenlaidhe.
+
+    Glenmasan! O Glenmasan![21]
+    High its herbs, fair its boughs.
+    Solitary was the place of our repose
+    On grassy Invermasan.
+
+    Gleneitche![22] O Gleneitche!
+    There was raised my earliest home.
+    Beautiful its woods on rising,
+    When the sun struck on Gleneitche.
+
+    Glen Urchain![23] O Glen Urchain!
+    It was the straight glen of smooth ridges,
+    Not more joyful was a man of his age
+    Than Naoise in Glen Urchain.
+
+    Glendaruadh![24] O Glendaruadh!
+    My love each man of its inheritance.
+    Sweet the voice of the cuckoo, on bending bough,
+    On the hill above Glendaruadh.
+
+    Beloved is Draighen and its sounding shore;
+    Beloved is the water o'er the pure sand.
+    O that I might not depart from the east,
+    But that I go with my beloved!"
+
+        _Translated by W. F. Skene, LL.D._
+
+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.
+
+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 _geasa_, even
+although by holding to it the honour he 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 _geasa_ 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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."
+
+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.
+
+    "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."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+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 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 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.
+
+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 men of Conor, and where his brothers had slain hundreds,
+a thousand fell before his sword.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+    "Is it honour that ye love, brave and chivalrous Ultonians?
+    Or is the word of a base king better than noble truth?
+    Of a surety ye must be glad, who have basely slain honour
+    In slaying the three noblest and best of your brotherhood.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Let now my beauty that set all this warring aflame,
+    Let now my beauty be quenched as a torch that is spent--
+    For here shall I quench it, here, where my loved one lies,
+    A torch shall it be for him still through the darkness of death."
+
+        Fiona Macleod's Translation.
+
+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: "_The Red Branch perisheth! Uladh
+passeth! Uladh passeth!_" and when he had so spoken, the soul of
+Cathbad the Druid passed away.
+
+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.
+
+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!"
+
+    "I hear a voice crying, crying, crying: is it the wind
+    I hear, crying its old weary cry time out of mind?
+
+    _The grey wind weeps, the grey wind weeps, the grey wind weeps:_
+    _Dust on her breast, dust on her eyes, the grey wind weeps._"
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[14] Now Dunskaith.
+
+[15] Fairies.
+
+[16] The Hill of Howth, at Dublin Bay.
+
+[17] Dale of the Waterfall: now Dalness.
+
+[18] Inistrynich.
+
+[19] Dun Sween.
+
+[20] Glen Lug.
+
+[21] At the head of Holy Loch, Argyllshire.
+
+[22] Glen Etive.
+
+[23] Glenorchy.
+
+[24] Glendaruel.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX
+
+
+Acheron, 37
+
+Achilles, 71
+
+Acrisius, 105, 121, 122, 123
+
+Adam, 220
+
+Adonis, 178, 192, 202, 203, 205, 206, 207, 208
+
+Advocates' Library, 306
+
+Aed, 290, 299, 300, 304, 305
+
+Ægean Sea, 36, 90, 106, 121, 145, 146, 186
+
+Ægean Islands, 172
+
+Æolus, 144
+
+Æsculapius, 88
+
+Æsop, 169
+
+Ainle, 313, 315, 316, 317, 322, 325, 329, 330, 331
+
+Ainnle, 324
+
+Aix, 287
+
+Aix-la-Chapelle, 287
+
+Ajax, 71
+
+Alba, 295, 299, 307, 311, 317, 318, 319, 320, 321, 322, 325, 327, 331
+
+Alban, Oirir, 324
+
+Alexander the Great, 135
+
+Alpheus, 102, 103, 104
+
+Althæa, 69, 71, 75
+
+Amphion, 124, 128
+
+Anapus, 101
+
+Andromeda, 119, 120, 123
+
+Angelo, Michael, 203
+
+Anglo-Saxon, 245
+
+Angrbotha, 236
+
+Aphrodite, 5, 13, 14, 15, 42, 46, 47, 49, 56, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65,
+    66, 67, 79, 81, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206
+
+Apollo, 5, 16, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 24, 27, 28, 29, 32, 42, 43, 44, 45,
+    49, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 101, 125, 126, 127, 129, 130,
+    131, 132, 133, 139, 140, 141, 142, 145, 164, 165, 173, 185, 186,
+    187, 188, 190, 191, 192, 267
+
+Apollo Belvidere, 11
+
+Apollo, Phœbus, 19
+
+Appin, 317
+
+Arachne, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 88, 89
+
+Arcadia, 71, 77, 78, 197, 211
+
+Arcadian, 75
+
+Archilochus, 223
+
+Ard, Loch, 320
+
+Ardan, 312, 315, 316, 317, 322, 323, 325, 329, 330, 331
+
+Arethusa, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104
+
+Argo, 39
+
+Argonauts, 39
+
+Argos, 105, 122, 128
+
+Aristæus, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160
+
+Aristophanes, 169
+
+Argyllshire, 324
+
+Arnold, Matthew, 228, 239, 240
+
+Aros, 317
+
+Artemis, 26, 27
+
+Arthur, King, 268
+
+Aschere, 256
+
+Asgard, 230, 231, 235, 239, 240, 242
+
+Asia, 135
+
+Atalanta, 71, 72, 73, 74, 76, 78, 79, 80, 81
+
+Athené, Pallas, 3, 4, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111,
+    112, 115, 120, 182
+
+Athens, 181, 182
+
+Atlas, 114, 115, 117
+
+Aude the Fair, 282, 287
+
+Aurora, 20, 21
+
+Australia, 220
+
+Awe, Loch, 320
+
+
+Bacchantes, 40
+
+Bacchus, 40, 136, 138
+
+Baldrsbrá, 234
+
+Baldur, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243
+
+Ballycastle, 325
+
+Bann, 301
+
+Bartholomew, 88
+
+Bavière, Naismes de, 272
+
+Belvidere, Apollo, 11
+
+Ben Cruachan, 318
+
+Ben Etair, 317
+
+Benmullet, 295
+
+Beowulf, 229, 244, 245, 246, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256,
+    257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265
+
+Beowulf's Barrow, 264
+
+Beowulfesby, 245
+
+Bertha, 269, 271, 272
+
+Bion, 206
+
+Blancandrin, 268, 274
+
+Blaye, 287
+
+Bodb the Red, 289, 290, 291, 296, 301
+
+Boreas, 212
+
+Borrach, 321, 325, 326
+
+Bowlby Cliff, 244, 245
+
+Branch, Red, 307, 308, 320, 321, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333
+
+Breton, 267
+
+Brisingamen, 229, 255, 260
+
+Britain, 244, 268
+
+Brittany, 267
+
+Brocken, 233
+
+Browning, E. B., 209, 218
+
+Buinne the Red, 322, 329
+
+Byron, 10
+
+
+Calliope, 32
+
+Calvary, 216
+
+Calvinism, 215
+
+Calydon, 69, 70, 71, 78
+
+Calydonian Hunt, 69, 72, 76
+
+Campbell, Thos., 266
+
+Carlyle, Thos., 215, 216, 266
+
+Carmichael, Alexander, 307
+
+Carraig Uisneach, 325
+
+Carricknarone, 299, 300
+
+Cassiopeia, 123
+
+Castor, 71
+
+Cathbad, 307, 309, 310, 311, 327, 330, 332
+
+Caucasus, Mt., 8
+
+Celts, 289, 306
+
+Cepheus, 123
+
+Cerberus, 34
+
+Ceyx, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 150, 151, 152, 153
+
+Champions of the Red Branch, 307, 308
+
+Chanson de Roland, 266
+
+Chaos, 2
+
+Charlemagne, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276,
+    277, 280, 281, 282, 286, 287
+
+Charles, King, 282
+
+Charon, 37, 38
+
+Chemmis, 117
+
+Chinese, 208
+
+Christian, 272, 275, 295, 303
+
+Christianity, 215, 227, 232
+
+Cimmerian Mountains, 148
+
+Circe, 226
+
+Claros, 145
+
+Clio, 129
+
+Clymene, 16, 17, 18, 24
+
+Clytie, 189
+
+Cocytus, 59, 63, 64, 104, 115, 167, 207
+
+Coillchuan, 324
+
+Colophon, 83, 86, 87
+
+Conall, 321
+
+Conchubar, 307
+
+Conn, 290, 295, 299, 304, 305
+
+Connaught, 304
+
+Conor, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311, 313, 316, 317, 319, 320, 321, 322,
+    323, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 333
+
+Copenhagen, 244
+
+Cordova, 268, 274
+
+Corinth, 192, 193
+
+Crete, 182, 183
+
+Cruachan, Ben, 318
+
+Cuchulainn, 321, 331, 332
+
+Cyane, 163
+
+Cyclades, 107
+
+Cycnus, 24
+
+Cynthian, 126
+
+Cyprus, 11, 13, 60, 194, 202, 204
+
+Cyrene, 155, 156, 157
+
+Cytherea, 206
+
+Cytherian shores, 203
+
+
+Dædalus, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 187, 188
+
+Dail-an-eas, 318
+
+Dalness, 318
+
+Danaë, 105, 106, 107, 121
+
+Danaïdes, 35
+
+Dane, 233, 248, 250, 257, 259
+
+Danish, 250, 251, 256
+
+Dante, 16
+
+Daphne, 42, 43, 44
+
+Darthool, 306
+
+Darvra, Lake, 293, 295, 296, 297
+
+Dasent, 236
+
+David, 272
+
+Day, 2
+
+Dearshul, 319
+
+Decca, 304
+
+Dedannans, 289, 291, 297, 301
+
+Deirdrê, 306, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 316, 317,
+    318, 319, 320, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330,
+    331, 332, 333
+
+Delos, 172, 186
+
+Demeter, 84, 162, 165, 166, 167, 168
+
+Denmark, 245, 251
+
+Derg, Lough, 290, 291
+
+Derravaragh, Lough, 293
+
+Destiny, The Winged, 223
+
+Diana, II., 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 43, 70, 72, 73, 75, 76, 90, 97, 99,
+    101, 103, 116, 125, 126, 127, 128, 130, 164, 173, 175, 190, 198,
+    200, 203, 204, 210
+
+Diana Vernon, 26
+
+Douzeperes, 268, 269, 272, 274, 275, 277, 282, 283, 286, 287
+
+Draighen, 325
+
+Druid, 307, 309, 310, 327, 330, 332
+
+Druid's runes, 295
+
+Druids, 294
+
+Dryden, 45
+
+Dryope, 210, 211
+
+Dublin Bay, 317
+
+Dunfidgha, 324
+
+Dun Fin, 324
+
+Dunskaith, 311
+
+Dun Suibhne, 324
+
+Dun Sween, 324
+
+Durendala, 276, 284, 285
+
+
+Echo, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 210
+
+Edinburgh, 306
+
+Egypt, 39, 117, 193
+
+Egyptian, 217
+
+Egyptians, 117
+
+Emain Macha, 314, 323, 326, 327, 328, 333
+
+Emerson, 243
+
+Endymion, 26, 28, 29, 30
+
+England, 344
+
+Enna, 104
+
+Epaphos, 16, 17, 21
+
+Epimethus, 2, 5, 6, 7
+
+Epirus, 70
+
+Erdgeist, 216
+
+Erebus, 2
+
+Eridanus, 24
+
+Erin, 289, 290, 295, 297, 298, 299, 301, 302, 307, 308, 311, 317, 319,
+    320, 321, 322, 323, 325, 333
+
+Erris, 295
+
+Eros, 2, 42, 47, 48, 51, 53, 54, 56, 57, 58, 62, 66, 67, 91, 202, 203
+
+Essa, 317
+
+Etair, Ben, 317
+
+Ethiopia, 118, 119, 120
+
+Ethiopians, 23
+
+Etive, Glen, 325
+
+Etive, Loch, 318, 320, 322, 324, 326, 333
+
+Etna, 101, 103
+
+Eubœan Sea, 122
+
+Eumenides, 194
+
+Europa, 87
+
+Europe, 289
+
+Eurydice, 31, 32, 33, 34, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 115, 159
+
+Eva, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296
+
+Eve, 290, 291
+
+Evenos, 91, 92, 93, 94
+
+
+Faust, 216
+
+Fechin, St., 222
+
+Felim, 307, 308, 309
+
+Fensalir, 238
+
+Fergus, 321, 322, 323, 325, 326, 329
+
+Ficra, 290, 295, 299, 304, 305
+
+Finola, 290, 292, 293, 294, 298, 299, 300, 301, 303, 304, 305
+
+Fiori Maggio, 103
+
+Firedrake, 261, 262, 263, 264
+
+Fleece, Golden, 39, 70
+
+Florence, 124
+
+Fontarabian, 282
+
+France, 266, 275, 278, 279, 280, 282, 286
+
+Franks, 267, 273, 276, 277, 279, 280
+
+Freya, 227, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 235, 238, 239, 255
+
+Friday, 277
+
+Frieslanders, 260
+
+Frigga, 228
+
+Furies, 35, 194, 196
+
+
+Gabriel, 286
+
+Gael, 300, 306, 307, 322, 332
+
+Gaelic, 319
+
+Galahad, 234
+
+Galatea, 13, 14, 15
+
+Ganelon, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 287
+
+Gautier, Sir, 277, 282
+
+Geasa, 326
+
+Germanic language, 244
+
+Germany, 233
+
+Glendaruadh, 325
+
+Glendaruel, 325
+
+Gleneitche, 325
+
+Glenlaidhe, 324
+
+Glenmasan, 324
+
+Glenmasan MS., 306
+
+Glenorchy, 325
+
+Goar, St., 224
+
+Goethe, 216
+
+Golden Fleece, 39, 70
+
+Gordias, 134, 135
+
+Gorgons, 113, 114, 115, 116, 120, 121, 123
+
+Goths, 248, 249, 250, 252, 253, 260, 264, 265
+
+Gothland, 249, 250, 252, 260
+
+Graeæ, 112
+
+Greece, 26, 71, 72, 74, 154, 192, 193, 210, 223, 229, 234, 289
+
+Greek, 100, 128, 160
+
+Greeks, 3, 215
+
+Green Islands, 307
+
+Gregory, Lady, 307, 309
+
+Grendel, 247, 248, 250, 253, 254, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 262
+
+
+Hades, 34, 35, 36, 39, 65, 67, 167, 194
+
+Halcyon birds, 153
+
+Halcyone, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 150, 151, 152, 153
+
+Hamlet, 124
+
+Hardred, 260
+
+Hastings, 266
+
+Hauteclaire, 278
+
+Hecate, 164, 205
+
+Heine, 220, 223, 226
+
+Hel, 236, 239, 240, 241
+
+Heliades, 24
+
+Hellas, 217
+
+Hellenistic, 218
+
+Henry VI, King, 144
+
+Heorot, 246, 248, 251, 256
+
+Hera, 169, 170, 175
+
+Heredia, De, 208
+
+Hermes, 5, 111, 112, 116, 120, 210, 211
+
+Hermoder, 239, 240
+
+Hesiod, 4
+
+Hesperides, Garden of the, 113, 114, 116, 117, 118, 137
+
+Hesperus, 144
+
+Hlidskialf, 231
+
+Hodur, 238, 239
+
+Holy Loch, 324
+
+Homeric Hymns, 210
+
+Howth, Hill of, 317
+
+Hrothgar, 246, 247, 248, 250, 251, 254, 255, 256, 257
+
+Hyacinthus, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133
+
+Hyde, Dr. Douglas, 307
+
+Hygeia, 88
+
+Hygelac, 248, 260
+
+Hyleus, 74
+
+Hymen, 33
+
+
+Ibycus, 192, 194, 195, 196
+
+Icarus, 181, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188
+
+Ice Giants, 230
+
+Ida, Mount, 185
+
+Idas, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 97, 98, 99
+
+Idmon, 83, 86
+
+Illann the Fair, 322, 326, 329
+
+Ingelow, Jean, 167
+
+Inis Glora, 295, 301, 302, 303, 304
+
+Iniskea, 302
+
+Inistrynich, 324
+
+Innisdraighende, 324
+
+Invermasan, 324
+
+Ionia, 145, 147
+
+Ionian Sea, 217
+
+Ireland, 289, 306
+
+Iris, 148, 149
+
+Ivros Domnann, 295, 301
+
+Ixion, 35
+
+
+Jason, 39, 70, 71, 73
+
+Jerusalem, 216
+
+Jonathan, 272
+
+Jove, 4, 25, 49, 64
+
+Joyce, 305
+
+Judas, 274
+
+Julius Cæsar, 261
+
+Juno, 146, 148, 150
+
+Jupiter, 8, 95, 210
+
+
+Keats, 129, 180
+
+Keos, 106
+
+Kemoc, 303, 304, 305
+
+Kingsley, Charles, 105, 232
+
+
+Ladon, 200
+
+Lang, Andrew, 27
+
+Langobarden, 232
+
+Larguen, 304, 305
+
+Larissa, 122
+
+Latmos, Mount, 27, 30
+
+Latona, 125, 126, 127, 128, 169, 170, 171, 172
+
+Lavarcam, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 327, 328
+
+Lebynthos, 186
+
+Leinster, Book of, 306
+
+Lethe, 149
+
+Leto, 169
+
+Libetlera, 41
+
+Libya, 23, 116
+
+Libyan, 39
+
+Light, 2
+
+Liguria, 24
+
+Lilith, 220
+
+Lîr, 289, 290, 291, 292, 293, 294, 296, 297, 298, 300, 301, 302, 303,
+    305
+
+Loki, 234, 236, 237, 238, 239, 242
+
+Lombardy, 232
+
+Lomond, Loch, 320
+
+London Bridge, 221
+
+Long Loch, 320
+
+Longbeards, 232
+
+Longfellow, 234, 241, 243, 244
+
+Lora, Falls of, 318
+
+Lorelei, 220, 223, 224, 225
+
+Love, 2
+
+Lowell, 10, 38
+
+Luna, 27
+
+Lycia, 170
+
+Lycormas, 93, 94
+
+Lydia, 83, 88, 128
+
+Lyra, 41
+
+Lysimeleia, 101
+
+
+Macleod, Fiona, 31, 197, 218, 219, 223, 301, 306, 307, 315, 332, 333
+
+Madonna, 227
+
+Mahommed, 267
+
+Mannanan, 292, 331
+
+Marpessa, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99
+
+Marsiglio, 267
+
+Marsile, 267, 268, 272, 274, 275, 279, 280, 281
+
+Mary, Virgin, 227
+
+Mayo, 295
+
+Meander, 183
+
+Meath, West, 293
+
+Medusa, 108, 110, 111, 112, 113, 115, 116, 120
+
+Meleager, 69, 70, 72, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 80
+
+Michael, St., 286
+
+Midas, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 141, 142, 143, 198, 210
+
+Milanion, 79, 80, 81
+
+Milesians, 297
+
+Milo, 10
+
+Milon, 269, 271
+
+Milton, 8, 38, 217
+
+Minos, 182, 183, 188
+
+Montjoie, 279, 281
+
+Moore, Thos., 289
+
+Morgue, 221
+
+Morpheus, 149, 150, 151
+
+Morris, William, 49, 50, 58, 68, 115
+
+---- Lewis, 29, 67, 165, 168, 202, 207
+
+Moschus, 87
+
+Mount Olympus, 41, 81
+
+Mowgli, 214
+
+Moyle, 289, 295, 298, 301, 317
+
+Mull, 317
+
+Munster, 304
+
+Muses, 41, 129
+
+Musset, De, 218
+
+
+Nägeling, 250, 251
+
+Naiades, 25
+
+Naismes de Bavière, 272
+
+Nanna, 235, 241
+
+Naoise, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 316, 317, 318, 319, 320, 322, 323,
+    324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 332
+
+Narcissus, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180
+
+Nelson, 100
+
+Neptune, 93, 94, 99
+
+Nereids, 188
+
+Nestor, 71, 72
+
+Nibelungs, 224
+
+Niflheim, 236, 237, 239
+
+Niobe, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128
+
+Norman, 233, 266
+
+Norseman, 331
+
+Norsemen, 228, 229, 234
+
+North Channel, 295
+
+North Cape, 260
+
+North Sea, 244
+
+Norway, 233, 331
+
+
+Odin, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 234, 235, 236, 237
+
+Odysseus, 221, 226
+
+Oea, 319
+
+Å’neus, 69, 70
+
+Oise, 214, 215
+
+Olifant, 276, 280, 284, 285
+
+Oliver, 272, 277, 278, 280, 281, 282, 283, 287
+
+Olivier, 266, 282
+
+Olympians, 6, 9, 60, 112, 129, 180, 211
+
+Olympus, 3, 4, 5, 24, 45, 46, 49, 67, 68, 86, 95, 105, 108, 122, 126,
+    135, 140, 155, 166, 171, 185, 187, 191, 203, 207, 210, 211
+
+Olympus, Mount, 130
+
+Orion's Belt, 228
+
+Orpheus, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 159, 210
+
+Orphics, 39, 40, 41
+
+Ortygia, 100, 104
+
+Otuel, Sir, 288
+
+Ovid, 25, 45, 86, 197
+
+
+Pactolus, 83, 138
+
+Pagan, 285
+
+Paganism, 215, 216
+
+Pallas Athené, 3, 83, 84, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 115, 120
+
+Palodes, 217
+
+Pan, 59, 63, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 209,
+    210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219
+
+Pandora, 1, 2, 5, 6, 7
+
+Pantheism, 215, 216
+
+Paphian, 206
+
+Paphos, 15, 203
+
+Paros, 223
+
+Parthenian Hill, 71
+
+Patrick, St., 295, 302
+
+Paxæ, 217
+
+Paynim, 280, 283
+
+Peleus, 71
+
+Peneus, 42, 43, 44, 45
+
+Perdrix, 182
+
+Perseus, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116,
+    117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123
+
+Persephone, 80, 161, 164, 165, 167
+
+Phaeton, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25
+
+Phillips, Stephen, 96
+
+Phineus, 120
+
+Phlegethon, 194
+
+Phœbus, 129
+
+Phœbus Apollo, 18, 19
+
+Phœnicians, 120
+
+Phrygia, 134, 135, 136, 142
+
+Pied Piper, 212
+
+Pirithous, 71
+
+Pitys, 210, 212
+
+Pleiades, 27, 90
+
+Plemmgrium, 101
+
+Plexippus, 71
+
+Pluto, 23, 35, 36, 37, 38, 64, 80, 103, 115, 120, 162, 163, 165, 166,
+    167, 210
+
+Pollux, 71
+
+Polydectes, 106, 107, 109, 110, 121
+
+Pomona, 210
+
+Poseidon, 146, 172, 186, 192, 222
+
+Praxiteles, 124
+
+Prometheus, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10
+
+Proserpine, 35, 36, 64, 65, 66, 161, 162, 163, 165, 166, 167, 192
+
+Proteus, 100, 157, 158, 159
+
+Psyche, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60,
+    61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 210
+
+Purgatorio, 16
+
+Pygmalion, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 102
+
+Pyrenees, 275
+
+
+Quail Island, 101
+
+
+Rachel, 128
+
+Rainschevaux, 266
+
+Raphael, St., 286
+
+Rathlin Island, 325
+
+Red Branch, Champions of, 307, 308, 320, 321, 332, 333
+
+Red Branch, House of, 327, 328, 329, 330
+
+Retaliator, The, 331
+
+Rheims, Bishop of, 272
+
+Rhine, 224, 225
+
+Ringhorn, 240
+
+Roland, 266, 267, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 276, 277, 278, 279,
+    280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288
+
+Rollant, 266
+
+Roman de Rose, 266
+
+Roman Empire, 267
+
+Romans, 27
+
+Roncevall, 266
+
+Roncesvalles, 267, 274, 275, 276, 277, 281, 282, 286
+
+Rossa the Red, 321, 323
+
+Round Table, 268
+
+Rowland, 282
+
+Runcyvale, 288
+
+
+Sackville, Lady Margaret, 197
+
+Saeland, 244, 265
+
+Samos, 107, 186
+
+Samson, 160
+
+Saracens, 267, 274, 276, 277, 278, 279, 280, 282, 283, 285, 286
+
+Saragossa, 267, 272
+
+Saxon, 233
+
+Scandinavia, 227, 245
+
+Scotland, 220, 306
+
+Scott, Sir Walter, 26, 282
+
+Scyld Scefing, 245, 246
+
+Seine, 221
+
+Selene, 27, 210
+
+Seriphos, 106, 109, 120, 121
+
+Seumas, 218, 223
+
+Sgathaig, 311
+
+Shakespeare, 31, 124, 134, 192, 204, 223, 261
+
+Shannon, 290
+
+Sharp, William, 301
+
+Shee Finnaha, 289, 290, 296, 302
+
+Shelley, 9, 104, 161
+
+Sicily, 36, 100, 104, 162, 163, 167, 186, 188
+
+Silenus, 136
+
+Simonides, 106
+
+Sipylus, Mount, 128
+
+Sirens, 226
+
+Sisyphus, 35
+
+Skene, W. F., 307
+
+Skye, Isle of, 311
+
+Sleipnir, 236
+
+Socrates, 153
+
+Somnus, 148, 149, 150
+
+Spain, 267
+
+Spartan, 129
+
+Spenser, 88
+
+Striven, Loch, 320
+
+Styx, 19, 63, 64
+
+Sweden, 233
+
+Swedes, 249
+
+Swinburne, 74
+
+Sylvan deities, 214
+
+Synge, J. M., 307
+
+Syracuse, 100, 101
+
+Syria, 216
+
+Syrinx, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 210
+
+
+Taenarus, 34
+
+Taillefer, 266
+
+Tailleken, 295
+
+Talus, 182
+
+Tantalus, 35, 124
+
+Telamon, 71, 73
+
+Tennyson, 27, 154, 216
+
+Termagaunt, 267
+
+Thames, 221
+
+Thamus, 217
+
+Theban, 124
+
+Thebes, 124, 125, 126
+
+Theseus, 71
+
+Thessaly, 144, 146, 147, 152
+
+Thrace, 32, 33, 38, 39
+
+Tiberius, 216
+
+Titan, 8, 9, 35
+
+Titans, 2, 4, 117, 124
+
+Toxeus, 71
+
+Trachine, 150
+
+Triton, 100
+
+Tussypere, 288
+
+Turpin, 266, 277, 279, 280, 282, 283, 284, 287
+
+Tymolus, 83, 87
+
+Tyrian, 86
+
+
+Uffizi Palace, 124
+
+Ulster, 307
+
+Ultonians, 307, 313, 320, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333
+
+Uladh, 332
+
+Ulva, 222
+
+Urchain, Glen, 325
+
+Usna, Sons of, 306, 311, 312, 313, 315, 317, 318, 319, 320, 321, 322,
+    324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333
+
+
+Valhalla, 228, 267
+
+Vali, 237
+
+Vandals, 231
+
+Vatican, 11
+
+Veillantif, 276, 282
+
+Venus, 11, 26, 202
+
+Vernon, Diana, 26
+
+Versailles, 11
+
+Virgil, 194
+
+Vulcan, 4
+
+
+Wace, 266
+
+Wagmund, 264
+
+Walpurgis Night, 233
+
+Wessex, 244
+
+Westminster, 221
+
+Whitby, 244
+
+Wiglaf, 263, 264
+
+William the Conqueror, 266
+
+Winged Destiny, The, 223
+
+Winilers, 231, 232
+
+Wolf Woman, 258, 260, 262, 263
+
+
+Yeats, W. B., 307
+
+Yorkshire, 244, 265
+
+
+Zeus, 3, 4, 8, 9, 22, 24, 30, 34, 86, 95, 105, 106, 107, 112, 120,
+    123, 124, 166, 169, 170, 172, 202, 206
+
+Zephyr, 129
+
+Zephyrus, 51, 54, 59, 71, 103, 131, 133, 180
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note
+
+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.
+
+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 203 and in
+the Index, by which the author presumably meant Michelangelo; this
+has also been left as printed.
+
+The following amendments have been made:
+
+  Page 268--were amended to was--"... with Saragossa still
+  unconquered was too much to hope for."
+
+  Page 304--Kemoc amended to Larguen--"Then Larguen, in
+  furious anger, ..."
+
+Illustrations have been moved so that they are not in mid-paragraph.
+The frontispiece illustration has been moved to follow the title page.
+
+Index entries have been made consistent with the main text, as
+follows:
+
+  Page 334--Aristaeus amended to Aristæus; Athene, Pallas
+  amended to Athené, Pallas.
+
+  Page 335--page reference 230 amended to 300 in
+  Carricknarone entry; page reference 313 added to Deirdrê
+  entry.
+
+  Page 336--page reference 344 amended to 244 in England
+  entry; Eridamus amended to Eridanus.
+
+  Page 337--page reference 86 added to Idmon entry; Inis Rea
+  amended to Iniskea.
+
+  Page 338--Naïdes amended to Naiades; page references 319
+  and 325 added to Naoise entry; Oeneus amended to Å’neus;
+  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.
+
+  Page 339--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.
+
+  Page 340--Tiberias amended to Tiberius; Uffizzi Palace
+  amended to Uffizi Palace; Uluadh amended to Uladh.
+
+
+
+
+
+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 22693-0.txt or 22693-0.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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/22693-0.zip b/22693-0.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..35f6800
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-0.zip
diff --git a/22693-8.txt b/22693-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..319f09b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11517 @@
+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
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+          A
+    BOOK OF MYTHS
+
+     BY JEAN LANG
+
+   (MRS. JOHN LANG)
+
+ WITH SIXTEEN ORIGINAL
+  DRAWINGS IN COLOUR
+   BY HELEN STRATTON
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+ THOMAS NELSON & SONS
+       NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "WHAT WAS HE DOING, THE GREAT GOD PAN, DOWN IN THE
+REEDS BY THE RIVER?" (See page 209)]
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+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 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[1] 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."
+
+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[2] 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."
+
+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 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 _Heroes_ and of
+Hawthorne's _Tanglewood Tales_. 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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 Odyssey and the Iliad, the
+translations of which probably take rank amongst the finest
+translations in any language.
+
+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.
+
+    "Great God! I'd rather be
+    A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
+    So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
+    Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
+    Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
+    Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn."
+
+        JEAN LANG.
+
+
+POSTSCRIPT
+
+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.
+
+We speak of things that took place "_Before the War_"; and between
+that time and this stands a barrier immeasurable.
+
+This book, with its Preface, was completed in 1914--"_Before the
+War._"
+
+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 GOD in
+whom we believe as a GOD 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.
+
+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?
+
+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."
+
+And, surely, to all those who are fighting, and suffering, and dying
+for a noble cause, the GOD of gods, the GOD of battles, who is also
+the GOD of peace, and the GOD of Love, has become an ever near and
+eternally living entity.
+
+    "Our little systems have their day;
+    They have their day and cease to be,
+    They are but broken lights of Thee,
+    And Thou, oh Lord, art more than they."
+
+        JEAN LANG.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1] _Teutonic Heathendom._
+
+[2] John Kelman, D.D., _Among Famous Books_.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                  PAGE
+
+  PROMETHEUS AND PANDORA                             1
+
+  PYGMALION                                         11
+
+  PHAETON                                           16
+
+  ENDYMION                                          26
+
+  ORPHEUS                                           31
+
+  APOLLO AND DAPHNE                                 42
+
+  PSYCHE                                            46
+
+  THE CALYDONIAN HUNT                               69
+
+  ATALANTA                                          78
+
+  ARACHNE                                           82
+
+  IDAS AND MARPESSA                                 90
+
+  ARETHUSA                                         100
+
+  PERSEUS THE HERO                                 105
+
+  NIOBE                                            124
+
+  HYACINTHUS                                       129
+
+  KING MIDAS OF THE GOLDEN TOUCH                   134
+
+  CEYX AND HALCYONE                                144
+
+  ARISTÆUS THE BEE-KEEPER                          154
+
+  PROSERPINE                                       161
+
+  LATONA AND THE RUSTICS                           169
+
+  ECHO AND NARCISSUS                               174
+
+  ICARUS                                           181
+
+  CLYTIE                                           189
+
+  THE CRANES OF IBYCUS                             192
+
+  SYRINX                                           197
+
+  THE DEATH OF ADONIS                              202
+
+  PAN                                              209
+
+  LORELEI                                          220
+
+  FREYA, QUEEN OF THE NORTHERN GODS                227
+
+  THE DEATH OF BALDUR                              234
+
+  BEOWULF                                          244
+
+  ROLAND THE PALADIN                               266
+
+  THE CHILDREN OF LÎR                              289
+
+  DEIRDRÊ                                          306
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  "What was he doing, the great god Pan,
+  Down in the reeds by the river?"                   _Frontispiece_
+
+                                                               PAGE
+
+  Then Pygmalion covered his eyes                                12
+
+  She checked her hounds, and stood beside Endymion              28
+
+  Swiftly he turned, and found his wife behind him               38
+
+  Thus did Psyche lose her fear, and enter the golden doors      52
+
+  She stopped, and picked up the treasure                        80
+
+  Marpessa sat alone by the fountain                             92
+
+  They whimpered and begged of him                              112
+
+  Darkness fell on the eyes of Hyacinthus                       132
+
+  A grey cold morning found her on the seashore                 152
+
+  She haunted him like his shadow                               176
+
+  Freya sat spinning the clouds                                 228
+
+  "Baldur the Beautiful is dead!"                               240
+
+  A stroke shivered the sword                                   262
+
+  Roland seized once more his horn                              282
+
+  One touch for each with a magical wand of the Druids          294
+
+
+
+
+A BOOK OF MYTHS
+
+
+
+
+PROMETHEUS AND PANDORA
+
+
+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.
+
+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, _I_?"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+Armed with fire, the beasts became his vassals. With fire he forged
+weapons, defied the frost and cold, coined money, made implements for
+tillage, introduced the arts, and was able to destroy as well as to
+create.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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,
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+                          "Yet I argue not
+    Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot
+    Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
+    Right onward."
+
+So spoke Milton, the blind Titan of the seventeenth century; and
+Shakespeare says:
+
+    "True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;
+    Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings."
+
+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, the smell
+of the unclean thing, and again with fierce beak and talons the
+vulture greedily began its work.
+
+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.
+
+    "Three thousand years of sleep-unsheltered hours,
+    And moments aye divided by keen pangs
+    Till they seemed years, torture and solitude,
+    Scorn and despair,--these are mine empire.
+    More glorious far than that which thou surveyest
+    From thine unenvied throne, O, Mighty God!
+    Almighty, had I deigned to share the shame
+    Of thine ill tyranny, and hung not here
+    Nailed to this wall of eagle-baffling mountain,
+    Black, wintry, dead, unmeasured; without herb,
+    Insect, or beast, or shape or sound of life.
+    Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, for ever!"
+
+        Shelley.
+
+    "Titan! to whose immortal eyes
+    The sufferings of mortality
+    Seen in their sad reality,
+    Were not as things that gods despise;
+    What was thy pity's recompense?
+    A silent suffering, and intense;
+    The rock, the vulture, and the chain,
+    All that the proud can feel of pain,
+    The agony they do not show,
+    The suffocating sense of woe,
+    Which speaks but in its loneliness,
+    And then is jealous lest the sky
+    Should have a listener, nor will sigh
+    Until its voice is echoless."
+
+        Byron.
+
+    "Yet, I am still Prometheus, wiser grown
+    By years of solitude,--that holds apart
+    The past and future, giving the soul room
+    To search into itself,--and long commune
+    With this eternal silence;--more a god,
+    In my long-suffering and strength to meet
+    With equal front the direst shafts of fate,
+    Than thou in thy faint-hearted despotism ...
+    Therefore, great heart, bear up! thou art but type
+    Of what all lofty spirits endure that fain
+    Would win men back to strength and peace through love:
+    Each hath his lonely peak, and on each heart
+    Envy, or scorn or hatred tears lifelong
+    With vulture beak; yet the high soul is left;
+    And faith, which is but hope grown wise, and love
+    And patience, which at last shall overcome."
+
+        Lowell.
+
+
+
+
+PYGMALION
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _should_
+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.
+
+[Illustration: THEN PYGMALION COVERED HIS EYES]
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"O Aphrodite!" he said, "who can do all things, give me, I pray you,
+one like my Galatea for my wife!"
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+PHAETON
+
+    "The road, to drive on which unskilled were Phaeton's hands."
+
+        Dante--_Purgatorio_.
+
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Clymene listened with grief to his complaint. He was so young, so
+gallant, so foolish.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+Phoebus 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.
+
+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:
+
+"In truth thou art my dear son," he said, "and by 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."
+
+But the boy pled on:
+
+"I am shamed for ever, my father," he said. "Surely thou wouldst not
+have son of thine proved liar and braggart?"
+
+"Not even the gods themselves can do this thing," answered Apollo.
+"Nay, not even the almighty Zeus. None but I, Phoebus Apollo, may
+drive the flaming chariot of the sun, for the way is beset with
+dangers and none know it but I."
+
+"Only tell me the way, my father!" cried Phaeton. "So soon I could
+learn."
+
+Half in sadness, Apollo smiled.
+
+"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...."
+
+"I fear none of these things, oh my father!" cried Phaeton. "Grant
+that for one day only I drive thy white-maned steeds!"
+
+Very pitifully Apollo looked at him, and for a little space he was
+silent.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Rather Death than Dishonour," said Phaeton, and proudly he added,
+"For once would I drive like the god, my father. I have no fear."
+
+So was Apollo vanquished, and Phaeton gained his heart's desire.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+To Phaeton the Italian Naiades reared a tomb, and inscribed on the
+stone these words:
+
+    "Driver of Phoebus' chariot, Phaëton,
+    Struck by Jove's thunder, rests beneath this stone,
+    He could not rule his father's car of fire,
+    Yet was it much, so nobly to aspire."
+
+        Ovid.
+
+
+
+
+ENDYMION
+
+
+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.
+
+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 Diana who now has for hunting-ground the
+blue firmament of heaven where the pale Pleiades
+
+    "Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid."
+
+        Tennyson.
+
+    "She gleans her silvan trophies; down the wold
+    She hears the sobbing of the stags that flee
+    Mixed with the music of the hunting roll'd,
+    But her delight is all in archery,
+    And naught of ruth and pity wotteth she
+    More than her hounds that follow on the flight;
+    The goddess draws a golden bow of might
+    And thick she rains the gentle shafts that slay.
+    She tosses loose her locks upon the night,
+    And through the dim wood Dian threads her way."
+
+        Andrew Lang.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Now one night as she passed Mount Latmos, there 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 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.
+
+[Illustration: SHE CHECKED HER HOUNDS, AND STOOD BESIDE ENDYMION]
+
+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,
+
+    "There came a lovely vision of a maid,
+    Who seemed to step as from a golden car
+    Out of the low-hung moon."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+ORPHEUS
+
+    "Orpheus with his lute made trees,
+    And the mountain tops that freeze,
+    Bow themselves when he did sing;
+    To his music plants and flowers
+    Ever sprung, as sun and showers
+    There had made a lasting spring.
+    Everything that heard him play,
+    Even the billows of the sea,
+    Hung their heads, and then lay by,
+    In sweet music is such art,
+    Killing care and grief of heart
+    Fall asleep, or hearing die."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+    "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?"
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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....
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 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.
+
+He took his lyre again then and played:
+
+    "Such strains as would have won the ear
+    Of Pluto, to have quite set free
+    His half-regained Eurydice."
+
+        Milton.
+
+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!"
+
+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:
+
+    "At that elm-vista's end I trace,
+    Dimly thy sad leave-taking face,
+    Eurydice! Eurydice!
+    The tremulous leaves repeat to me
+    Eurydice! Eurydice!"
+
+        Lowell.
+
+[Illustration: SWIFTLY HE TURNED, AND FOUND HIS WIFE BEHIND HIM]
+
+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.
+
+"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."[3]
+
+But in the good ship _Argo_, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 remained unhealed. Again the trees listened to the songs
+of longing. Again they echoed, "Eurydice! Eurydice!"
+
+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!"
+
+"Combien d'autres sont morts de même! C'est la lutte éternelle de la
+force brutale contre l'intelligence douce et sublime inspirée du ciel,
+dont le royaume n'est pas de ce monde."
+
+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.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[3] Kingsley.
+
+
+
+
+APOLLO AND DAPHNE
+
+
+Conqueror of all conquerable earth, yet not always victorious over the
+heart of a maid was the golden-locked Apollo.
+
+As mischievous Eros played one day with his bow and arrows, Apollo
+beheld him and spoke to him mockingly.
+
+"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."
+
+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!"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+With beseeching hands, Apollo followed her. A god was he, yet to him
+had come the vast humility of 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Help me, Peneus!" she cried. "Save me, oh my father, from him whose
+love I fear!"
+
+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 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!"
+
+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.
+
+                "I espouse thee for my tree:
+    Be thou the prize of honour and renown;
+    The deathless poet, and the poem, crown;
+    Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn,
+    And, after poets, be by victors worn."
+
+        Ovid (_Dryden's translation_).
+
+
+
+
+PSYCHE
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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
+
+    "Straight he rose from earth and down the wind
+    Went glittering 'twixt the blue sky and the sea."
+
+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 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.
+
+"They spoke truth!" said the lad to himself. "Not even my mother is as
+fair as this princess."
+
+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.
+
+    "From place to place Love followed her that day
+    And ever fairer to his eyes she grew,
+    So that at last when from her bower he flew,
+    And underneath his feet the moonlit sea
+    Went shepherding his waves disorderly,
+    He swore that of all gods and men, no one
+    Should hold her in his arms but he alone;
+    That she should dwell with him in glorious wise
+    Like to a goddess in some paradise;
+    Yea, he would get from Father Jove this grace
+    That she should never die, but her sweet face
+    And wonderful fair body should endure
+    Till the foundations of the mountains sure
+    Were molten in the sea; so utterly
+    Did he forget his mother's cruelty."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"No mortal lover shall fair Psyche know," said the 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!"
+
+    "... Of dead corpses shalt thou be the king,
+    And stumbling through the dark land shalt thou go,
+    Howling for second death to end thy woe."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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."
+
+[Illustration: THUS DID PSYCHE LOSE HER FEAR, AND ENTER THE GOLDEN
+DOORS]
+
+Thus did Psyche lose her fear, and enter the golden 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 vocabulary. Love loved, and Psyche listened, and
+soon she knew that her lover was Love himself.
+
+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:
+
+    "I am with thee only while I keep
+    My visage hidden; and if thou once shouldst see
+    My face, I must forsake thee; the high gods
+    Link Love with Faith, and he withdraws himself
+    From the full gaze of knowledge."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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. 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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+"What, then, shall I do?" piteously she asked of her sisters. And the
+women, pitilessly, and well content, answered:
+
+"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."
+
+Shaking with sobs, Psyche made answer:
+
+"I love him so!... I love him so!"
+
+And her sisters turned upon her with furious scorn and well-simulated
+wrath.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "Farewell! though I, a god, can never know
+    How thou canst lose thy pain, yet time will go
+    Over thine head, and thou mayst mingle yet
+    The bitter and the sweet, nor quite forget,
+    Nor quite remember, till these things shall seem
+    The wavering memory of a lovely dream."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+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.
+
+"I have lost my Love," she moaned. "What is Life to me any longer!
+Come to me then, O Death!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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:
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+With flaming scorn and anger Aphrodite received her.
+
+    "O thou fool," she said, "I will not let thee die!
+    But thou shalt reap the harvest thou hast sown,
+    And many a day that wretched lot bemoan;
+    Thou art my slave, and not a day shall be
+    But I will find some fitting task for thee."
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"Eros sent them to me:" she thought. "Even yet his love for me is not
+dead."
+
+And what she thought was true.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 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
+
+    "O'er her head there flew the bird of Jove,
+    The bearer, of his servant, friend of Love,
+    Who, when he saw her, straightway towards her flew,
+    And asked her why she wept, and when he knew,
+    And who she was, he said, 'Cease all thy fear,
+    For to the black waves I thy ewer will bear,
+    And fill it for thee; but, remember me,
+    When thou art come unto thy majesty.'"
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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 exquisite than any that the eyes of gods or of
+men had as yet looked upon.
+
+"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."
+
+And at these scornful words, the heart of Psyche leaped within her.
+
+"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.
+
+"Better were it for me to hasten my journey to the shades," she
+thought.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"For my beauty, Eros--_Love_--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!"
+
+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.
+
+But Eros, who had loved her ever, with a love that knew the ebb and
+flow of no tides, rose from his bed and 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.
+
+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.
+
+"My _Belovèd_!" 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:
+
+               "Dear, unclose thine eyes.
+    Thou mayst look on me now. I go no more,
+    But am thine own forever."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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 of gold, the
+voice of the great Father and King of Olympus rang out loud and clear:
+
+    "Drink now, O beautiful, and have no fear!
+    For with this draught shalt thou be born again,
+    And live for ever free from care and pain."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+In this wise did Psyche, a human soul, attain by bitter suffering to
+the perfect happiness of purified love.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE CALYDONIAN HUNT
+
+
+OEneus 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.
+
+"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.
+
+"To thee, O New-Born," she said, "and to this wood that burns, do we
+give the same span of days to live."
+
+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."
+
+And the baby laughed.
+
+    "Those grey women with bound hair
+    Who fright the gods frighted not him; he laughed
+    Seeing them, and pushed out hands to feel and haul
+    Distaff and thread."
+
+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.
+
+But his victory brought evil upon him. When his father OEneus, 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 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.
+
+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. 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+                      "The sudden string
+    Rang, and sprang inward, and the waterish air
+    Hissed, and the moist plumes of the songless reeds
+    Moved as a wave which the wind moves no more.
+    But the boar heaved half out of ooze and slime,
+    His tense flank trembling round the barbed wound,
+    Hateful; and fiery with invasive eyes
+    And bristling with intolerable hair
+    Plunged, and the hounds clung, and green flowers and white
+    Reddened and broke all round them where they came.
+    And charging with sheer tusk he drove, and smote
+    Hyleus; and sharp death caught his sudden soul,
+    And violent sleep shed night upon his eyes."
+
+        Swinburne.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Aimed on the left side his well-handled spear
+    Grasped where the ash was knottiest hewn, and smote,
+    And with no missile wound, the monstrous boar
+    Right in the hairiest hollow of his hide
+    Under the last rib, sheer through bulk and bone,
+    Deep in; and deeply smitten, and to death,
+    The heavy horror with his hanging shafts,
+    Leapt, and fell furiously, and from raging lips
+    Foamed out the latest wrath of all his life."
+
+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.
+
+"This is thy spoil, not mine," he said. "The wounding shaft was sped
+by thee. To thee belongs the praise."
+
+And Atalanta blushed rosily, and laughed low and 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.
+
+At that the brows of the heroes grew dark, and angrily one cried:
+
+                                "Lo, now,
+    Shall not the Arcadian shoot out lips at us,
+    Saying all we were despoiled by this one girl."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+So ended the Calydonian Hunt, and Atalanta 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.
+
+
+
+
+ATALANTA
+
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 loved.
+How he was to use the apples she then told him, and, well content,
+Milanion returned home.
+
+Next day he spoke to Atalanta.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Look for look did the virgin huntress give him.
+
+Then her cheeks grew red, as though the rosy-fingered dawn had touched
+them, and the dawning of love came into her heart.
+
+Even Meleager was not quite so goodly a youth as this. Not even
+Meleager had been so wholly fearless.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: SHE STOPPED, AND PICKED UP THE TREASURE]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+ARACHNE
+
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 coming of Demeter, and Athené was fain to admire, while
+she marvelled at the magic skill of the fair Arachne.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Didst say _equal_ 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
+_equalling_ the work of Athené; _excelling_ were the better word."
+
+In anger Pallas Athené made answer.
+
+"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."
+
+Laughing still, Arachne made reply:
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+    "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 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."
+
+        Ovid.
+
+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.
+
+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,
+
+    "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."
+
+        Moschus.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+    "Not anie damzell, which her vaunteth most
+    In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne,
+    Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast
+    In dieper, in damaske, or in lyne,
+    Nor anie skil'd in workmanship embost,
+    Nor anie skil'd in loupes of fingring fine,
+    Might in their divers cunning ever dare
+    With this so curious networke to compare."
+
+        Spenser.
+
+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.
+
+    "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."
+
+        Bartholomew.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+IDAS AND MARPESSA
+
+
+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.
+
+More beautiful than any flower that grew in the 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.
+
+"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.
+
+To Evenos Apollo quickly imparted his desire. He was not used to
+having his imperial wishes denied, nor 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.
+
+"Am I in truth so wondrous fair?" she asked her father.
+
+"Fair enough to mate with Apollo himself!" proudly answered Evenos.
+
+And joyously Marpessa replied, "Ah, then am I happy indeed! I would be
+beautiful for my Idas' sake!"
+
+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 gush of tenderness, and made her eyes sparkle
+so that Apollo gladly thought, "Soon she will be mine."
+
+[Illustration: MARPESSA SAT ALONE BY THE FOUNTAIN]
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _Evenos_ forever.
+
+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 earth
+by Jupiter. While the echoes still re-echoed, there came from Olympus
+the voice of Zeus himself.
+
+"_Let her decide!_" he said.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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."
+
+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:
+
+    "After such argument what can I plead?
+    Or what pale promise make? Yet since it is
+    In woman to pity rather than to aspire,
+    A little I will speak. I love thee then
+    Not only for thy body packed with sweet
+    Of all this world, that cup of brimming June,
+    That jar of violet wine set in the air,
+    That palest rose sweet in the night of life;
+    Nor for that stirring bosom all besieged
+    By drowsing lovers, or thy perilous hair;
+    Nor for that face that might indeed provoke
+    Invasion of old cities; no, nor all
+    Thy freshness stealing on me like strange sleep.
+    Nor for this only do I love thee, but
+    Because Infinity upon thee broods;
+    And thou art full of whispers and of shadows.
+    Thou meanest what the sea has striven to say
+    So long, and yearned up the cliffs to tell;
+    Thou art what all the winds have uttered not,
+    What the still night suggesteth to the heart.
+    Thy voice is like to music heard ere birth,
+    Some spirit lute touched on a spirit sea;
+    Thy face remembered is from other worlds,
+    It has been died for, though I know not when,
+    It has been sung of, though I know not where.
+    It has the strangeness of the luring West,
+    And of sad sea-horizons; beside thee
+    I am aware of other times and lands,
+    Of birth far-back, of lives in many stars.
+    O beauty lone and like a candle clear
+    In this dark country of the world! Thou art
+    My woe, my early light, my music dying."
+
+        Stephen Phillips.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Marpessa spoke at last, in low words that seemed to come "remembered
+from other worlds."
+
+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?
+
+    "Yet I, being human, human sorrow miss."
+
+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 endless existence in which no life was, yoked to one whose youth
+was immortal, whose beauty was everlasting?
+
+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:
+
+    "But if I live with Idas, then we two
+    On the low earth shall prosper hand in hand
+    In odours of the open field, and live
+    In peaceful noises of the farm, and watch
+    The pastoral fields burned by the setting sun.
+    And he shall give me passionate children, not
+    Some radiant god that will despise me quite,
+    But clambering limbs and little hearts that err.
+    ... So shall we live,
+    And though the first sweet sting of love be past,
+    The sweet that almost venom is; though youth,
+    With tender and extravagant delight,
+    The first and secret kiss by twilight hedge,
+    The insane farewell repeated o'er and o'er,
+    Pass off; there shall succeed a faithful peace;
+    Beautiful friendship tried by sun and wind,
+    Durable from the daily dust of life."
+
+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.
+
+But Marpessa spoke on:
+
+    "And thou beautiful god, in that far time,
+    When in thy setting sweet thou gazest down
+    On his grey head, wilt thou remember then
+    That once I pleased thee, that I once was young?"
+
+So did her voice cease, and on the earth fell sudden darkness. For to
+Apollo had come the shame of love 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.
+
+
+
+
+ARETHUSA
+
+
+"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.
+
+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
+
+    "Have glimpse of Proteus rising from the sea,
+    Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "The Earth seemed to love her
+    And Heaven smiled above her."
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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
+_Fiori Maggio_ 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.
+
+"Arethusa!" she heard him cry, in a voice of piteous
+longing--"Arethusa!--my belovèd!"
+
+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 red geranium flowers and the great snow-capped
+mountain of Sicily.
+
+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.
+
+      "And now from their fountains
+      In Enna's mountains,
+    Down one vale where the morning basks,
+      Like friends once parted
+      Grown single-hearted,
+    They ply their watery tasks,
+      At sunrise they leap
+      From their cradles steep
+    In the cave of the shelving hill;
+      At noontide they flow
+      Through the woods below
+    And the meadows of asphodel;
+      And at night they sleep
+      In the rocking deep
+    Beneath the Ortygian shore;
+      Like spirits that lie
+      In the azure sky
+    When they love but live no more."
+
+        Shelley.
+
+
+
+
+PERSEUS THE HERO
+
+    "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."
+
+        Charles Kingsley.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+To her at length was born a son, a beautiful and 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.
+
+    "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.'"
+
+        Simonides of Keos.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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?"
+
+And in his dream Perseus answered without hesitation:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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, 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:
+
+"Perseus, wilt even end the sorrow of this piteous sinful one?" he
+answered, "Even that will I do--the gods helping me."
+
+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.
+
+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 was to be a great vengeance,
+and the vengeance was delayed.
+
+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.
+
+"Thou sayest that thy father is one of the gods!" they said. "Where is
+thy godlike gift, O Perseus!"
+
+And Polydectes, glad to humble the lad who was keeper of his mother's
+honour, echoed their foolish taunt.
+
+"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.
+
+Then Perseus, his head thrown back, gazed in the bold eyes of
+Polydectes.
+
+Son of Zeus he was indeed, as he looked with royal scorn at those whom
+he despised.
+
+"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."
+
+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
+to win what he sought, right would triumph, and wrong must be worsted.
+
+Still quivering with anger, Perseus went down to the blue sea that
+gently whispered its secrets to the shore on which he stood.
+
+"If Pallas Athené would but come," he thought--"if only my dreams
+might come true."
+
+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.
+
+So he prayed, "Come to me! I pray you, Pallas Athené, come! and let me
+dream true."
+
+His prayer was answered.
+
+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.
+
+In his hand she placed a polished shield, than which no mirror shone
+more brightly.
+
+"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."
+
+"But how, then, shall I cross the wet grey fields of this watery
+way?" asked Perseus. "Would that I were a white-winged bird that skims
+across the waves."
+
+And, with the smile of a loving comrade, Hermes laid his hand on the
+shoulder of Perseus.
+
+"My winged shoes shall be thine," he said, "and the white-winged
+sea-birds shalt thou leave far, far behind."
+
+"Yet another gift is thine," said Athené. "Gird on, as gift from the
+gods, this sword that is immortal."
+
+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?"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+the eye, and muttered and shivered in the blackness and the cold.
+
+[Illustration: THEY WHIMPERED AND BEGGED OF HIM]
+
+Boldly Perseus spoke to them and asked them to guide him to the place
+where Medusa and her sisters the Gorgons dwelt.
+
+"No others know where they dwell," he said. "Tell me, I pray thee, the
+way that I may find them."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+Then they whimpered and begged of him, and when they found that all
+their beseeching was in vain, at length they told him.
+
+"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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+And with the nymphs Perseus went up the mountain and asked the patient
+giant to guide him to the place of his quest.
+
+"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."
+
+"What is this helmet?" asked Perseus, "and how can I gain it?"
+
+"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."
+
+"What wouldst thou?" asked Perseus.
+
+And Atlas said, "For many a long year have I 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Two of them, like monstrous swine, lay asleep,
+
+    "But a third woman paced about the hall,
+    And ever turned her head from wall to wall,
+    And moaned aloud and shrieked in her despair,
+    Because the golden tresses of her hair
+    Were moved by writhing snakes from side to side,
+    That in their writhing oftentimes would glide
+    On to her breast or shuddering shoulders white;
+    Or, falling down, the hideous things would light
+    Upon her feet, and, crawling thence, would twine
+    Their slimy folds upon her ankles fine."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+In the shield of Pallas Athené the picture was mirrored, and as
+Perseus gazed on it his soul grew heavy for 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+So Perseus uncovered the face of Medusa and held it up for the Titan
+to gaze upon.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Far down below him as he flew one day he saw 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"Lo! he comes!" she cried. "Save me! ah, save me! I am so young to
+die."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Who so grateful then as the king and queen of Ethiopia? and who so
+happy as Andromeda? for Perseus, 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.
+
+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.
+
+For seven days the marriage feast lasted, but on the eighth night
+Pallas Athené came to Perseus in a dream.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Then did Perseus and Andromeda, in a red-prowed galley made by cunning
+craftsmen from Phoenicia, sail away westward, until at length they
+came to the blue 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.
+
+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.
+
+"So thou hast returned? oh nameless son of a deathless god," he said.
+"Thou didst boast, but methinks thy boast was an empty one!"
+
+But even as he spoke, the jeering smile froze on his face, and the
+faces of those who sat with him stiffened in horror.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"I go to seek Acrisius," he said. "My mother's father is your king."
+
+Again his galley sailed away, and at last, up the long Euboean Sea
+they came to the town of Larissa, where the old king now dwelt.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"Further still!" they cried. "Further still canst thou hurl! thou art
+a hero indeed!"
+
+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:
+
+"Behold me! I am Perseus, grandson of the man I have slain! Who can
+avoid the decree of the gods?"
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+NIOBE
+
+    "... Like Niobe, all tears."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+
+The quotation is an overworked quotation, like many another of those
+from _Hamlet_; 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.
+
+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 nor in heaven. Even in our
+own day there are mortal mothers who feel as Niobe felt.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+And to her boastful words Latona gave ear, and anger began to grow in
+her heart.
+
+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.
+
+"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 seven daughters, and see if they in beauty and all else
+do not equal the dwellers in Olympus!"
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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. 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.
+
+"She is so little!" she wailed. "So young--so dear! Ah, spare me
+_one_," she said, "only one out of so many!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+HYACINTHUS
+
+                ... "The sad death
+    Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath
+    Of Zephyr slew him--Zephyr penitent
+    Who now, ere Phoebus mounts the firmament,
+    Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain."
+
+        Keats.
+
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.[4]
+
+[Illustration: DARKNESS FELL ON THE EYES OF HYACINTHUS]
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[4] Legend says that on the petals of the hyacinth Apollo transcribed
+the letters "Aì,"--"Alas!"
+
+
+
+
+KING MIDAS OF THE GOLDEN TOUCH
+
+
+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 "_History_" 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.
+
+This is the story of Midas, one of the chief tragic comedians of
+mythology.
+
+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:
+
+"The first man who enters your city riding in a car shall be your
+king."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Therefore one day when he and his court were sitting 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.
+
+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.
+
+Not even for a moment did Midas ponder.
+
+"I would have gold," he said hastily--"much gold. I would have that
+touch by which all common and valueless things become golden
+treasures."
+
+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."
+
+Then Bacchus and Silenus went away, a rout of singing revellers at
+their heels, and Midas quickly put to proof the words of Bacchus.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+In despair, at length he cried to the god who had given him the gift
+that he hated.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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:
+
+"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."
+
+Apollo heard his boast, and heard it angrily.
+
+"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?"
+
+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:
+
+"Yea, would I, Apollo! Willingly would I play thee a match--thou on
+thy golden lyre--I on my reeds from the river."
+
+Thus did it come to pass that Apollo and Pan matched against each
+other their music, and King Midas was one of the judges.
+
+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.
+
+"Canst, then, make music like unto my music, Apollo?" he said.
+
+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 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.
+
+For the space of many seconds all was silence.
+
+Then, in low voice, Apollo asked:
+
+"Ye who listen--who is the victor?"
+
+And earth and sea and sky, and all the creatures of earth and sky, and
+of the deep, replied as one:
+
+"The victory is thine, Divine Apollo."
+
+Yet was there one dissentient voice.
+
+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."
+
+Therefore he raised his voice, and called very loud: "Pan's music is
+sweeter and truer and greater than the music of Apollo. Pan is the
+victor, and I, King Midas, give him the victor's crown!"
+
+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.
+
+Then he spoke:
+
+"The ears of an ass have heard my music," he said. "Henceforth shall
+Midas have ass's ears."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 whispered to the damp earth:
+"King Midas has ass's ears."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CEYX AND HALCYONE
+
+    "St. Martin's summer, halcyon days."
+
+        _King Henry VI_, i. 2, 131.
+
+
+"Halcyon days"--how often is the expression made use of, how seldom do
+its users realise from whence they have borrowed it.
+
+"These were halcyon days," says the old man, and his memory wanders
+back to a time when for him
+
+      "All the world is young, lad,
+    And all the trees are green;
+    And every goose a swan, lad,
+    And every lass a queen."
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 joy it is to lash the waves into rage and to strew
+with dead men and broken timber the angry, surf-beaten shore.
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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, 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A GREY COLD MORNING FOUND HER ON THE SEASHORE]
+
+Yet the gods were not merciless--or, perhaps, the love of Halcyone was
+an all-conquering love. For as 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Ceyx!" they cry. "Remember Ceyx!"
+
+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.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    _Note._--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."
+
+
+
+
+ARISTÆUS THE BEE-KEEPER
+
+    "... Every sound is sweet;
+    Myriads of rivers hurrying thro' the lawn,
+    The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
+    And murmuring of innumerable bees."
+
+        Tennyson.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 perilous voyagings and beguiled to
+swarm in the sanctuary of a hive.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"This do I already know, my son," said Cyrene, and smiled upon
+Aristæus.
+
+"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 to the hives
+their honeyed treasure. The comb is empty. The bees are all dead--or,
+if not dead, they have forsaken me forever."
+
+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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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 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
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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 the heart of a man who has striven valiantly in a great
+fight and to whom the battle is assured.
+
+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."
+
+"Out of the eater came forth meat, out of the strong came forth
+sweetness."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+PROSERPINE
+
+    "Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,
+    Thou from whose immortal bosom,
+    Gods, and men, and beasts have birth,
+    Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
+    Breathe thine influence most divine
+    On thine own child, Proserpine.
+
+    If with mists of evening dew
+    Thou dost nourish those young flowers
+    Till they grow, in scent and hue,
+    Fairest children of the hours,
+    Breathe thine influence most divine
+    On thine own child, Proserpine."
+
+        Shelley.
+
+
+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!"
+
+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 grow
+with more dazzling colours and more fragrant perfume than in the fair
+garden of Sicily.
+
+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.
+
+    "'The coal-black horses rise--they rise,
+    O mother, mother!' low she cries--
+    Persephone--Persephone!
+    'O light, light, light!' she cries, 'farewell;
+    The coal-black horses wait for me.
+    O shade of shades, where I must dwell,
+    Demeter, mother, far from thee!'"[5]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "What ails her that she comes not home?
+    Demeter seeks her far and wide,
+    And gloomy-browed doth ceaseless roam
+    From many a morn till eventide.
+    'My life, immortal though it be,
+    Is nought,' she cries, 'for want of thee,
+    Persephone--Persephone!'"
+
+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.
+
+    "'My life is nought for want of thee,--
+    Persephone! Persephone!'" ...
+
+The cry is borne down through the ages, to echo and re-echo so long as
+mothers love and Death is still unchained.
+
+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.
+
+"Let us go to the Sun God," said Hecate. "Surely 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Then upon the earth did there come dearth and drought and barrenness.
+
+    "The wheat
+    Was blighted in the ear, the purple grapes
+    Blushed no more on the vines, and all the gods
+    Were sorrowful ..."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Unwillingly Zeus granted the request of Demeter.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 Demeter to save her child.
+She "had eaten of Love's seed" and "changed into another."
+
+    "He takes the cleft pomegranate seeds:
+    'Love, eat with me this parting day;'
+    Then bids them fetch the coal-black steeds--
+    'Demeter's daughter, wouldst away?'
+    The gates of Hades set her free;
+    'She will return full soon,' saith he--
+    'My wife, my wife Persephone.'"
+
+        Ingelow.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Time calls, and Change
+    Commands both men and gods, and speeds us on
+    We know not whither; but the old earth smiles
+    Spring after spring, and the seed bursts again
+    Out of its prison mould, and the dead lives
+    Renew themselves, and rise aloft and soar
+    And are transformed, clothing themselves with change,
+    Till the last change be done."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[5] Jean Ingelow.
+
+
+
+
+LATONA AND THE RUSTICS
+
+
+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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Surely, good people," she said, and her voice was sad and low, "water
+is free to all. Very far have I 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 in the mud of the
+green-scummed pools, thy homes in the water that thy flat feet have
+defiled."
+
+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
+"_Krroak! krroak! krroak!_" that we know so well.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+And on this sanctuary there were born to Latona twin children,
+thereafter to be amongst the most famed of the deathless gods--the
+god and goddess, Apollo and Diana.
+
+    "... Those hinds that were transformed to frogs
+    Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny,
+    Which after held the sun and moon in fee."
+
+        Milton.
+
+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.
+
+"We did not know! We did not understand! Pity us! Ah, pity us!
+_Krroak! krroak! krroak!_"
+
+
+
+
+ECHO AND NARCISSUS
+
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Narcissus, the beautiful son of a nymph and a river 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Who's here?" he called.
+
+"_Here!_" answered Echo.
+
+Narcissus, peering amongst the trees' long shadows and seeing no one,
+called "Come!"
+
+And "_Come!_" called the glad voice of Echo, while the nymph, with
+fast-beating heart, felt that her day of happiness had come indeed.
+
+"Why do you shun me?" then called Narcissus.
+
+"_Why do you shun me?_" Echo repeated.
+
+"Let us join one another," said the lad, and the simple words seemed
+turned into song when Echo said them over.
+
+"_Let us join one another!_" 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 she pushed aside the leaves of the trackless
+wood, and ran forward with white arms outstretched to him who was lord
+of her life.
+
+[Illustration: SHE HAUNTED HIM LIKE HIS SHADOW]
+
+With cold eyes and colder heart the one she loved beheld her.
+
+"Away!" he cried, shrinking back as if from something that he hated.
+"_Away!_ I would rather die than that you should have me!"
+
+"_Have me!_" 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.
+
+Heartwhole and happy, Narcissus, slayer of happiness, 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.
+
+Hot and tired from the chase, Narcissus sought one day a lonely pool
+in the woods, there to rest and to quench his thirst.
+
+    "In some delicious ramble, he had found
+    A little space, with boughs all woven round;
+    And in the midst of all, a clearer pool
+    Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool
+    The blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping
+    Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+Echo and the other nymphs were avenged, yet when they looked on the
+beautiful dead Narcissus, they were 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.
+
+                  "A lonely flower he spied,
+    A meek and forlorn flower, with naught of pride,
+    Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clearness,
+    To woo its own sad image into nearness;
+    Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move,
+    But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love."
+
+        Keats.
+
+
+
+
+ICARUS
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+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.
+
+For his crime Dædalus was banished from Athens, and in the court of
+Minos, king of Crete, he found 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.
+
+Many a Cretan bird was sacrificed before the task 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+On the dead, still face of Icarus they shone, and they spangled as if
+with diamonds the wet plumage that still, widespread, bore him up on
+the waves.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+So much had he dared--so little accomplished.
+
+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?
+
+
+
+
+CLYTIE
+
+
+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?
+
+"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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+    "The heart that has truly loved never forgets,
+      But as truly loves on to the close;
+    As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets
+      The same look that she turned when he rose."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRANES OF IBYCUS
+
+    "For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
+    With most miraculous organ."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+
+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.
+
+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
+sands of Egypt, to dance and beck and bow to each other by the marshes
+of his homeland.
+
+"Welcome back, little brothers!" he cried. "May you and I both meet
+with naught but kindness from the people of this land!"
+
+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.
+
+"Take up my cause, dear cranes!" he said, "since no voice but yours
+answers my cry!"
+
+And the cranes screamed hoarsely and mournfully as if in farewell, as
+they flapped their way towards Corinth and left the poet lying dead.
+
+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.
+
+"Is it thus I find you restored to me?" said he who had expected him
+in Corinth as his honoured guest; "I who hoped to place the victor's
+laurels on your head when you triumphed in the temple of song!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+
+    "With all the pomp of horror, dy'd in gore."
+
+        Virgil.
+
+In solemn cadence, while the thousands of beholders watched and
+listened enthralled, the Furies walked round the theatre and sang
+their song of terror:
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"_See there! see there! behold, comrade, the cranes of Ibycus!_"
+
+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.
+
+"Seize him! seize him!" cried in unison the voices of thousands.
+"Seize the man, and him to whom he spoke!"
+
+Frantically the trembling wretch tried to deny his words, but it was
+too late. The roar of the multitudes 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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+SYRINX
+
+    "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?"
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+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.
+
+This is the story of Syrinx, the reed, as Ovid has told it to us.
+
+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.
+
+    "But as for Love, truly I know him not,
+    I have passionately turned my lips therefrom,
+    And from that fate the careless gods allot."
+
+        Lady Margaret Sackville.
+
+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.
+
+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. He was Life itself. So
+did they talk, and Syrinx listened with a smile. Not Pan himself could
+bring Fear to her.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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, 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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"Thus shalt thou still be mine, my Syrinx," he said.
+
+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.
+
+So did the god make music.
+
+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:
+
+    "A note of music by its own breath slain,
+    Blown tenderly from the frail heart of a reed,"
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE DEATH OF ADONIS
+
+    "The fairest youth that ever maiden's dream conceived."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 on him and bring
+him death, the boy laughed mockingly and with scorn.
+
+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.
+
+With terrible foreboding, Aphrodite tried to dissuade him from his
+venture.
+
+    "O, be advised: thou know'st not what it is
+    With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
+    Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,
+    Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Alas, he naught esteems that face of thine,
+    To which love's eyes pay tributary gazes;
+    Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,
+    Whose full perfection all the world amazes;
+    But having thee at vantage--wondrous dread!--
+    Would root these beauties as he roots the mead."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+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.
+
+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 maybe persuade him, for love of her, to give up the
+perilous chase because she loved him so.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+And as, _in extremis_, 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "A cruel, cruel wound on his thigh hath Adonis, but a
+    deeper wound in her heart doth Cytherea[6] 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:
+
+    "'_Woe, woe for Cytherea, he hath perished, the lovely
+    Adonis!_'"
+
+        Bion.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Never can it be that the Queen of Love and of 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."
+
+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.
+
+    "But even in death, so strong is love,
+    I could not wholly die; and year by year,
+    When the bright springtime comes, and the earth lives,
+    Love opens these dread gates, and calls me forth
+    Across the gulf. Not here, indeed, she comes,
+    Being a goddess and in heaven, but smooths
+    My path to the old earth, where still I know
+    Once more the sweet lost days, and once again
+    Blossom on that soft breast, and am again
+    A youth, and rapt in love; and yet not all
+    As careless as of yore; but seem to know
+    The early spring of passion, tamed by time
+    And suffering, to a calmer, fuller flow,
+    Less fitful, but more strong."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 _Sursum Corda_, 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
+
+    "Le ciel tout en fleur semble une immense rose
+    Qu'un Adonis céleste a teinte de son sang."
+
+        De Heredia.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[6] Aphrodite.
+
+
+
+
+PAN
+
+    "What was he doing, the great god Pan,
+      Down in the reeds by the river?
+    Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
+    Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
+    And breaking the golden lilies afloat
+      With the dragon-fly on the river.
+
+    He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
+      From the deep cool bed of the river:
+    The limpid water turbidly ran,
+    And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
+    And the dragon-fly had fled away,
+      Ere he brought it out of the river.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    'This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan
+      (Laughed while he sat by the river),
+    'The only way, since gods began
+    To make sweet music, they could succeed.'
+    Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
+      He blew in power by the river.
+
+    Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
+      Piercing sweet by the river!
+    Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
+    The sun on the hill forgot to die,
+    And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
+      Came back to dream on the river.
+
+    Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
+      To laugh as he sits by the river,
+    Making a poet out of a man:
+    The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,
+    For the reed which grows nevermore again
+      As a reed with the reeds in the river."
+
+        E. B. Browning.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 _motif_--the
+clear, magical fluting of the pipes of Pan.
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _All_.
+
+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 whom
+he made melody from the pipes for whose creation a maid had perished.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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. _Panic_ was the name given to this
+fear--the name by 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, _Fear_ 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--
+
+    "_To Pan, and to the Sylvan deities_"?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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."
+
+"_The Beauty and the terror of the world_"--was not this what Pan
+stood for to the Greeks of long ago?
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+    "In Being's floods, in Action's storm,
+    I walk and work, above, beneath,
+    Work and weave in endless motion!
+            Birth and Death,
+            An infinite ocean;
+            A seizing and giving
+            The fire of Living;
+    'Tis thus at the roaring loom of Time I ply,
+    And weave for God the Garment thou seest Him by."
+
+So speaks the _Erdgeist_ in Goethe's _Faust_, and yet another of the
+greatest of the poets writes:
+
+    "The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains--
+    Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns?
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    And the ear of man cannot hear, and the eye of man cannot see;
+    But if we could see and hear, this Vision--were it not He?"
+
+        Tennyson.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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, _Great Pan is dead!_"
+
+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--"_Pan is dead--Pan is dead._"
+
+    "The lonely mountains o'er
+    And the resounding shore,
+    A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;
+    From haunted spring and dale
+    Edg'd with poplar pale,
+    The parting genius is with sighing sent;
+    With flow'r-inwoven tresses torn,
+    The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn."
+
+        Milton.
+
+Pan was dead, and the gods died with him.
+
+    "Gods of Hellas, gods of Hellas,
+    Can ye listen in your silence?
+    Can your mystic voices tell us
+    Where ye hide? In floating islands,
+    With a wind that evermore
+    Keeps you out of sight of shore?
+          Pan, Pan is dead.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Gods! we vainly do adjure you,--
+    Ye return nor voice nor sign!
+    Not a votary could secure you
+    Even a grave for your Divine!
+    Not a grave to show thereby,
+    '_Here these grey old gods do lie,_'
+          Pan, Pan is dead."
+
+        E. B. Browning.
+
+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, "_Joie de vivre_," and De Musset speaks
+of "_Le vin de la jeunesse_" which ferments "_dans les veines de
+Dieu_." 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."
+
+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 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
+_Weltschmerz_--the echo of the pipes of Pan.
+
+    "... Oftenest in the dark woods I hear him sing
+    Dim, half-remembered things, where the old mosses cling
+    To the old trees, and the faint wandering eddies bring
+    The phantom echoes of a phantom spring."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+
+
+LORELEI
+
+    "Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
+    Dass ich so traurig bin;
+    Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,
+    Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
+    Dort oben wunderbar,
+    Ihr gold'nes Geschmeide blitzet,
+    Sie kämmt ihr gold'nes Haar.
+
+    Sie kämmt es mit gold'nem Kamme,
+    Und singt ein Lied dabei;
+    Das hat eine wundersame,
+    Gewaltige Melodei."
+
+        Heine.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Such were the sirens who would have compassed the 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 given to them by one of the earliest poets of Greece[7] 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."[8]
+
+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:
+
+    "Once I sat upon a promontory,
+    And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
+    Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
+    That the rude sea grew civil at her song;
+    And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
+    To hear the sea-maid's music."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Her voice was like the voice the stars
+    Had when they sang together."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+It is "ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten"--a legend of long ago.
+
+But it is a very much older _Märchen_ that tells us of the warning of
+Circe to Odysseus:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+    "_Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,_
+    _Dass ich so traurig bin._"
+
+For the sadness of heart, the melancholy that their music brings us is
+a mystery which none on this earth may ever unravel.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[7] Archilochus of Paros.
+
+[8] Fiona Macleod (_The Winged Destiny_).
+
+
+
+
+FREYA, QUEEN OF THE NORTHERN GODS
+
+
+"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 _Frouwa_ (=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.
+
+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 home," is commemorating the name of the Lady, Freya, to whom
+his ancestors offered their prayers.
+
+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.
+
+    "Of me the gods are sprung;
+    And all that is to come I know, but lock
+    In my own breast, and have to none reveal'd."
+
+        Matthew Arnold.
+
+[Illustration: FREYA SAT SPINNING THE CLOUDS]
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Take thou thy women-folk,
+    Maidens and wives;
+    Over your ankles
+    Lace on the white war-hose;
+    Over your bosoms
+    Link up the hard mail-nets;
+    Over your lips
+    Plait long tresses with cunning;--
+    So war beasts full-bearded
+    King Odin shall deem you,
+    When off the grey sea-beach
+    At sunrise ye greet him."
+
+        Charles Kingsley.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 _Langobarden_ 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.
+
+With the coming of Christianity, Freya, the Beloved, was cast out
+along with all the other old forgotten gods. 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.
+
+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--
+
+    "Saxon and Norman and Dane are we"--
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE DEATH OF BALDUR
+
+    "I heard a voice, that cried,
+    'Baldur the Beautiful
+    Is dead, is dead!'
+    And through the misty air
+    Passed like the mournful cry
+    Of sunward sailing cranes."
+
+        Longfellow.
+
+
+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.
+
+    "My strength is of the strength of ten,
+    Because my heart is pure."
+
+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 _Baldrsbrá_. The god of the
+Norsemen was essentially a god of battles, and we are told by great
+authorities that Baldur was originally 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+Odin alone remained unsatisfied. Mounted on his 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.
+
+    "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.'"
+
+        Dasent.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"_Who_," he asked, "_would refuse to weep at Baldur's death?_"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _sans peur et sans reproche_.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"All things?" queried Loki.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+Hodur stood aside, while the other gods merrily pursued their sport.
+
+"Why dost thou not take aim at Baldur with a weapon that fails and so
+join in the laughter?" asked Loki.
+
+And Hodur sadly made answer:
+
+"Well dost thou know that darkness is my lot, nor have I ought to
+cast at my brother."
+
+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. "_Baldur the Beautiful is dead! is dead!_"
+
+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.
+
+"That was the greatest woe that ever befell gods and men," says the
+story.
+
+The sound of terrible mourning in place of laughter brought Freya to
+where
+
+    "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."
+
+        Matthew Arnold.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+    "Come then! if Baldur was so dear beloved,
+    And this is true, and such a loss is Heaven's--
+    Hear, how to Heaven may Baldur be restored.
+    Show me through all the world the signs of grief!
+    Fails but one thing to grieve, here Baldur stops!
+    Let all that lives and moves upon the earth
+    Weep him, and all that is without life weep;
+    Let Gods, men, brutes, beweep him; plants and stones,
+    So shall I know the loss was dear indeed,
+    And bend my heart, and give him back to Heaven."
+
+        Matthew Arnold.
+
+Gladly Hermoder made answer:
+
+"All things shall weep for Baldur!"
+
+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.
+
+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 _Ringhorn_,
+the largest in the world.
+
+[Illustration: "BALDUR THE BEAUTIFUL IS DEAD"]
+
+    "Seventy ells and four extended
+    On the grass the vessel's keel;
+    High above it, gilt and splendid,
+    Rose the figure-head ferocious
+    With its crest of steel."
+
+        Longfellow.
+
+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.
+
+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, "_All creatures weep, and
+Baldur shall return!_"
+
+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:
+
+    "Neither in life, nor yet in death,
+    Gave he me gladness.
+    Let Hel keep her prey."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "They launched the burning ship!
+    It floated far away
+    Over the misty sea,
+    Till like the sun it seemed,
+    Sinking beneath the waves,
+    Baldur returned no more!"
+
+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 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
+_Resurrection_.
+
+    "So perish the old Gods!
+    But out of the sea of time
+    Rises a new land of song,
+    Fairer than the old."
+
+        Longfellow.
+
+    "Heartily know,
+    When half-gods go,
+    The gods arrive."
+
+        Emerson.
+
+
+
+
+BEOWULF
+
+    "He was of mankind
+    In might the strongest."
+
+        Longfellow's Translation.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+and his hearth-sharers once lived, and there, on the highest ness of
+our eastern coast, under a great barrow, that Beowulf was buried.
+_Beowulfesby_--_Bowlby_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+
+    "A fair troop of warrior thanes guarding it found he;
+    Heedlessly sleeping, they recked not of sorrow."
+
+Never a thought did they give to the Grendel,--
+
+    "A haunter of marshes, a holder of moors,
+                                ... Secret
+    The land he inhabits; dark, wolf-haunted ways
+    Of the windy hillside, by the treacherous tarn;
+    Or where, covered up in its mist, the hill stream
+    Downward flows."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+In the realm of the Goths, Hygelac was king, and 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 little time the valiant warden
+watched them from afar, and then, one man against fifteen, he rode
+quickly down and challenged the warriors.
+
+    "What are ye warlike men      wielding bright weapons,
+    Wearing grey corselets and      boar-adorned helmets,
+    Who o'er the water-paths      come with your foaming keel
+    Ploughing the ocean surge?      I was appointed
+    Warden of Denmark's shores;      watch hold I by the wave
+    That on this Danish coast      no deadly enemy
+    Leading troops over sea      should land to injure.
+    None have here landed yet      more frankly coming
+    Than this fair company:      and yet ye answer not
+    The password of warriors,      and customs of kinsmen.
+    Ne'er have mine eyes beheld      a mightier warrior,
+    An earl more lordly than      is he the chief of you;
+    He is no common man;      if looks belie him not,
+    He is a hero bold,      worthily weaponed.
+    Anon must I know of you      kindred and country,
+    Lest ye of spies should go      free on our Danish soil.
+    Now ye men from afar,      sailing the surging sea,
+    Have heard my earnest thought:      best is a quick reply,
+    That I may swiftly know      whence ye have hither come."
+
+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
+
+    "Cometh in dark of night,      sateth his secret hate,
+    Worketh through fearsome awe,      slaughter and shame."
+
+With joy the warden heard his noble words.
+
+"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."
+
+It was a gallant band that strode into Heorot, where 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Needs must I now perform knightly deeds in this hall,
+    Or here must meet my doom in darksome night."
+
+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,
+
+    "I have heard
+    That that foul miscreant's dark and stubborn flesh
+    Recks not the force of arms ...
+    Hand to hand ... Beowulf will grapple with the mighty foe."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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:
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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:
+
+    "Grieve not!... Each man must undergo death at the end of life.
+    Let him win, while he may, warlike fame in the world!
+    That is best after death for the slain warrior."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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,
+
+                                "A glorious sword,
+    An old brand gigantic,      trusty in point and edge,
+    An heirloom of heroes."
+
+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 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.
+
+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 "_Beowulf! Beowulf!_"
+
+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:
+
+                                "Well hast thou treated us.
+    If on this earth I can      do more to win thy love,
+    O prince of warriors,      than I have wrought as yet,
+    Here stand I ready now      weapons to wield for thee.
+    If I shall ever hear      o'er the encircling flood
+    That any neighbouring foes      threaten thy nation's fall,
+    As Grendel grim before,      swift will I bring to thee
+    Thousands of noble thanes,      heroes to help thee."
+
+Then, in their ship, that the Warden of the Coast once had challenged,
+Beowulf and his warriors set sail for their own dear land.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 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:
+
+    "Seeing that Death, a necessary end,
+    Will come when it will come."[9]
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A STROKE SHIVERED THE SWORD]
+
+The hero's sword flashed, and smote a stark blow upon its scaly head.
+But Beowulf could not deal death 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.
+
+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 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:
+
+    "I thank God eternal,      the great King of Glory,
+    For the vast treasures      which I here gaze upon,
+    That I ere my death-day      might for my people
+    Win so great wealth--      Since I have given my life,
+    Thou must now look to      the needs of the nation;
+    Here dwell I no longer,      for Destiny calleth me!
+    Bid thou my warriors      after my funeral pyre
+    Build me a burial-cairn      high on the sea-cliffs head;
+    It shall for memory      tower up to Hronesness,
+    So that the sea-farers      Beowulf's Barrow
+    Henceforth shall name it,      they who drive far and wide
+    Over the mighty flood      their foaming Reels.
+    Thou art the last of all      the kindred of Wagmund!
+    Wyrd[10] has swept all my kin,      all the brave chiefs away!
+    Now must I follow them!"
+
+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":
+
+    "Gentlest, most gracious, most keen to win glory."
+
+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
+
+    "High on the sea-cliff ledges
+    The white gulls are trooping and crying"
+
+--the barrow of Beowulf covers a very valiant hero, a very perfect
+gentleman.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[9] Shakespeare (_Julius Cæsar_).
+
+[10] Goddess of Fate.
+
+
+
+
+ROLAND THE PALADIN
+
+    "Roland, the flower of chivalry,
+    Expired at Roncevall."
+
+        Thomas Campbell.
+
+    "Hero-worship endures for ever while man
+    endures."
+
+        Carlyle.
+
+    "Roland, the gode knight."
+
+        Turpin's _History of Charlemagne_.
+
+
+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
+_Chanson de Roland_, and shouted, as chorus, "God be our help! God be
+our help!"
+
+    "Taillefer ... chantoit de Rollant
+    Et d'Olivier, et de Vassaux
+    Qui mourent en Rainschevaux."
+
+        Wace, _Roman de Rose_.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+777 or 778 A.D. 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.
+
+    "No fortress stands before him unsubdued,
+    Nor wall, nor city left to be destroyed,"
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"A hungry one this," he said, "and very bold."
+
+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.
+
+"My father gave her wine," he thought. "They were drinking wine in
+that great hall. It will make her white cheeks red again."
+
+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.
+
+"No! no! bold thief," he said, "I cannot have my golden cup stolen
+from me, be it done by ever so sturdy a robber. Tell me, who sent thee
+out to steal?"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Who art thou, then?" asked Charlemagne.
+
+"My name is Roland--let me go, I pray thee," and again he tried to
+drag himself free. And Charlemagne mockingly said:
+
+"Roland, I fear thy father and mother have taught thee to be a clever
+thief."
+
+Then anger blazed in Roland's eyes.
+
+"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.
+
+Then Charlemagne turned to his lords and asked--"Who is this child?"
+
+And one made answer: "He is the son of thy sister Bertha, and of Milon
+the knight, who was drowned these three weeks agone."
+
+Then the heart of Charlemagne grew heavy with remorse when he found
+that his sister had so nearly died 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+And all the other peers applauded the choice, and Charlemagne said to
+Ganelon:
+
+"Come hither, Ganelon, and receive my staff and glove, which the voice
+of all the Franks have given to thee."
+
+But the honour which all the others coveted was not held to be an
+honour by Ganelon. In furious rage he turned upon Roland:
+
+"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!"
+
+And Roland grew red, then very white, and said:
+
+"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.
+
+But Charlemagne, with darkened brow, shook his head.
+
+"Ganelon must go," he said, "for so have I commanded. Go! for the
+honour of Jesus Christ, and for your Emperor."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"Thou hast done well, Ganelon," said the king. "I give thanks to my
+God and to thee. Thou shalt be well rewarded."
+
+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.
+
+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
+dangers for the rearguard naturally seemed to Charlemagne to be the
+greatest, and to his Douzeperes he turned, as before, for counsel.
+
+"Who, then, shall command the rearguard?" he asked. And quickly
+Ganelon answered, "Who but Roland? Ever would he seek the post where
+danger lies."
+
+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:
+
+    "_For dred of dethe, he hid neuer his hed._"
+
+Leaving them behind with twenty thousand men, and with Ganelon
+commanding the vanguard, Charlemagne started.
+
+"Christ keep you!" he said on parting with Roland--"_I betak you to
+Crist._"
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "I will fight with them that us hathe sought
+    And or I se my brest blod throughe my harnes ryn
+    Blow never horn for no help then."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Red was Roland, red with bloodshed;
+    Red his corselet, red his shoulders,
+    Red his arm, and red his charger."
+
+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.
+
+    "'Friend, what hast thou there?' cried Roland.
+    'In this game 'tis not a distaff,
+    But a blade of steel thou needest.
+    Where is now Hauteclaire, thy good sword,
+    Golden-hilted, crystal-pommelled?'
+    'Here,' said Oliver; 'so fight I
+    That I have not time to draw it.'
+    'Friend,' quoth Roland, 'more I love thee
+    Ever henceforth than a brother.'"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The war-cry of the soldiers of France--"Montjoie! Montjoie!"--rang
+clear above the fierce sound of the trumpets of the Saracen army.
+
+    "'Soldiers of the Lord,' cried Turpin,
+    'Be ye valiant and steadfast,
+    For this day shall crowns be given you
+    Midst the flowers of Paradise.
+    In the name of God our Saviour,
+    Be ye not dismayed nor frighted,
+    Lest of you be shameful legends
+    Chanted by the tongues of minstrels.
+    Rather let us die victorious,
+    Since this eve shall see us lifeless!--
+    Heaven has no room for cowards!
+    Knights, who nobly fight, and vainly,
+    Ye shall sit among the holy
+    In the blessed fields of Heaven.
+    On then, Friends of God, to glory!'"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 beasts devour
+them and croaking wretches with foul beaks tear our flesh and leave
+our bones dishonoured."
+
+"That is well said," quoth Roland and Oliver.
+
+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.
+
+For days on end Charlemagne had been alarmed at the delay of his
+rearguard, but ever the false Ganelon had reassured him.
+
+"Why shouldst thou fear, sire?" he asked. "Roland has surely gone
+after some wild boar or deer, so fond is he of the chase."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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:
+
+      "... a blast of that dread horn,
+    On Fontarabian echoes borne,
+      That to King Charles did come,
+    When Rowland brave, and Olivier,
+    And every paladin and peer,
+      On Roncesvalles died."
+
+        Sir Walter Scott.
+
+[Illustration: ROLAND SEIZED ONCE MORE HIS HORN]
+
+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.
+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.
+
+    "'Ah, gentle lord,' said Roland, 'give me leave
+    To carry here our comrades who are dead,
+    Whom we so dearly loved; they must not lie
+    Unblest; but I will bring their corpses here
+    And thou shalt bless them, and me, ere thou die.'
+    'Go,' said the dying priest, 'but soon return.
+    Thank God! the victory is yours and mine!'"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Alas! brave priest, fair lord of noble birth,
+    Thy soul I give to the great King of Heaven!
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    May thy fair soul escape the pains of Hell,
+    And Paradise receive thee in its bowers!"
+
+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 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.
+
+"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:
+
+    "I surely die; but, ere I end,
+    Let me be sure that thou art ended too my friend!
+    For should a heathen grasp thee when I am clay,
+    My ghost would grieve full sore until the judgment day!"
+
+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 pass of
+Roncesvalles, even such a blast may be heard, waking all the echoes
+and sounding through the lonely hollows of the hills.
+
+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.
+
+              "... With hands devoutly joined
+    He breathed his last. God sent his Cherubim,
+    Saint Raphael, Saint Michel del Peril.
+    Together with them Gabriel came.--All bring
+    The soul of Count Rolland to Paradise.
+                                      Aoi."
+
+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.
+
+"All the field was with blod ouer roun"--"Many a good swerd was broken
+ther"--"Many a fadirles child ther was at home."
+
+By the side of Roland, Charlemagne vowed vengeance, but ere he avenged
+his death he mourned over him with infinite anguish:
+
+    "'The Lord have mercy, Roland, on thy soul!
+    Never again shall our fair France behold
+    A knight so worthy, till France be no more!
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    How widowed lies our fair France, and how lone!
+    How will the realms that I have swayed rebel,
+    Now thou art taken from my weary age!
+    So deep my woe that fain would I die too
+    And join my valiant Peers in Paradise,
+    While men inter my weary limbs with thine!'"
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+                    "... Roland, and Olyvere,
+    And of the twelve Tussypere,
+    That dieden in the batayle of Runcyvale;
+    Jesu lord, heaven king,
+    To his bliss hem and us both bring,
+    To liven withouten bale!"
+
+        Sir Otuel.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHILDREN OF LÎR
+
+    "Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water;
+    Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose;
+    While murmuring mournfully, Lîr's lonely daughter
+    Tells to the night-star her tale of woes."
+
+        Moore.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Behold my three daughters. Choose which one thou wilt."
+
+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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: ONE TOUCH FOR EACH, WITH A MAGICAL WAND OF THE DRUIDS]
+
+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
+Darvra; three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle,[11] which is
+between Erin and Alba; three hundred years more at Ivros Domnann[12]
+and at Inis Glora,[13] 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."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+When she reached the palace without the children, the king asked in
+disappointment why she had not brought them with her.
+
+"Lîr loves thee no longer," she made answer. "He will not trust his
+children to thee, lest thou shouldst work them some ill."
+
+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:
+
+"The suffering of the little children who are dear to our souls shall
+come to an end at last. Thine shall be an eternal doom."
+
+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."
+
+"A demon of the air," answered the cowering woman.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+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.
+
+To her brothers Finola said: "Beloved ones, of a surety the storm must
+drive us apart. Let us, then, appoint a place of meeting, lest we
+never look upon each other again."
+
+And, knowing that she spoke wisely and well, the three brothers
+appointed as their meeting-place the rock of Carricknarone.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"If Aed would only come," she said, "then should we be happy indeed."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Happy our father Lîr afar,
+    With mead, and songs of love and war:
+    The salt brine, and the white foam,
+    With these his children have their home.
+
+    In the sweet days of long ago,
+    Soft-clad we wandered to and fro:
+    But now cold winds of dawn and night
+    Pierce deep our feathers thin and light.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Beneath my wings my brothers lie
+    When the fierce ice-winds hurtle by;
+    On either side and 'neath my breast
+    Lîr's sons have known no other rest."
+
+        Fiona Macleod (William Sharp).
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+But Finola said to them:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+And while the years went by, there came to Erin one who brought glad
+tidings, for the holy Patrick came to lead men out of darkness into
+light. With him came Kemoc, and Kemoc made his home on Inis Glora.
+
+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.
+
+"Dost not know what sound it is?" she asked, divining their thoughts.
+
+"We heard a faint, fearful voice," they said, "but we know not what it
+is."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Is it truth that ye have dared to refuse a gift of your birds to my
+queen?" he asked, in wrath.
+
+And Kemoc answered: "It is truth."
+
+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.
+
+But as the king held their chains in his rude grasp, a wondrous thing
+took place.
+
+Instead of swans, there followed Larguen a very old woman,
+white-haired and feeble, and three very old men, 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.
+
+"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."
+
+    "As oft in life my brothers dear
+      Were sooth'd by me to rest--
+    Ficra and Conn beneath my wings,
+      And Aed before my breast;
+
+    So place the two on either hand--
+      Close, like the love that bound me;
+    Place Aed as close before my face,
+      And twine their arms around me."
+
+        Joyce.
+
+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.
+
+He buried them as Finola had wished, and raised a mound over them, and
+carved their names on a stone.
+
+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.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[11] The North Channel.
+
+[12] Erris, in Mayo.
+
+[13] A small island off Benmullet.
+
+
+
+
+DEIRDRÊ
+
+    "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...."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+So long ago, that it was before the birth of our Lord, so says
+tradition, there was born that
+
+          "Morning star of loveliness,
+    Unhappy Helen of a Western land,"
+
+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.
+
+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 _Book of Leinster_.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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:
+
+"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."
+
+And Felim made answer:
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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:
+
+    "_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._
+
+    "_You will have a little grave apart to yourself; you
+    will be a tale of wonder for ever, Deirdrê._"
+
+        Lady Gregory's Translation.
+
+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.
+
+"Tell me," one day she asked her teacher, "who made the stars, the
+firmament above, the earth, the flowers, both thee and me?"
+
+And Cathbad answered: "God. But who God is, alas! no man can say."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+And Lavarcam, without thought, made answer:
+
+"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."
+
+"And what will be the name of that man, Lavarcam?" asked Deirdrê. "And
+whence is he, and what his degree?"
+
+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[14] in the Isle of Skye.
+
+Then said Deirdrê: "My love shall be given to none but Naoise, son of
+Usna. To him shall it belong forever."
+
+From that day forward, Naoise held kingship over the thoughts and
+dreams of Deirdrê.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+And Lavarcam made answer: "These are Naoise, Ardan, and Ainle--the
+three sons of Usna."
+
+But Deirdrê looked hard at Lavarcam, and scorn and laughter were in
+her merry eyes.
+
+"Then shall I have speech with Naoise, Ardan, and 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.
+
+And the rough hinds, seeing such perfect loveliness, made very sure
+that Deirdrê was one of the _sidhe_[15] and stared at her with the
+round eyes and gaping mouths of wondering terror.
+
+For a moment Deirdrê gazed at them. Then: "Are ye the Sons of Usna?"
+she asked.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+And Deirdrê said: "I would fain see Naoise, one of the Sons of Usna."
+
+And once more the swineherd said: "My life is thine."
+
+Then Deirdrê, seeing in his eyes a very beautiful thing, stooped and
+kissed the swineherd on his weather-beaten, tanned forehead.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+From where the swineherd lay, Lavarcam went to 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.
+
+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 _sidhe_ 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.
+
+    "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."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Is it a wolf?" cried Deirdrê.
+
+And Naoise made answer: "Either a dead man, or the mark of where a man
+has lain hidden thou wilt find under the bracken."
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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
+Naoise because of the certain wrath of Conor, the king.
+
+Then said Naoise: "Although harm should come, for her dear sake I am
+willing to live in disgrace for the rest of my days."
+
+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."
+
+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,[16] 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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[17] they
+built for Deirdrê a sunny bower.
+
+On a sloping bank above the waterfall they built the little nest,
+thatched with the royal fern of the mountains, 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.
+
+"_Is tu mein na Dearshul agha_"--"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 _Oea_ speak.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+At these words there was great rejoicing amongst the lords of the Red
+Branch and all those who listened, 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.
+
+"Well did I know thou didst bear me no love," said Conor, and black
+was his brow.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+This he said, because to Fergus and to all the other of the Red
+Branch, a _geasa_, or pledge, was sacrosanct. And well he knew that
+Fergus had as one of his _geasa_ that he would never refuse an
+invitation to a feast.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"That is the voice of a man of Erin!" said Naoise, and stopped in his
+game to listen.
+
+But Deirdrê said, very quickly: "Not so! It is the voice of a Gael of
+Alba."
+
+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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+And Naoise said: "What then, best beloved, dost thou read from this
+dream of thine?"
+
+And Deirdrê said: "I read that Fergus comes from Conor with honeyed
+words of peace, but behind his treacherous words lies death."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Then said Naoise: "I am ready." But his eyes dared not meet the
+sea-blue eyes of Deirdrê, his queen.
+
+"Knowest thou that my pledge is one of honour?" asked Fergus.
+
+"I know it well," said Naoise.
+
+So in joyous feasting was that night spent, and only over the heart
+of Deirdrê hung that black cloud of sorrow to come, of woe
+unspeakable.
+
+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.
+
+And Deirdrê, over whom hung a doom she had not the courage to name,
+sang a song at parting:
+
+THE LAY OF DEIRDRE
+
+    "Beloved land, that Eastern land,
+    Alba, with its wonders.
+    O that I might not depart from it,
+    But that I go with Naoise.
+
+    Beloved is Dunfidgha and Dun Fin;
+    Beloved the Dun above them;
+    Beloved is Innisdraighende;[18]
+    And beloved Dun Suibhne.[19]
+
+    Coillchuan! O Coillchuan!
+    Where Ainnle would, alas! resort;
+    Too short, I deem, was then my stay
+    With Ainnle in Oirir Alban.
+
+    Glenlaidhe![20] O Glenlaidhe!
+    I used to sleep by its soothing murmur;
+    Fish, and flesh of wild boar and badger,
+    Was my repast in Glenlaidhe.
+
+    Glenmasan! O Glenmasan![21]
+    High its herbs, fair its boughs.
+    Solitary was the place of our repose
+    On grassy Invermasan.
+
+    Gleneitche![22] O Gleneitche!
+    There was raised my earliest home.
+    Beautiful its woods on rising,
+    When the sun struck on Gleneitche.
+
+    Glen Urchain![23] O Glen Urchain!
+    It was the straight glen of smooth ridges,
+    Not more joyful was a man of his age
+    Than Naoise in Glen Urchain.
+
+    Glendaruadh![24] O Glendaruadh!
+    My love each man of its inheritance.
+    Sweet the voice of the cuckoo, on bending bough,
+    On the hill above Glendaruadh.
+
+    Beloved is Draighen and its sounding shore;
+    Beloved is the water o'er the pure sand.
+    O that I might not depart from the east,
+    But that I go with my beloved!"
+
+        _Translated by W. F. Skene, LL.D._
+
+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.
+
+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 _geasa_, even
+although by holding to it the honour he 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 _geasa_ 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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."
+
+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.
+
+    "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."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+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 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 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.
+
+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 men of Conor, and where his brothers had slain hundreds,
+a thousand fell before his sword.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+    "Is it honour that ye love, brave and chivalrous Ultonians?
+    Or is the word of a base king better than noble truth?
+    Of a surety ye must be glad, who have basely slain honour
+    In slaying the three noblest and best of your brotherhood.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Let now my beauty that set all this warring aflame,
+    Let now my beauty be quenched as a torch that is spent--
+    For here shall I quench it, here, where my loved one lies,
+    A torch shall it be for him still through the darkness of death."
+
+        Fiona Macleod's Translation.
+
+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: "_The Red Branch perisheth! Uladh
+passeth! Uladh passeth!_" and when he had so spoken, the soul of
+Cathbad the Druid passed away.
+
+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.
+
+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!"
+
+    "I hear a voice crying, crying, crying: is it the wind
+    I hear, crying its old weary cry time out of mind?
+
+    _The grey wind weeps, the grey wind weeps, the grey wind weeps:_
+    _Dust on her breast, dust on her eyes, the grey wind weeps._"
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[14] Now Dunskaith.
+
+[15] Fairies.
+
+[16] The Hill of Howth, at Dublin Bay.
+
+[17] Dale of the Waterfall: now Dalness.
+
+[18] Inistrynich.
+
+[19] Dun Sween.
+
+[20] Glen Lug.
+
+[21] At the head of Holy Loch, Argyllshire.
+
+[22] Glen Etive.
+
+[23] Glenorchy.
+
+[24] Glendaruel.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX
+
+
+Acheron, 37
+
+Achilles, 71
+
+Acrisius, 105, 121, 122, 123
+
+Adam, 220
+
+Adonis, 178, 192, 202, 203, 205, 206, 207, 208
+
+Advocates' Library, 306
+
+Aed, 290, 299, 300, 304, 305
+
+Ægean Sea, 36, 90, 106, 121, 145, 146, 186
+
+Ægean Islands, 172
+
+Æolus, 144
+
+Æsculapius, 88
+
+Æsop, 169
+
+Ainle, 313, 315, 316, 317, 322, 325, 329, 330, 331
+
+Ainnle, 324
+
+Aix, 287
+
+Aix-la-Chapelle, 287
+
+Ajax, 71
+
+Alba, 295, 299, 307, 311, 317, 318, 319, 320, 321, 322, 325, 327, 331
+
+Alban, Oirir, 324
+
+Alexander the Great, 135
+
+Alpheus, 102, 103, 104
+
+Althæa, 69, 71, 75
+
+Amphion, 124, 128
+
+Anapus, 101
+
+Andromeda, 119, 120, 123
+
+Angelo, Michael, 203
+
+Anglo-Saxon, 245
+
+Angrbotha, 236
+
+Aphrodite, 5, 13, 14, 15, 42, 46, 47, 49, 56, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65,
+    66, 67, 79, 81, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206
+
+Apollo, 5, 16, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 24, 27, 28, 29, 32, 42, 43, 44, 45,
+    49, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 101, 125, 126, 127, 129, 130,
+    131, 132, 133, 139, 140, 141, 142, 145, 164, 165, 173, 185, 186,
+    187, 188, 190, 191, 192, 267
+
+Apollo Belvidere, 11
+
+Apollo, Phoebus, 19
+
+Appin, 317
+
+Arachne, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 88, 89
+
+Arcadia, 71, 77, 78, 197, 211
+
+Arcadian, 75
+
+Archilochus, 223
+
+Ard, Loch, 320
+
+Ardan, 312, 315, 316, 317, 322, 323, 325, 329, 330, 331
+
+Arethusa, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104
+
+Argo, 39
+
+Argonauts, 39
+
+Argos, 105, 122, 128
+
+Aristæus, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160
+
+Aristophanes, 169
+
+Argyllshire, 324
+
+Arnold, Matthew, 228, 239, 240
+
+Aros, 317
+
+Artemis, 26, 27
+
+Arthur, King, 268
+
+Aschere, 256
+
+Asgard, 230, 231, 235, 239, 240, 242
+
+Asia, 135
+
+Atalanta, 71, 72, 73, 74, 76, 78, 79, 80, 81
+
+Athené, Pallas, 3, 4, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111,
+    112, 115, 120, 182
+
+Athens, 181, 182
+
+Atlas, 114, 115, 117
+
+Aude the Fair, 282, 287
+
+Aurora, 20, 21
+
+Australia, 220
+
+Awe, Loch, 320
+
+
+Bacchantes, 40
+
+Bacchus, 40, 136, 138
+
+Baldrsbrá, 234
+
+Baldur, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243
+
+Ballycastle, 325
+
+Bann, 301
+
+Bartholomew, 88
+
+Bavière, Naismes de, 272
+
+Belvidere, Apollo, 11
+
+Ben Cruachan, 318
+
+Ben Etair, 317
+
+Benmullet, 295
+
+Beowulf, 229, 244, 245, 246, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256,
+    257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265
+
+Beowulf's Barrow, 264
+
+Beowulfesby, 245
+
+Bertha, 269, 271, 272
+
+Bion, 206
+
+Blancandrin, 268, 274
+
+Blaye, 287
+
+Bodb the Red, 289, 290, 291, 296, 301
+
+Boreas, 212
+
+Borrach, 321, 325, 326
+
+Bowlby Cliff, 244, 245
+
+Branch, Red, 307, 308, 320, 321, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333
+
+Breton, 267
+
+Brisingamen, 229, 255, 260
+
+Britain, 244, 268
+
+Brittany, 267
+
+Brocken, 233
+
+Browning, E. B., 209, 218
+
+Buinne the Red, 322, 329
+
+Byron, 10
+
+
+Calliope, 32
+
+Calvary, 216
+
+Calvinism, 215
+
+Calydon, 69, 70, 71, 78
+
+Calydonian Hunt, 69, 72, 76
+
+Campbell, Thos., 266
+
+Carlyle, Thos., 215, 216, 266
+
+Carmichael, Alexander, 307
+
+Carraig Uisneach, 325
+
+Carricknarone, 299, 300
+
+Cassiopeia, 123
+
+Castor, 71
+
+Cathbad, 307, 309, 310, 311, 327, 330, 332
+
+Caucasus, Mt., 8
+
+Celts, 289, 306
+
+Cepheus, 123
+
+Cerberus, 34
+
+Ceyx, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 150, 151, 152, 153
+
+Champions of the Red Branch, 307, 308
+
+Chanson de Roland, 266
+
+Chaos, 2
+
+Charlemagne, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276,
+    277, 280, 281, 282, 286, 287
+
+Charles, King, 282
+
+Charon, 37, 38
+
+Chemmis, 117
+
+Chinese, 208
+
+Christian, 272, 275, 295, 303
+
+Christianity, 215, 227, 232
+
+Cimmerian Mountains, 148
+
+Circe, 226
+
+Claros, 145
+
+Clio, 129
+
+Clymene, 16, 17, 18, 24
+
+Clytie, 189
+
+Cocytus, 59, 63, 64, 104, 115, 167, 207
+
+Coillchuan, 324
+
+Colophon, 83, 86, 87
+
+Conall, 321
+
+Conchubar, 307
+
+Conn, 290, 295, 299, 304, 305
+
+Connaught, 304
+
+Conor, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311, 313, 316, 317, 319, 320, 321, 322,
+    323, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 333
+
+Copenhagen, 244
+
+Cordova, 268, 274
+
+Corinth, 192, 193
+
+Crete, 182, 183
+
+Cruachan, Ben, 318
+
+Cuchulainn, 321, 331, 332
+
+Cyane, 163
+
+Cyclades, 107
+
+Cycnus, 24
+
+Cynthian, 126
+
+Cyprus, 11, 13, 60, 194, 202, 204
+
+Cyrene, 155, 156, 157
+
+Cytherea, 206
+
+Cytherian shores, 203
+
+
+Dædalus, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 187, 188
+
+Dail-an-eas, 318
+
+Dalness, 318
+
+Danaë, 105, 106, 107, 121
+
+Danaïdes, 35
+
+Dane, 233, 248, 250, 257, 259
+
+Danish, 250, 251, 256
+
+Dante, 16
+
+Daphne, 42, 43, 44
+
+Darthool, 306
+
+Darvra, Lake, 293, 295, 296, 297
+
+Dasent, 236
+
+David, 272
+
+Day, 2
+
+Dearshul, 319
+
+Decca, 304
+
+Dedannans, 289, 291, 297, 301
+
+Deirdrê, 306, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 316, 317,
+    318, 319, 320, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330,
+    331, 332, 333
+
+Delos, 172, 186
+
+Demeter, 84, 162, 165, 166, 167, 168
+
+Denmark, 245, 251
+
+Derg, Lough, 290, 291
+
+Derravaragh, Lough, 293
+
+Destiny, The Winged, 223
+
+Diana, II., 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 43, 70, 72, 73, 75, 76, 90, 97, 99,
+    101, 103, 116, 125, 126, 127, 128, 130, 164, 173, 175, 190, 198,
+    200, 203, 204, 210
+
+Diana Vernon, 26
+
+Douzeperes, 268, 269, 272, 274, 275, 277, 282, 283, 286, 287
+
+Draighen, 325
+
+Druid, 307, 309, 310, 327, 330, 332
+
+Druid's runes, 295
+
+Druids, 294
+
+Dryden, 45
+
+Dryope, 210, 211
+
+Dublin Bay, 317
+
+Dunfidgha, 324
+
+Dun Fin, 324
+
+Dunskaith, 311
+
+Dun Suibhne, 324
+
+Dun Sween, 324
+
+Durendala, 276, 284, 285
+
+
+Echo, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 210
+
+Edinburgh, 306
+
+Egypt, 39, 117, 193
+
+Egyptian, 217
+
+Egyptians, 117
+
+Emain Macha, 314, 323, 326, 327, 328, 333
+
+Emerson, 243
+
+Endymion, 26, 28, 29, 30
+
+England, 344
+
+Enna, 104
+
+Epaphos, 16, 17, 21
+
+Epimethus, 2, 5, 6, 7
+
+Epirus, 70
+
+Erdgeist, 216
+
+Erebus, 2
+
+Eridanus, 24
+
+Erin, 289, 290, 295, 297, 298, 299, 301, 302, 307, 308, 311, 317, 319,
+    320, 321, 322, 323, 325, 333
+
+Erris, 295
+
+Eros, 2, 42, 47, 48, 51, 53, 54, 56, 57, 58, 62, 66, 67, 91, 202, 203
+
+Essa, 317
+
+Etair, Ben, 317
+
+Ethiopia, 118, 119, 120
+
+Ethiopians, 23
+
+Etive, Glen, 325
+
+Etive, Loch, 318, 320, 322, 324, 326, 333
+
+Etna, 101, 103
+
+Euboean Sea, 122
+
+Eumenides, 194
+
+Europa, 87
+
+Europe, 289
+
+Eurydice, 31, 32, 33, 34, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 115, 159
+
+Eva, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296
+
+Eve, 290, 291
+
+Evenos, 91, 92, 93, 94
+
+
+Faust, 216
+
+Fechin, St., 222
+
+Felim, 307, 308, 309
+
+Fensalir, 238
+
+Fergus, 321, 322, 323, 325, 326, 329
+
+Ficra, 290, 295, 299, 304, 305
+
+Finola, 290, 292, 293, 294, 298, 299, 300, 301, 303, 304, 305
+
+Fiori Maggio, 103
+
+Firedrake, 261, 262, 263, 264
+
+Fleece, Golden, 39, 70
+
+Florence, 124
+
+Fontarabian, 282
+
+France, 266, 275, 278, 279, 280, 282, 286
+
+Franks, 267, 273, 276, 277, 279, 280
+
+Freya, 227, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 235, 238, 239, 255
+
+Friday, 277
+
+Frieslanders, 260
+
+Frigga, 228
+
+Furies, 35, 194, 196
+
+
+Gabriel, 286
+
+Gael, 300, 306, 307, 322, 332
+
+Gaelic, 319
+
+Galahad, 234
+
+Galatea, 13, 14, 15
+
+Ganelon, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 287
+
+Gautier, Sir, 277, 282
+
+Geasa, 326
+
+Germanic language, 244
+
+Germany, 233
+
+Glendaruadh, 325
+
+Glendaruel, 325
+
+Gleneitche, 325
+
+Glenlaidhe, 324
+
+Glenmasan, 324
+
+Glenmasan MS., 306
+
+Glenorchy, 325
+
+Goar, St., 224
+
+Goethe, 216
+
+Golden Fleece, 39, 70
+
+Gordias, 134, 135
+
+Gorgons, 113, 114, 115, 116, 120, 121, 123
+
+Goths, 248, 249, 250, 252, 253, 260, 264, 265
+
+Gothland, 249, 250, 252, 260
+
+Graeæ, 112
+
+Greece, 26, 71, 72, 74, 154, 192, 193, 210, 223, 229, 234, 289
+
+Greek, 100, 128, 160
+
+Greeks, 3, 215
+
+Green Islands, 307
+
+Gregory, Lady, 307, 309
+
+Grendel, 247, 248, 250, 253, 254, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 262
+
+
+Hades, 34, 35, 36, 39, 65, 67, 167, 194
+
+Halcyon birds, 153
+
+Halcyone, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 150, 151, 152, 153
+
+Hamlet, 124
+
+Hardred, 260
+
+Hastings, 266
+
+Hauteclaire, 278
+
+Hecate, 164, 205
+
+Heine, 220, 223, 226
+
+Hel, 236, 239, 240, 241
+
+Heliades, 24
+
+Hellas, 217
+
+Hellenistic, 218
+
+Henry VI, King, 144
+
+Heorot, 246, 248, 251, 256
+
+Hera, 169, 170, 175
+
+Heredia, De, 208
+
+Hermes, 5, 111, 112, 116, 120, 210, 211
+
+Hermoder, 239, 240
+
+Hesiod, 4
+
+Hesperides, Garden of the, 113, 114, 116, 117, 118, 137
+
+Hesperus, 144
+
+Hlidskialf, 231
+
+Hodur, 238, 239
+
+Holy Loch, 324
+
+Homeric Hymns, 210
+
+Howth, Hill of, 317
+
+Hrothgar, 246, 247, 248, 250, 251, 254, 255, 256, 257
+
+Hyacinthus, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133
+
+Hyde, Dr. Douglas, 307
+
+Hygeia, 88
+
+Hygelac, 248, 260
+
+Hyleus, 74
+
+Hymen, 33
+
+
+Ibycus, 192, 194, 195, 196
+
+Icarus, 181, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188
+
+Ice Giants, 230
+
+Ida, Mount, 185
+
+Idas, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 97, 98, 99
+
+Idmon, 83, 86
+
+Illann the Fair, 322, 326, 329
+
+Ingelow, Jean, 167
+
+Inis Glora, 295, 301, 302, 303, 304
+
+Iniskea, 302
+
+Inistrynich, 324
+
+Innisdraighende, 324
+
+Invermasan, 324
+
+Ionia, 145, 147
+
+Ionian Sea, 217
+
+Ireland, 289, 306
+
+Iris, 148, 149
+
+Ivros Domnann, 295, 301
+
+Ixion, 35
+
+
+Jason, 39, 70, 71, 73
+
+Jerusalem, 216
+
+Jonathan, 272
+
+Jove, 4, 25, 49, 64
+
+Joyce, 305
+
+Judas, 274
+
+Julius Cæsar, 261
+
+Juno, 146, 148, 150
+
+Jupiter, 8, 95, 210
+
+
+Keats, 129, 180
+
+Keos, 106
+
+Kemoc, 303, 304, 305
+
+Kingsley, Charles, 105, 232
+
+
+Ladon, 200
+
+Lang, Andrew, 27
+
+Langobarden, 232
+
+Larguen, 304, 305
+
+Larissa, 122
+
+Latmos, Mount, 27, 30
+
+Latona, 125, 126, 127, 128, 169, 170, 171, 172
+
+Lavarcam, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 327, 328
+
+Lebynthos, 186
+
+Leinster, Book of, 306
+
+Lethe, 149
+
+Leto, 169
+
+Libetlera, 41
+
+Libya, 23, 116
+
+Libyan, 39
+
+Light, 2
+
+Liguria, 24
+
+Lilith, 220
+
+Lîr, 289, 290, 291, 292, 293, 294, 296, 297, 298, 300, 301, 302, 303,
+    305
+
+Loki, 234, 236, 237, 238, 239, 242
+
+Lombardy, 232
+
+Lomond, Loch, 320
+
+London Bridge, 221
+
+Long Loch, 320
+
+Longbeards, 232
+
+Longfellow, 234, 241, 243, 244
+
+Lora, Falls of, 318
+
+Lorelei, 220, 223, 224, 225
+
+Love, 2
+
+Lowell, 10, 38
+
+Luna, 27
+
+Lycia, 170
+
+Lycormas, 93, 94
+
+Lydia, 83, 88, 128
+
+Lyra, 41
+
+Lysimeleia, 101
+
+
+Macleod, Fiona, 31, 197, 218, 219, 223, 301, 306, 307, 315, 332, 333
+
+Madonna, 227
+
+Mahommed, 267
+
+Mannanan, 292, 331
+
+Marpessa, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99
+
+Marsiglio, 267
+
+Marsile, 267, 268, 272, 274, 275, 279, 280, 281
+
+Mary, Virgin, 227
+
+Mayo, 295
+
+Meander, 183
+
+Meath, West, 293
+
+Medusa, 108, 110, 111, 112, 113, 115, 116, 120
+
+Meleager, 69, 70, 72, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 80
+
+Michael, St., 286
+
+Midas, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 141, 142, 143, 198, 210
+
+Milanion, 79, 80, 81
+
+Milesians, 297
+
+Milo, 10
+
+Milon, 269, 271
+
+Milton, 8, 38, 217
+
+Minos, 182, 183, 188
+
+Montjoie, 279, 281
+
+Moore, Thos., 289
+
+Morgue, 221
+
+Morpheus, 149, 150, 151
+
+Morris, William, 49, 50, 58, 68, 115
+
+---- Lewis, 29, 67, 165, 168, 202, 207
+
+Moschus, 87
+
+Mount Olympus, 41, 81
+
+Mowgli, 214
+
+Moyle, 289, 295, 298, 301, 317
+
+Mull, 317
+
+Munster, 304
+
+Muses, 41, 129
+
+Musset, De, 218
+
+
+Nägeling, 250, 251
+
+Naiades, 25
+
+Naismes de Bavière, 272
+
+Nanna, 235, 241
+
+Naoise, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 316, 317, 318, 319, 320, 322, 323,
+    324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 332
+
+Narcissus, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180
+
+Nelson, 100
+
+Neptune, 93, 94, 99
+
+Nereids, 188
+
+Nestor, 71, 72
+
+Nibelungs, 224
+
+Niflheim, 236, 237, 239
+
+Niobe, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128
+
+Norman, 233, 266
+
+Norseman, 331
+
+Norsemen, 228, 229, 234
+
+North Channel, 295
+
+North Cape, 260
+
+North Sea, 244
+
+Norway, 233, 331
+
+
+Odin, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 234, 235, 236, 237
+
+Odysseus, 221, 226
+
+Oea, 319
+
+OEneus, 69, 70
+
+Oise, 214, 215
+
+Olifant, 276, 280, 284, 285
+
+Oliver, 272, 277, 278, 280, 281, 282, 283, 287
+
+Olivier, 266, 282
+
+Olympians, 6, 9, 60, 112, 129, 180, 211
+
+Olympus, 3, 4, 5, 24, 45, 46, 49, 67, 68, 86, 95, 105, 108, 122, 126,
+    135, 140, 155, 166, 171, 185, 187, 191, 203, 207, 210, 211
+
+Olympus, Mount, 130
+
+Orion's Belt, 228
+
+Orpheus, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 159, 210
+
+Orphics, 39, 40, 41
+
+Ortygia, 100, 104
+
+Otuel, Sir, 288
+
+Ovid, 25, 45, 86, 197
+
+
+Pactolus, 83, 138
+
+Pagan, 285
+
+Paganism, 215, 216
+
+Pallas Athené, 3, 83, 84, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 115, 120
+
+Palodes, 217
+
+Pan, 59, 63, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 209,
+    210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219
+
+Pandora, 1, 2, 5, 6, 7
+
+Pantheism, 215, 216
+
+Paphian, 206
+
+Paphos, 15, 203
+
+Paros, 223
+
+Parthenian Hill, 71
+
+Patrick, St., 295, 302
+
+Paxæ, 217
+
+Paynim, 280, 283
+
+Peleus, 71
+
+Peneus, 42, 43, 44, 45
+
+Perdrix, 182
+
+Perseus, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116,
+    117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123
+
+Persephone, 80, 161, 164, 165, 167
+
+Phaeton, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25
+
+Phillips, Stephen, 96
+
+Phineus, 120
+
+Phlegethon, 194
+
+Phoebus, 129
+
+Phoebus Apollo, 18, 19
+
+Phoenicians, 120
+
+Phrygia, 134, 135, 136, 142
+
+Pied Piper, 212
+
+Pirithous, 71
+
+Pitys, 210, 212
+
+Pleiades, 27, 90
+
+Plemmgrium, 101
+
+Plexippus, 71
+
+Pluto, 23, 35, 36, 37, 38, 64, 80, 103, 115, 120, 162, 163, 165, 166,
+    167, 210
+
+Pollux, 71
+
+Polydectes, 106, 107, 109, 110, 121
+
+Pomona, 210
+
+Poseidon, 146, 172, 186, 192, 222
+
+Praxiteles, 124
+
+Prometheus, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10
+
+Proserpine, 35, 36, 64, 65, 66, 161, 162, 163, 165, 166, 167, 192
+
+Proteus, 100, 157, 158, 159
+
+Psyche, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60,
+    61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 210
+
+Purgatorio, 16
+
+Pygmalion, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 102
+
+Pyrenees, 275
+
+
+Quail Island, 101
+
+
+Rachel, 128
+
+Rainschevaux, 266
+
+Raphael, St., 286
+
+Rathlin Island, 325
+
+Red Branch, Champions of, 307, 308, 320, 321, 332, 333
+
+Red Branch, House of, 327, 328, 329, 330
+
+Retaliator, The, 331
+
+Rheims, Bishop of, 272
+
+Rhine, 224, 225
+
+Ringhorn, 240
+
+Roland, 266, 267, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 276, 277, 278, 279,
+    280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288
+
+Rollant, 266
+
+Roman de Rose, 266
+
+Roman Empire, 267
+
+Romans, 27
+
+Roncevall, 266
+
+Roncesvalles, 267, 274, 275, 276, 277, 281, 282, 286
+
+Rossa the Red, 321, 323
+
+Round Table, 268
+
+Rowland, 282
+
+Runcyvale, 288
+
+
+Sackville, Lady Margaret, 197
+
+Saeland, 244, 265
+
+Samos, 107, 186
+
+Samson, 160
+
+Saracens, 267, 274, 276, 277, 278, 279, 280, 282, 283, 285, 286
+
+Saragossa, 267, 272
+
+Saxon, 233
+
+Scandinavia, 227, 245
+
+Scotland, 220, 306
+
+Scott, Sir Walter, 26, 282
+
+Scyld Scefing, 245, 246
+
+Seine, 221
+
+Selene, 27, 210
+
+Seriphos, 106, 109, 120, 121
+
+Seumas, 218, 223
+
+Sgathaig, 311
+
+Shakespeare, 31, 124, 134, 192, 204, 223, 261
+
+Shannon, 290
+
+Sharp, William, 301
+
+Shee Finnaha, 289, 290, 296, 302
+
+Shelley, 9, 104, 161
+
+Sicily, 36, 100, 104, 162, 163, 167, 186, 188
+
+Silenus, 136
+
+Simonides, 106
+
+Sipylus, Mount, 128
+
+Sirens, 226
+
+Sisyphus, 35
+
+Skene, W. F., 307
+
+Skye, Isle of, 311
+
+Sleipnir, 236
+
+Socrates, 153
+
+Somnus, 148, 149, 150
+
+Spain, 267
+
+Spartan, 129
+
+Spenser, 88
+
+Striven, Loch, 320
+
+Styx, 19, 63, 64
+
+Sweden, 233
+
+Swedes, 249
+
+Swinburne, 74
+
+Sylvan deities, 214
+
+Synge, J. M., 307
+
+Syracuse, 100, 101
+
+Syria, 216
+
+Syrinx, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 210
+
+
+Taenarus, 34
+
+Taillefer, 266
+
+Tailleken, 295
+
+Talus, 182
+
+Tantalus, 35, 124
+
+Telamon, 71, 73
+
+Tennyson, 27, 154, 216
+
+Termagaunt, 267
+
+Thames, 221
+
+Thamus, 217
+
+Theban, 124
+
+Thebes, 124, 125, 126
+
+Theseus, 71
+
+Thessaly, 144, 146, 147, 152
+
+Thrace, 32, 33, 38, 39
+
+Tiberius, 216
+
+Titan, 8, 9, 35
+
+Titans, 2, 4, 117, 124
+
+Toxeus, 71
+
+Trachine, 150
+
+Triton, 100
+
+Tussypere, 288
+
+Turpin, 266, 277, 279, 280, 282, 283, 284, 287
+
+Tymolus, 83, 87
+
+Tyrian, 86
+
+
+Uffizi Palace, 124
+
+Ulster, 307
+
+Ultonians, 307, 313, 320, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333
+
+Uladh, 332
+
+Ulva, 222
+
+Urchain, Glen, 325
+
+Usna, Sons of, 306, 311, 312, 313, 315, 317, 318, 319, 320, 321, 322,
+    324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333
+
+
+Valhalla, 228, 267
+
+Vali, 237
+
+Vandals, 231
+
+Vatican, 11
+
+Veillantif, 276, 282
+
+Venus, 11, 26, 202
+
+Vernon, Diana, 26
+
+Versailles, 11
+
+Virgil, 194
+
+Vulcan, 4
+
+
+Wace, 266
+
+Wagmund, 264
+
+Walpurgis Night, 233
+
+Wessex, 244
+
+Westminster, 221
+
+Whitby, 244
+
+Wiglaf, 263, 264
+
+William the Conqueror, 266
+
+Winged Destiny, The, 223
+
+Winilers, 231, 232
+
+Wolf Woman, 258, 260, 262, 263
+
+
+Yeats, W. B., 307
+
+Yorkshire, 244, 265
+
+
+Zeus, 3, 4, 8, 9, 22, 24, 30, 34, 86, 95, 105, 106, 107, 112, 120,
+    123, 124, 166, 169, 170, 172, 202, 206
+
+Zephyr, 129
+
+Zephyrus, 51, 54, 59, 71, 103, 131, 133, 180
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note
+
+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.
+
+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 203 and in
+the Index, by which the author presumably meant Michelangelo; this
+has also been left as printed.
+
+The following amendments have been made:
+
+  Page 268--were amended to was--"... with Saragossa still
+  unconquered was too much to hope for."
+
+  Page 304--Kemoc amended to Larguen--"Then Larguen, in
+  furious anger, ..."
+
+Illustrations have been moved so that they are not in mid-paragraph.
+The frontispiece illustration has been moved to follow the title page.
+
+OE and oe ligatures have not been retained in this version.
+
+Index entries have been made consistent with the main text, as
+follows:
+
+  Page 334--Aristaeus amended to Aristæus; Athene, Pallas
+  amended to Athené, Pallas.
+
+  Page 335--page reference 230 amended to 300 in
+  Carricknarone entry; page reference 313 added to Deirdrê
+  entry.
+
+  Page 336--page reference 344 amended to 244 in England
+  entry; Eridamus amended to Eridanus.
+
+  Page 337--page reference 86 added to Idmon entry; Inis Rea
+  amended to Iniskea.
+
+  Page 338--Naïdes amended to Naiades; page references 319
+  and 325 added to Naoise entry; Oeneus amended to OEneus;
+  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.
+
+  Page 339--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.
+
+  Page 340--Tiberias amended to Tiberius; Uffizzi Palace
+  amended to Uffizi Palace; Uluadh amended to Uladh.
+
+
+
+
+
+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 22693-8.txt or 22693-8.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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/22693-8.zip b/22693-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..29c686b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-8.zip
diff --git a/22693-h.zip b/22693-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c4ae63a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h.zip
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 &amp; 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">&ldquo;WHAT WAS HE DOING, THE GREAT GOD PAN,<br />
+DOWN IN THE REEDS BY THE RIVER?&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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 &ldquo;The Frontier,&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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: &ldquo;It is not in a man&rsquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The most usual habits of mind in our own day are
+the theoretical and analytical habits. Dissection, vivisection,
+analysis&mdash;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: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s <i>Heroes</i> and
+of Hawthorne&rsquo;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&mdash;or,
+at least, till lately we drove&mdash;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 &ldquo;sons of Vulcan,&rdquo; and beautiful youths
+to being called &ldquo;young Adonises.&rdquo; We accept the
+names of newspapers and debating societies as being
+the &ldquo;Argus,&rdquo; without perhaps quite realising who was
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg&nbsp;x]</a></span>
+Argus, the many-eyed. We talk of &ldquo;a panic,&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;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....&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;Great God! I&rsquo;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 wreath&egrave;d horn.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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 &ldquo;<em>Before the War</em>&rdquo;; and between
+that time and this stands a barrier immeasurable.</p>
+
+<p>This book, with its Preface, was completed in 1914&mdash;&ldquo;<em>Before the
+War.</em>&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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: &ldquo;It is the memory that the soldier leaves behind him, like
+the long train of light that follows the sunken sun&mdash;that is all which is
+worth caring for, which distinguishes the death of the brave or the
+ignoble.&rdquo;</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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;xiii]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="60%" summary="Table of Contents">
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</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">ARIST&AElig;US 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&nbsp;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 L&Icirc;R</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_289">289</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">DEIRDR&Ecirc;</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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;What was he doing, the great god Pan,<br />
+Down in the reeds by the river?&rdquo;</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#PAN"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">&nbsp;</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">&ldquo;Baldur the Beautiful is dead!&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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. &ldquo;What
+is this?&rdquo; 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&mdash;&ldquo;Why is
+this so?&rdquo; &ldquo;How did this happen?&rdquo; And as the
+child&rsquo;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
+&ldquo;How?&rdquo; &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; &ldquo;What?&rdquo; and so the Hebrew,
+the Greek, the Maori, the Australian blackfellow, the
+Norseman&mdash;in a word, each race of mankind&mdash;has formed
+for itself an explanation of existence, an answer to the
+questions of the groping child-mind&mdash;&ldquo;Who made the
+world?&rdquo; &ldquo;What is God?&rdquo; &ldquo;What made a God
+think of fire and air and water?&rdquo; &ldquo;Why am I, <em>I</em>?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg&nbsp;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&mdash;&ldquo;without form, and void.&rdquo; 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&nbsp;3]</a></span>
+an image, in form like the gods. Into its nostrils Eros
+breathed the spirit of life, Pallas Athen&eacute; 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>&ldquo;We shall give Fire to the Man whom we have made,&rdquo;
+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&nbsp;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&rsquo; 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&rsquo;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. &ldquo;The lame Vulcan,&rdquo; says Hesiod,
+poet of Greek mythology, &ldquo;formed out of the earth an
+image resembling a chaste virgin. Pallas Athen&eacute;, 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&nbsp;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.&rdquo; To this beautiful creature, destined by the gods
+to be man&rsquo;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&mdash;&ldquo;Gifted by all the Gods.&rdquo; 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&mdash;a worthy
+descendant of Titans&mdash;said in later years, &ldquo;Timeo
+Danaos et dona ferentes,&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;I fear the Greeks, even
+when they bring gifts.&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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&nbsp;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&mdash;malignant, ruthless, fierce, treacherous,
+and cruel&mdash;poisoning, slaying, devouring. Plague and
+pestilence and murder, envy and malice and revenge and
+all viciousness&mdash;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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;Yet I argue not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against Heav&rsquo;n&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<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">&ldquo;True hope is swift, and flies with swallow&rsquo;s wings;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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&mdash;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&mdash;in
+suffering that knew no respite&mdash;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">&ldquo;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,&mdash;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!&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Shelley.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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&nbsp;10]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Were not as things that gods despise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What was thy pity&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Byron.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Yet, I am still Prometheus, wiser grown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By years of solitude,&mdash;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,&mdash;and long commune<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With this eternal silence;&mdash;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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 &ldquo;wedded to his art.&rdquo; 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&mdash;he had given no
+&ldquo;hostages to fortune.&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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&mdash;to smile.
+Her hands were held out to hold his hands. Then Pygmalion
+covered his eyes. He, the hater of women, loved
+a woman&mdash;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&nbsp;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&mdash;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&mdash;&ldquo;Galatea&rdquo;; and
+always on still nights the myriad silver stars would seem
+to breathe to him &ldquo;Galatea&rdquo; ... 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&mdash;&ldquo;Galatea!...
+Galatea!...&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;O Aphrodite!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;who can do all things, give
+me, I pray you, one like my Galatea for my wife!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Give me my Galatea,&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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&nbsp;16]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>PHAETON</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;The road, to drive on which unskilled were Phaeton&rsquo;s hands.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Dante</span>&mdash;<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>&ldquo;Behold, my father drives his chariot across the
+heavens!&rdquo; he proudly proclaimed. &ldquo;In a little while I,
+also, will drive the four snow-white steeds.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg&nbsp;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: &ldquo;Thou, Epaphos, art the liar. I have but to ask
+my father, and thou shalt see me drive his golden chariot
+across the sky.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;True it is,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Clymene listened with grief to his complaint. He
+was so young, so gallant, so foolish.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Truly thou art the son of Apollo,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But at last she said to him, &ldquo;Naught that I can say
+is of any avail. Go, seek thy father, and ask him what
+thou wilt.&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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>Ph&oelig;bus 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&rsquo;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: &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+Apollo shook his head and answered very gravely:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;In truth thou art my dear son,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and by
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg&nbsp;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But the boy pled on:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am shamed for ever, my father,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Surely
+thou wouldst not have son of thine proved liar and
+braggart?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not even the gods themselves can do this thing,&rdquo;
+answered Apollo. &ldquo;Nay, not even the almighty Zeus.
+None but I, Ph&oelig;bus Apollo, may drive the flaming chariot
+of the sun, for the way is beset with dangers and none
+know it but I.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Only tell me the way, my father!&rdquo; cried Phaeton.
+&ldquo;So soon I could learn.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Half in sadness, Apollo smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The first part of the way is uphill,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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&rsquo;s claws
+grope for a prey....&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I fear none of these things, oh my father!&rdquo; cried
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg&nbsp;20]</a></span>
+Phaeton. &ldquo;Grant that for one day only I drive thy
+white-maned steeds!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Very pitifully Apollo looked at him, and for a little
+space he was silent.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The little human hands,&rdquo; he said at length, &ldquo;the
+little human frame!&mdash;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?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Rather Death than Dishonour,&rdquo; said Phaeton, and
+proudly he added, &ldquo;For once would I drive like the god,
+my father. I have no fear.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So was Apollo vanquished, and Phaeton gained his
+heart&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s parting words: &ldquo;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&nbsp;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!&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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, &ldquo;Quicker still, brave ones! more
+swiftly still!&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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&rsquo; descent, then, forgetful of Apollo&rsquo;s warning, he
+smote them angrily. But anger met anger, and the fury
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg&nbsp;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&nbsp;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&mdash;Phaeton
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg&nbsp;25]</a></span>
+&ldquo;dead ere his prime.&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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">&ldquo;Driver of Ph&oelig;bus&rsquo; chariot, Pha&euml;ton,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Struck by Jove&rsquo;s thunder, rests beneath this stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He could not rule his father&rsquo;s car of fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet was it much, so nobly to aspire.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;26]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ENDYMION</h2>
+
+
+<p>To the modern popular mind perhaps none of the goddesses
+of Greece&mdash;not even Venus herself&mdash;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&rsquo;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&mdash;they know not why&mdash;to
+those whom the shadows of the trees on a woodland path
+at night mean a grip of the heart, while &ldquo;pale Dian&rdquo;
+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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Tennyson.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<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&rsquo;s golden chariot had driven down
+into the west, then would his sister&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;s burning
+rays, but love that came in the moon&rsquo;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&rsquo;s touch, yet it was sufficient to wake Endymion.
+And as, while one&rsquo;s body sleeps on, one&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo; 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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;30]</a></span>
+assailed them. Yet for Endymion the things of earth no
+longer held any value. He lived only for his dear dream&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;31]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ORPHEUS</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Shakespeare.</span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&ldquo;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?&rdquo;</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 &ldquo;tear up trees as they course along, chanting their
+wild music,&rdquo; and that Eurydice is the morning &ldquo;with its
+short-lived beauty.&rdquo; Others say that Orpheus is &ldquo;the
+mythological expression of the delight which music gives
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg&nbsp;32]</a></span>
+to the primitive races,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;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&nbsp;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&nbsp;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&nbsp;35]</a></span>
+And still he played, and the dog would gently have licked
+the player&rsquo;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&mdash;of the sorrow of the world&mdash;of all the world&rsquo;s
+desire&mdash;of things past&mdash;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&rsquo;s wheel was stayed,
+the vulture&rsquo;s relentless beak no longer tore at the Titan&rsquo;s
+liver; Sisyphus gave up his weary task of rolling the stone
+and sat on the rock to listen, the Dana&iuml;des 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&nbsp;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 &AElig;gean 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 &ldquo;the light of Heaven&rdquo;&mdash;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&mdash;too
+unbelievable a joy. She was there&mdash;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&nbsp;37]</a></span>
+before, he would make perfect now. The little limping
+foot&mdash;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>&ldquo;Farewell!&rdquo; she said&mdash;&ldquo;Farewell!&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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,
+&ldquo;Eurydice! Eurydice!&rdquo;</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&mdash;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">&ldquo;At that elm-vista&rsquo;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!&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Have I not had enough of toil and of weary wandering
+far and wide,&rdquo; sighed Orpheus. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;40]</a></span>
+remained unhealed. Again the trees listened to the
+songs of longing. Again they echoed, &ldquo;Eurydice!
+Eurydice!&rdquo;</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&rsquo; 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, &ldquo;Eurydice! Eurydice!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Combien d&rsquo;autres sont morts de m&ecirc;me! C&rsquo;est la
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg&nbsp;41]</a></span>
+lutte &eacute;ternelle de la force brutale contre l&rsquo;intelligence
+douce et sublime inspir&eacute;e du ciel, dont le royaume n&rsquo;est
+pas de ce monde.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;What hast thou to do with the weapons of war,
+saucy lad?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then did the son of Aphrodite answer, and as he
+made answer he laughed aloud in his glee. &ldquo;With
+thine arrows thou mayst strike all things else, great
+Apollo, a shaft of mine shall surely strike thy heart!&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s and many a god&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Stay!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Help me, Peneus!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Save me, oh my
+father, from him whose love I fear!&rdquo;</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&nbsp;45]</a></span>
+been his dear first love. He knew that her cry to Peneus
+her father had been answered, yet he said, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;</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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Ovid</span> (<i>Dryden&rsquo;s translation</i>).</p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg&nbsp;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&rsquo; 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&mdash;older than all fairy tales&mdash;the story of love
+that is not strong enough to believe and to wait, and so
+to &ldquo;win through&rdquo; in the end&mdash;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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>&ldquo;Thine must be the task of avenging thy mother&rsquo;s
+honour,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+With wicked glee Eros heard his mother&rsquo;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">&ldquo;Straight he rose from earth and down the wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Went glittering &rsquo;twixt the blue sky and the sea.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;They spoke truth!&rdquo; said the lad to himself. &ldquo;Not
+even my mother is as fair as this princess.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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">&ldquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s cruelty.&rdquo;<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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s doom.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No mortal lover shall fair Psyche know,&rdquo; said the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg&nbsp;50]</a></span>
+oracle. &ldquo;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!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;... 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.&rdquo;<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&mdash;something
+most exquisite&mdash;intangible&mdash;unknown&mdash;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&nbsp;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 &ldquo;whom neither man nor god could resist.&rdquo; Tenderly&mdash;very
+tenderly&mdash;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&nbsp;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. &ldquo;It is a
+trap,&rdquo; she thought. &ldquo;By this means does the monster
+subtly mean to lure me into his golden cage.&rdquo; 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, &ldquo;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&mdash;only the bliss of loving and of being
+loved.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s
+music, every word in the great thing that is Love&rsquo;s
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg&nbsp;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&rsquo;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&rsquo;s sake, a boon&mdash;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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Alas! unhappy one,&rdquo; they said, &ldquo;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&nbsp;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.&rdquo;</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&mdash;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&mdash;young and fair, with crisp, golden
+locks&mdash;a husband to glory in&mdash;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>&ldquo;What, then, shall I do?&rdquo; piteously she asked of
+her sisters. And the women, pitilessly, and well content,
+answered:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Shaking with sobs, Psyche made answer:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I love him so!... I love him so!&rdquo;</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&nbsp;57]</a></span>
+&ldquo;Shameless one!&rdquo; they cried; &ldquo;and does our
+father&rsquo;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.&rdquo;</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&mdash;for greatly had he feared the coming of that
+treacherous pair&mdash;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&mdash;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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;59]</a></span>
+&ldquo;I have lost my Love,&rdquo; she moaned. &ldquo;What
+is Life to me any longer! Come to me then, O
+Death!&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Thou must dree thy weird like all other daughters of
+men, fair Psyche,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;I shall tell them of the evil they have wrought,&rdquo;
+she thought. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Bear me to him in thine arms, Zephyrus! Behold
+I come, my lord!&rdquo; 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&nbsp;61]</a></span>
+With flaming scorn and anger Aphrodite received her.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;O thou fool,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Eros sent them to me:&rdquo; she thought. &ldquo;Even
+yet his love for me is not dead.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Beware! O Psyche,&rdquo; they said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg&nbsp;63]</a></span>
+But Psyche said, &ldquo;Alas, I must do the bidding of the
+goddess. It will take me many a weary hour to pluck
+the wool that she requires.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And again the reeds murmured, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;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,&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;dree her weird,&rdquo; as Pan had said, she
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg&nbsp;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">&ldquo;O&rsquo;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, &lsquo;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.&rsquo;&rdquo;<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: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;65]</a></span>
+exquisite than any that the eyes of gods or of men had
+as yet looked upon.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I grow weary and careworn,&rdquo; said Aphrodite, and
+she looked like a rose that has budded in Paradise as she
+spoke. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And at these scornful words, the heart of Psyche
+leaped within her.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;In helping his mother, I shall help him!&rdquo; she
+thought. And again she thought, &ldquo;I shall atone.&rdquo; 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, &ldquo;cold
+thoughts and dreadful fears&rdquo; came to her.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Better were it for me to hasten my journey to the
+shades,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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>&ldquo;Oh, foolish one,&rdquo; it said, &ldquo;why dost thou strive
+to stay the hope that is not dead?&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;This ointment that I carry with me,&rdquo; said Psyche
+to herself, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+And then she thought:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;For my beauty, Eros&mdash;<em>Love</em>&mdash;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&mdash;of Eros whose love is my life!&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;My <em>Belov&egrave;d</em>!&rdquo; 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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;69]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>THE CALYDONIAN HUNT</h2>
+
+
+<p>&OElig;neus and Alth&aelig;a were king and queen of Calydon, and
+to them was born a son who was his mother&rsquo;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&rsquo;s side came the three Fates,
+spinning, ceaselessly spinning.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He shall be strong,&rdquo; said one, as she span her
+thread. &ldquo;He shall be fortunate and brave,&rdquo; 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>&ldquo;To thee, O New-Born,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and to this wood
+that burns, do we give the same span of days to
+live.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>From her bed sprang Alth&aelig;a, 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. &ldquo;Thou shalt live forever, O
+Beloved,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;for never again shall fire char the
+brand that I have plucked from the burning.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg&nbsp;70]</a></span>
+And the baby laughed.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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
+&AElig;tolia, 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
+&OElig;neus, 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&nbsp;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 Alth&aelig;a, 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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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. &ldquo;Marry not,&rdquo; said the oracle. &ldquo;To thee
+marriage must bring woe.&rdquo;</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&mdash;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&nbsp;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&mdash;the pure angered
+against the filthy and cruel&mdash;let draw her bow, with a
+prayer to Diana to guide her shaft aright. Into the
+boar&rsquo;s smoking flank sped the arrow.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i7">&ldquo;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&nbsp;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.&rdquo;<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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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>&ldquo;This is thy spoil, not mine,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The
+wounding shaft was sped by thee. To thee belongs the
+praise.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Atalanta blushed rosily, and laughed low and
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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 Alth&aelig;a 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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;If indeed they love me as thou sayest,&rdquo; said
+Atalanta to her father, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&mdash;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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;So far has victory been thine, Fairest on earth,&rdquo;
+he said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Thou art tempted by the deathless gods,&rdquo; she
+said, but her long lashes drooped on her cheek as she
+spoke. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Milanion said, &ldquo;I am ready, Atalanta. Wilt
+race with me now?&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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&mdash;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&nbsp;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&mdash;fragrant still, though dead, and
+hidden from the sun&rsquo;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&nbsp;83]</a></span>
+part of the early summer&rsquo;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&mdash;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 Athen&eacute;, 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&nbsp;84]</a></span>
+coming of Demeter, and Athen&eacute; 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 Athen&eacute;,
+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>&ldquo;Didst say <em>equal</em> Athen&eacute;? old mother,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;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 Athen&eacute;; <em>excelling</em> were the better
+word.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In anger Pallas Athen&eacute; made answer.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Impious one!&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Laughing still, Arachne made reply:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I fear not, Athen&eacute;, nor does my heart shake
+at the gloomy warning of a foolish old crone.&rdquo; And
+turning to the nymphs who, half afraid, listened to
+her daring words, she said: &ldquo;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&nbsp;85]</a></span>
+boast. My skill is as great as that of Athen&eacute;, and greater
+still it shall be. Let Athen&eacute; try a contest with me if she
+dare! Well do I know who will be the victor.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then Athen&eacute; 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>&ldquo;Lo, Athen&eacute; is come!&rdquo; 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>&ldquo;I have spoken truth,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;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&rsquo;s daughter and dost
+prove the victor, behold me gladly willing to pay the
+penalty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The eyes of Athen&eacute;, 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>&ldquo;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&nbsp;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.&rdquo;</p></div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Ovid.</span></p>
+
+<p>Their canvases wrought, then did Athen&eacute; 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 Athen&eacute; 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 Athen&eacute;.
+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&rsquo;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&nbsp;87]</a></span>
+Darker and yet more dark grew the eyes of Athen&eacute;
+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>&ldquo;riding on the back of the divine bull, with one hand clasped the
+beast&rsquo;s great horn, and with the other caught up her garment&rsquo;s purple
+fold, lest it might trail and be drenched in the hoar sea&rsquo;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.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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, Athen&eacute; grasped the cord,
+loosened it, and spoke Arachne&rsquo;s doom:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Live!&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg&nbsp;88]</a></span>
+Even as she spoke, Arachne&rsquo;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">&ldquo;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&rsquo;d in workmanship embost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor anie skil&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<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&mdash;practical, if not favoured by &AElig;sculapius and
+Hygeia&mdash;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 Athen&eacute;.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&ldquo;Also in spinners be tokens of divination, and of knowing what
+weather shall fall&mdash;for oft by weathers that shall fall, some spin or
+weave higher or lower. Also multitude of spinners is token of much
+rain.&rdquo;</p></div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Bartholomew.</span></p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg&nbsp;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&nbsp;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 &AElig;gean Sea into the
+semblance of a blazing shield of brass, Idas and Marpessa
+sat together in the trees&rsquo; 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&rsquo;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&mdash;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&nbsp;91]</a></span>
+garden was Marpessa. No music that Apollo&rsquo;s lute
+could make was as sweet in the ears of Idas as her dear
+voice. Its music was ever new to him&mdash;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>&ldquo;The course of true love never did run smooth,&rdquo;
+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&rsquo;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&mdash;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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Am I in truth so wondrous fair?&rdquo; she asked her
+father.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Fair enough to mate with Apollo himself!&rdquo;
+proudly answered Evenos.</p>
+
+<p>And joyously Marpessa replied, &ldquo;Ah, then am I
+happy indeed! I would be beautiful for my Idas&rsquo; sake!&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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, &ldquo;Thus,
+and thus did Idas speak,&rdquo; and a sudden memory of the
+human lad&rsquo;s halting words brought to her heart a little
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg&nbsp;93]</a></span>
+gush of tenderness, and made her eyes sparkle so that
+Apollo gladly thought, &ldquo;Soon she will be mine.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s chariot was in
+pursuit of the winged car of Neptune. Quickly it gained
+on him&mdash;soon it would have swept down on him&mdash;a
+hawk indeed, this time, striking surely its helpless prey&mdash;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&nbsp;95]</a></span>
+earth by Jupiter. While the echoes still re-echoed, there
+came from Olympus the voice of Zeus himself.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<em>Let her decide!</em>&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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>&ldquo;Marpessa!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;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&mdash;not as mere mortal
+loves do I love thee. Come to me, Marpessa&mdash;my Love&mdash;my
+Desire!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>When his voice was silent, it seemed as if the very
+earth itself with all its thousand echoes still breathed his
+words: &ldquo;Marpessa&mdash;my Love&mdash;my Desire.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg&nbsp;96]</a></span>
+Abashed before the god&rsquo;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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&mdash;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&rsquo;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 &ldquo;remembered from other worlds.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>For all the joys he offered her she thanked Apollo.
+What grander fate for mortal woman than to rule the
+sunbeams&mdash;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&mdash;and yet&mdash;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">&ldquo;Yet I, being human, human sorrow miss.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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&rsquo;er and o&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<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">&ldquo;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?&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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&nbsp;100]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ARETHUSA</h2>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;We have victualled and watered,&rdquo; wrote Nelson from
+Syracuse in 1798, &ldquo;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.&rdquo; 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&mdash;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&mdash;can we</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Have glimpse of Proteus rising from the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or hear old Triton blow his wreath&egrave;d horn.&rdquo;<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. &ldquo;In Ortygia,&rdquo; says
+Cicero, &ldquo;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&nbsp;101]</a></span>
+waters not protected from the waves by a rampart and
+a wall of stone.&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s bed gleam like gold and the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg&nbsp;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">&ldquo;The Earth seemed to love her<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Heaven smiled above her.&rdquo;<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>&ldquo;Hear me, Arethusa!&rdquo; it said. &ldquo;I am Alpheus, god
+of the river that now thou hast made sacred. I am the
+god of the rushing streams&mdash;the god of the thundering
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg&nbsp;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Arethusa!&rdquo; she heard him cry, in a voice of
+piteous longing&mdash;&ldquo;Arethusa!&mdash;my belov&egrave;d!&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;And now from their fountains<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In Enna&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;105]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>PERSEUS THE HERO</h2>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&ldquo;We call such a man a hero in English to this day, and call it a
+&lsquo;heroic&rsquo; thing to suffer pain and grief, that we may do good to our
+fellow-men.&rdquo;</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. Dana&euml;
+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 Dana&euml; 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 Dana&euml; 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 Dana&euml; 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&nbsp;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 Dana&euml; 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>&ldquo;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, &lsquo;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&mdash;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.&rsquo;&rdquo;</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 &AElig;gean 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 Dana&euml; 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&nbsp;107]</a></span>
+old Polydectes, the king, ever watched her more eagerly,
+always more hotly desired her for his wife. But Dana&euml;,
+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>&ldquo;I am Pallas Athen&eacute;,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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&nbsp;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then she laid her hand on the hand of Perseus.
+&ldquo;Perseus,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;art thou of those whose dull souls
+forever dwell in pleasant ease, or wouldst thou be as one
+of the Immortals?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And in his dream Perseus answered without hesitation:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Rather let me die, a youth, living my life to the
+full, fighting ever, suffering ever,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;than live
+at ease like a beast that feeds on flowery pastures and
+knows no fiery gladness, no heart-bleeding pain.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then Pallas Athen&eacute;, laughing for joy, because she
+loved so well a hero&rsquo;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
+Athen&eacute; 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&nbsp;109]</a></span>
+were turned into love&rsquo;s stony tombs. Her rosy cheeks
+were now of Death&rsquo;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 Athen&eacute; 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 Athen&eacute;, in low voice, asked
+him:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perseus, wilt even end the sorrow of this piteous
+sinful one?&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;Even that will I do&mdash;the
+gods helping me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Pallas Athen&eacute;, 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&mdash;a strong man now, though young in years&mdash;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s court as though he were a
+beggar, the other youths mocked at him of whom they
+had ever been jealous.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thou sayest that thy father is one of the gods!&rdquo;
+they said. &ldquo;Where is thy godlike gift, O Perseus!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Polydectes, glad to humble the lad who was
+keeper of his mother&rsquo;s honour, echoed their foolish
+taunt.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Where is the gift of the gods that the noble son of
+the gods has brought me?&rdquo; 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>&ldquo;A godlike gift thou shalt have, in truth, O king,&rdquo; he
+said, and his voice rang out as a trumpet-call before the
+battle. &ldquo;The gift of the gods shall be thine. The gods
+helping me, thou shalt have the head of Medusa.&rdquo;</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
+Athen&eacute; had lit the fire that burned in him now, and that
+though he should shed the last drop of his life&rsquo;s blood
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg&nbsp;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>&ldquo;If Pallas Athen&eacute; would but come,&rdquo; he thought&mdash;&ldquo;if
+only my dreams might come true.&rdquo;</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, &ldquo;Come to me! I pray you, Pallas
+Athen&eacute;, come! and let me dream true.&rdquo;</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 Athen&eacute; 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 Athen&eacute; 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>&ldquo;Do not look at Medusa herself; look only on her
+image here reflected&mdash;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But how, then, shall I cross the wet grey fields of
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg&nbsp;112]</a></span>
+this watery way?&rdquo; asked Perseus. &ldquo;Would that I
+were a white-winged bird that skims across the waves.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And, with the smile of a loving comrade, Hermes laid
+his hand on the shoulder of Perseus.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My winged shoes shall be thine,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and the
+white-winged sea-birds shalt thou leave far, far behind.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yet another gift is thine,&rdquo; said Athen&eacute;. &ldquo;Gird
+on, as gift from the gods, this sword that is immortal.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Perseus lingered. &ldquo;May I not bid
+farewell to my mother?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;May I not offer
+burnt-offerings to thee and to Hermes, and to my father
+Zeus himself?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Athen&eacute; said Nay, at his mother&rsquo;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
+Athen&eacute; had directed him.</p>
+
+<p>Each day his shoes took him a seven days&rsquo; 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 Grae&aelig;, the three grey
+sisters that Athen&eacute; 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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;No others know where they dwell,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Tell
+me, I pray thee, the way that I may find them.&rdquo;</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: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Go south,&rdquo; they said, &ldquo;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&nbsp;114]</a></span>
+the way.&rdquo; And &ldquo;Give us back our eye!&rdquo; 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>&ldquo;We must ask Atlas,&rdquo; they said, &ldquo;the giant who sits
+high up on the mountain and with his strong shoulders
+keeps the heavens and earth apart.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Far away I can see them,&rdquo; said Atlas, &ldquo;on an
+island in the great ocean. But unless thou wert to wear
+the helmet of Pluto himself, thy going must be in vain.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What is this helmet?&rdquo; asked Perseus, &ldquo;and how
+can I gain it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Didst thou wear the helmet of the ruler of Dark
+Places, thou wouldst be as invisible as a shadow in the
+blackness of night,&rdquo; answered Atlas; &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What wouldst thou?&rdquo; asked Perseus.</p>
+
+<p>And Atlas said, &ldquo;For many a long year have I
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg&nbsp;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.&rdquo;</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 &ldquo;neither night nor day,
+nor cloud nor breeze nor storm,&rdquo; 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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">William Morris.</span></p>
+
+<p>In the shield of Pallas Athen&eacute; 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&nbsp;116]</a></span>
+the beauty and the horror of Medusa. And &ldquo;Oh that it
+had been her foul sisters that I must slay!&rdquo; he thought
+at first, but then&mdash;&ldquo;To slay her will be kind indeed,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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>&ldquo;Lo! he comes!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Save me! ah,
+save me! I am so young to die.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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 Athen&eacute; came to Perseus in a dream.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nobly and well hast thou played the hero, O son of
+Zeus!&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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 Ph&oelig;nicia, sail
+away westward, until at length they came to the blue
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg&nbsp;121]</a></span>
+water of the &AElig;gean 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 Dana&euml;, the fair mother of Perseus.</p>
+
+<p>Black grew the brow of the son of Dana&euml; 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>&ldquo;So thou hast returned? oh nameless son of a deathless
+god,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Thou didst boast, but methinks
+thy boast was an empty one!&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;O king,&rdquo; Perseus said, &ldquo;I swore that, the gods helping
+me, thou shouldst have the head of Medusa. The
+gods have helped me. Behold the Gorgon&rsquo;s head.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Wild horror in their eyes, Polydectes and his friends
+gazed on the unspeakable thing, and as they gazed they
+turned into stone&mdash;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 Dana&euml; 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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;I go to seek Acrisius,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;My mother&rsquo;s
+father is your king.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Again his galley sailed away, and at last, up the long
+Eub&oelig;an 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, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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, &ldquo;Surely this
+stranger comes from Olympus and is one of the Immortals.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Further still!&rdquo; they cried. &ldquo;Further still canst
+thou hurl! thou art a hero indeed!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Behold me! I am Perseus, grandson of the man I
+have slain! Who can avoid the decree of the gods?&rdquo;</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&rsquo;s head. Near him are the father
+and mother of Andromeda&mdash;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&nbsp;124]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>NIOBE</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;... Like Niobe, all tears.&rdquo;<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&mdash;attributed to Praxiteles&mdash;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;The goddess has a son and a daughter,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;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!&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Oh foolish ones!&rdquo; she said, and her voice was
+full of scorn, &ldquo;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&nbsp;126]</a></span>
+seven daughters, and see if they in beauty and all else
+do not equal the dwellers in Olympus!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And when the people looked, and shouted aloud,
+for in truth Niobe and her children were like unto gods,
+their queen said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Truly shalt thou be avenged!&rdquo; cried Apollo.
+&ldquo;The shameless one shall learn that not unscathed goes
+she who profanes the honour of the mother of the deathless
+gods!&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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 &ldquo;seven
+spears.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not yet hast thou conquered, Latona!&rdquo; she cried.
+&ldquo;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!&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;She is so little!&rdquo; she wailed. &ldquo;So young&mdash;so
+dear! Ah, spare me <em>one</em>,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;only one out of
+so many!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But the gods laughed. Like a harsh note of music
+sounded the twang of Diana&rsquo;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&rsquo;s anguish and
+never-ending grief.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg&nbsp;129]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>HYACINTHUS</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i5">... &ldquo;The sad death<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Zephyr slew him&mdash;Zephyr penitent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who now, ere Ph&oelig;bus mounts the firmament,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Keats.</span></p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;Whom the gods love die young&rdquo;&mdash;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&mdash;no narrower than their
+lives&mdash;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s wing
+broke the everlasting stillness, Hyacinthus&mdash;his strong
+limbs too perfect for the chisel of any sculptor worthily
+to reproduce&mdash;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&mdash;with
+words to break the spell of Nature&rsquo;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&nbsp;131]</a></span>
+And when those times came, Hyacinthus would lie at
+the feet of his friend&mdash;of the friend who was a god&mdash;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s blood,
+his gallant young soul passed away.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Would that I could die for thee, Hyacinthus!&rdquo;
+cried the god, his god&rsquo;s heart near breaking. &ldquo;I have
+robbed thee of thy youth. Thine is the suffering, mine
+the crime. I shall sing thee ever&mdash;oh perfect friend!
+And evermore shalt thou live as a flower that will speak
+to the hearts of men of spring, of everlasting youth&mdash;of
+life that lives forever.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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 &ldquo;A&igrave;,&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Alas!&rdquo;</p></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg&nbsp;134]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>KING MIDAS OF THE GOLDEN TOUCH</h2>
+
+
+<p>In the plays of Shakespeare we have three distinct
+divisions&mdash;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 &ldquo;<em>History</em>&rdquo; is the only
+right label for the Book of Life&rsquo;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>&ldquo;The first man who enters your city riding in a
+car shall be your king.&rdquo;</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&mdash;fowls, a goat or two, and a
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;I would have gold,&rdquo; he said hastily&mdash;&ldquo;much gold.
+I would have that touch by which all common and
+valueless things become golden treasures.&rdquo;</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: &ldquo;Be it as thou wilt. Thine shall be the
+golden touch.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&mdash;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&nbsp;138]</a></span>
+In despair, at length he cried to the god who had
+given him the gift that he hated.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Save me, O Bacchus!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Apollo heard his boast, and heard it angrily.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, thou whose soul is the soul of the untilled
+ground!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;wouldst thou place thy music, that
+is like the wind in the reeds, beside my music, which is
+as the music of the spheres?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Pan, splashing with his goat&rsquo;s feet amongst the
+water-lilies of the stream on the bank of which he sat,
+laughed loudly and cried:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yea, would I, Apollo! Willingly would I play thee
+a match&mdash;thou on thy golden lyre&mdash;I on my reeds from
+the river.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Canst, then, make music like unto my music,
+Apollo?&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Ye who listen&mdash;who is the victor?&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;The victory is thine, Divine Apollo.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Yet was there one dissentient voice.</p>
+
+<p>Midas, sorely puzzled, utterly un-understanding, was
+relieved when the music of Apollo ceased. &ldquo;If only
+Pan would play again,&rdquo; he murmured to himself. &ldquo;I
+wish to live, and Pan&rsquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Therefore he raised his voice, and called very loud:
+&ldquo;Pan&rsquo;s music is sweeter and truer and greater than the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg&nbsp;142]</a></span>
+music of Apollo. Pan is the victor, and I, King Midas,
+give him the victor&rsquo;s crown!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>With scorn ineffable the sun-god turned upon Midas,
+his peasant&rsquo;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>&ldquo;The ears of an ass have heard my music,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Henceforth shall Midas have ass&rsquo;s ears.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;143]</a></span>
+whispered to the damp earth: &ldquo;King Midas has ass&rsquo;s
+ears.&rdquo;</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: &ldquo;King Midas has ass&rsquo;s ears! King Midas
+has ass&rsquo;s ears!&rdquo; 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&mdash;the
+tragic comedian of mythology.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg&nbsp;144]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CEYX AND HALCYONE</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;St. Martin&rsquo;s summer, halcyon days.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><i>King Henry VI</i>, i. 2, 131.</p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;Halcyon days&rdquo;&mdash;how often is the expression made
+use of, how seldom do its users realise from whence
+they have borrowed it.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;These were halcyon days,&rdquo; 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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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 &AElig;olus, 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&nbsp;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 &AElig;gean Sea to risk on it the
+life of the woman that he loved so well.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I promise,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;My King,&rdquo; she sighed to herself. &ldquo;My King! my
+Own!&rdquo; 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 &AElig;gean 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&nbsp;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&mdash;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&mdash;her king&mdash;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&nbsp;148]</a></span>
+spring&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&nbsp;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.
+&ldquo;Somnus,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&mdash;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&nbsp;152]</a></span>
+as she uttered the words, she stretched out her arms and
+cried aloud: &ldquo;O Ceyx! my Beloved! is it thus that
+thou returnest to me?&rdquo;</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&mdash;a
+wordless prayer of anguish to the gods.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Only let me get near him,&rdquo; she breathed. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&mdash;or, perhaps, the
+love of Halcyone was an all-conquering love. For as
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Ceyx!&rdquo; they cry. &ldquo;Remember Ceyx!&rdquo;</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>&mdash;The kingfisher is commonly known as the real &ldquo;Halcyon&rdquo;
+bird. Of it Socrates says: &ldquo;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
+halcyonid&aelig;, excelling all others in their calmness.&rdquo;</p></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg&nbsp;154]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ARIST&AElig;US THE BEE-KEEPER</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;... Every sound is sweet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Myriads of rivers hurrying thro&rsquo; the lawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The moan of doves in immemorial elms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And murmuring of innumerable bees.&rdquo;<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 Arist&aelig;us&mdash;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&nbsp;155]</a></span>
+perilous voyagings and beguiled to swarm in the sanctuary
+of a hive.</p>
+
+<p>Arist&aelig;us 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 Arist&aelig;us 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 Arist&aelig;us
+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 Arist&aelig;us, and
+as punishment they slew his bees. His hives stood
+empty and silent, and no more did &ldquo;the murmuring of
+innumerable bees&rdquo; 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 Arist&aelig;us 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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s weakness and the power of the creatures
+of water, but above her song those who listened heard
+a man&rsquo;s voice, calling loudly and pitifully.</p>
+
+<p>The voice was that of Arist&aelig;us, calling aloud for his
+mother. Then his mother gave command, and the
+waters of the river rolled asunder and let Arist&aelig;us 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>&ldquo;To men who live their little lives and work and
+die as I myself&mdash;though son of a nymph and of a god&mdash;must
+do,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This do I already know, my son,&rdquo; said Cyrene, and
+smiled upon Arist&aelig;us.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yet dost thou not know,&rdquo; said Arist&aelig;us, &ldquo;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&nbsp;157]</a></span>
+to the hives their honeyed treasure. The comb is empty.
+The bees are all dead&mdash;or, if not dead, they have forsaken
+me forever.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then spoke Cyrene. &ldquo;Hast heard, my son,&rdquo; she
+said, &ldquo;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&mdash;none but Proteus&mdash;can
+tell thee by what art thou canst win thy bees
+back once more.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then Arist&aelig;us with eagerness questioned his mother
+how he might find Proteus and gain from him the
+knowledge that he sought, and Cyrene answered: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Lead me now to Proteus, oh my mother!&rdquo; 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 Arist&aelig;us
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg&nbsp;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 Arist&aelig;us 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, Arist&aelig;us
+shouted aloud. And Proteus, awaking, swiftly turned
+himself into a wild boar with white tusks that lusted
+to thrust themselves into the thighs of Arist&aelig;us. But
+Arist&aelig;us, unflinching, kept his firm hold of the chain.
+Next did he become a tiger, tawny and velvet black,
+and fierce to devour. And still Arist&aelig;us 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 Arist&aelig;us held him.
+Then came a lion, its yellow pelt scented with the lust
+of killing, and while Arist&aelig;us 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&nbsp;159]</a></span>
+irresistible command of the almighty waves of the sea. Yet
+still Arist&aelig;us 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 Arist&aelig;us.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Puny one!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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 Arist&aelig;us, 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, Arist&aelig;us! Four bulls must
+thou find&mdash;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This will I do most faithfully, O Proteus,&rdquo; said
+Arist&aelig;us, 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 Arist&aelig;us 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&nbsp;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
+&ldquo;murmuring of innumerable bees.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Out of the eater came forth meat, out of the strong
+came forth sweetness.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Arist&aelig;us, 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&nbsp;161]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>PROSERPINE</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Shelley.</span></p>
+
+
+<p>The story of Persephone&mdash;of Proserpine&mdash;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&mdash;&ldquo;Persephone!
+Persephone!&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;&lsquo;The coal-black horses rise&mdash;they rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O mother, mother!&rsquo; low she cries&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Persephone&mdash;Persephone!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg&nbsp;163]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;O light, light, light!&rsquo; she cries, &lsquo;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!&rsquo;&rdquo;<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&mdash;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&mdash;her mother
+who had never yet failed her&mdash;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&nbsp;164]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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">&lsquo;My life, immortal though it be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is nought,&rsquo; she cries, &lsquo;for want of thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Persephone&mdash;Persephone!&rsquo;&rdquo;<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&rsquo;s
+heart for a child borne off to the Shades.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;&lsquo;My life is nought for want of thee,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Persephone! Persephone!&rsquo;&rdquo; ...<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&rsquo;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>&ldquo;Let us go to the Sun God,&rdquo; said Hecate. &ldquo;Surely
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg&nbsp;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;No less a thief was he,&rdquo; said Apollo, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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">&ldquo;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 ...&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Give me back my child!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Unwillingly Zeus granted the request of Demeter.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She shall come back,&rdquo; he said at last, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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&nbsp;167]</a></span>
+Demeter to save her child. She &ldquo;had eaten of Love&rsquo;s
+seed&rdquo; and &ldquo;changed into another.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;He takes the cleft pomegranate seeds:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Love, eat with me this parting day;&rsquo;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then bids them fetch the coal-black steeds&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Demeter&rsquo;s daughter, wouldst away?&rsquo;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gates of Hades set her free;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;She will return full soon,&rsquo; saith he&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;My wife, my wife Persephone.&rsquo;&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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&mdash;the
+coming of spring.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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&rsquo;
+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. &ldquo;Krroak! krroak! krroak!&rdquo; they go&mdash;&ldquo;krroak!
+krroak! krroak!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It is unceasing, unending. It goes on like the whirr
+of the wheels of a great clock that can never run down&mdash;a
+melancholy complaint against the hardships of destiny&mdash;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 &AElig;sop, 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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Surely, good people,&rdquo; she said, and her voice was
+sad and low, &ldquo;water is free to all. Very far have I
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg&nbsp;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Shameless ones!&rdquo; she said, in a voice as the
+voice of a storm that sweeps destroyingly over forest and
+mountain. &ldquo;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&nbsp;172]</a></span>
+in the mud of the green-scummed pools, thy homes in
+the water that thy flat feet have defiled.&rdquo;</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 &ldquo;<em>Krroak!
+krroak! krroak!</em>&rdquo; 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 &AElig;gean 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&nbsp;173]</a></span>
+of the deathless gods&mdash;the god and goddess, Apollo and
+Diana.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;... Those hinds that were transformed to frogs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Railed at Latona&rsquo;s twin-born progeny,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which after held the sun and moon in fee.&rdquo;<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&mdash;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&mdash;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>&ldquo;We did not know! We did not understand! Pity
+us! Ah, pity us! <em>Krroak! krroak! krroak!</em>&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s doom.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Henceforth,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s soft footfall on the rustling leaves.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s here?&rdquo; he called.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<em>Here!</em>&rdquo; answered Echo.</p>
+
+<p>Narcissus, peering amongst the trees&rsquo; long shadows
+and seeing no one, called &ldquo;Come!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And &ldquo;<em>Come!</em>&rdquo; called the glad voice of Echo, while
+the nymph, with fast-beating heart, felt that her day of
+happiness had come indeed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why do you shun me?&rdquo; then called Narcissus.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<em>Why do you shun me?</em>&rdquo; Echo repeated.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Let us join one another,&rdquo; said the lad, and the
+simple words seemed turned into song when Echo said
+them over.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<em>Let us join one another!</em>&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Away!&rdquo; he cried, shrinking back as if from something
+that he hated. &ldquo;<em>Away!</em> I would rather die than
+that you should have me!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<em>Have me!</em>&rdquo; 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&mdash;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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<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&mdash;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&nbsp;179]</a></span>
+given itself to that other mouth that was formed like the
+bow of Eros&mdash;a thing to slay hearts&mdash;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&mdash;spoke of his love&mdash;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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s and mother&rsquo;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>D&aelig;dalus, 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&rsquo;s level,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg&nbsp;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 D&aelig;dalus 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 D&aelig;dalus 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 D&aelig;dalus was here. Too much was this
+for the artist&rsquo;s jealous spirit.</p>
+
+<p>One day they stood together on the top of the Acropolis,
+and D&aelig;dalus, 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 Athen&eacute;, protectress of all clever craftsmen,
+came to his rescue. By her Perdrix was turned into the
+bird that still bears his name, and D&aelig;dalus 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 D&aelig;dalus 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&nbsp;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, D&aelig;dalus 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 D&aelig;dalus 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 D&aelig;dalus, 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
+D&aelig;dalus, 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&nbsp;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, D&aelig;dalus 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, D&aelig;dalus, 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&mdash;Success&mdash;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&rsquo;s
+desire&mdash;to the Islands of the Blessed. But when Sleep
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg&nbsp;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 D&aelig;dalus was
+glad and proud as well to watch his son&rsquo;s joy and his fearless
+daring. One word of counsel only did he give him.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Beware, dear son of my heart,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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 D&aelig;dalus 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&rsquo; hearts sank
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg&nbsp;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&rsquo;s slim body grew
+chilled, and he longed for the sun&rsquo;s rays to turn the
+waters of the &AElig;gean 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&rsquo;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&nbsp;187]</a></span>
+the radiant sun-god smiling down on him, the warning
+of D&aelig;dalus was forgotten. As he had excelled other
+lads in foot races, now did Icarus wish to excel the
+birds themselves. D&aelig;dalus 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 &AElig;gean Sea to where the sun-god&rsquo;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&nbsp;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 D&aelig;dalus, but there was no
+time to lament his son&rsquo;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&mdash;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?&mdash;when, even for the space of a few
+of the heart-beats of Time, he has tasted supreme power&mdash;the
+ecstasy of illimitable happiness?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg&nbsp;189]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CLYTIE</h2>
+
+
+<p>The sunbeams are basking on the high walls of the old
+garden&mdash;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>&ldquo;Sunflowers&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s adoration irked him, nor
+did pity come as Love&rsquo;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&nbsp;191]</a></span>
+Half-mocking, Diana said, &ldquo;In truth the fair nymph
+who throws her heart&rsquo;s treasures at the feet of my
+golden-locked brother that he may trample on them, is
+coming to look like a faded flower!&rdquo; And, as she spoke,
+the hearts of the other immortal dwellers in Olympus
+were stirred with pity.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A flower she shall be!&rdquo; they said, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And, as they willed, the nymph passed out of her
+human form, and took the form of a flower, and evermore&mdash;the
+emblem of constancy&mdash;does she gaze with
+fearless ardour on the face of her love.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;192]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>THE CRANES OF IBYCUS</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With most miraculous organ.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;193]</a></span>
+sands of Egypt, to dance and beck and bow to each
+other by the marshes of his homeland.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Welcome back, little brothers!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;May
+you and I both meet with naught but kindness from the
+people of this land!&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Take up my cause, dear cranes!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;since
+no voice but yours answers my cry!&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Is it thus I find you restored to me?&rdquo; said he who
+had expected him in Corinth as his honoured guest;
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg&nbsp;194]</a></span>
+&ldquo;I who hoped to place the victor&rsquo;s laurels on your head
+when you triumphed in the temple of song!&rdquo;</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&mdash;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&mdash;the
+Eumenides&mdash;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">&ldquo;With all the pomp of horror, dy&rsquo;d in gore.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;195]</a></span>
+&ldquo;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!&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;<em>See there! see there! behold, comrade, the cranes of
+Ibycus!</em>&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Seize him! seize him!&rdquo; cried in unison the
+voices of thousands. &ldquo;Seize the man, and him to whom
+he spoke!&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&nbsp;197]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>SYRINX</h2>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&ldquo;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?&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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?&mdash;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s most perfect beauty.
+Yet as he spoke, the unknown thing came and smote
+with icy hands the heart of Syrinx.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! I have Fear! I have Fear!&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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&mdash;he was
+Power&mdash;he was Fear&mdash;he was Beast&mdash;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 &ldquo;watery sisters&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s
+unutterable woe. At the reeds by the river he gazed,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg&nbsp;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&rsquo;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>&ldquo;Thus shalt thou still be mine, my Syrinx,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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&mdash;still dies:</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;A note of music by its own breath slain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blown tenderly from the frail heart of a reed,&rdquo;<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&nbsp;202]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>THE DEATH OF ADONIS</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;The fairest youth that ever maiden&rsquo;s dream conceived.&rdquo;<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&rsquo;s and
+painter&rsquo;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&nbsp;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 &ldquo;Something better than his dog, a little
+dearer than his horse,&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;O, be advised: thou know&rsquo;st not what it is<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With javelin&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;wondrous dread!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.&rdquo;<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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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 &ldquo;knew the strange, slow chill which,
+stealing, tells the young that it is death.&rdquo;</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&mdash;a love stronger than
+life, than time, than death itself. His hounds and his
+spear seemed but playthings now. Only the eternities
+remained&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s embers
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg&nbsp;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>&ldquo;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&mdash;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>&ldquo;&lsquo;<em>Woe, woe for Cytherea, he hath perished, the lovely Adonis!</em>&rsquo;&rdquo;</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: &ldquo;Yet shall I keep a
+memorial of Adonis that shall be to all everlasting!&rdquo;
+And, as she spoke, her tears and his blood, mingling
+together, were turned into flowers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Never can it be that the Queen of Love and of
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg&nbsp;207]</a></span>
+Beauty leaves Olympus and the pleasant earth to tread
+for evermore the dark Cocytus valley,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Thus did it come to pass that when dark winter&rsquo;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;208]</a></span>
+&ldquo;The flower of Death&rdquo; is the name that the Chinese
+give to the wind-flower&mdash;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&mdash;of a love which is
+unending.</p>
+
+<p>The cruel tusk of a rough, remorseless winter still
+yearly slays the &ldquo;lovely Adonis&rdquo; 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">&ldquo;Le ciel tout en fleur semble une immense rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Qu&rsquo;un Adonis c&eacute;leste a teinte de son sang.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;209]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PAN</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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">&lsquo;This is the way,&rsquo; laughed the great god Pan<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(Laughed while he sat by the river),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;The only way, since gods began<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make sweet music, they could succeed.&rsquo;<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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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&mdash;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>&mdash;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&nbsp;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&mdash;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&mdash;the name by
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg&nbsp;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 &ldquo;solemn, kindly, round-backed
+hills&rdquo; of the Scottish Border, in the remoteness
+of the Australian bush. They have no reasons to give&mdash;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&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;<i>To Pan, and to the Sylvan deities</i>&rdquo;?<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, &ldquo;clung to his
+paddle,&rdquo; writes of such a fear when he escaped death
+by drowning from the Oise in flood.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;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&rsquo;s
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg&nbsp;215]</a></span>
+music. Would the wicked river drag me down by the
+heels, indeed? and look so beautiful all the time?
+Nature&rsquo;s good humour was only skin-deep, after all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And of the reeds he writes: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<em>The Beauty and the terror of the world</em>&rdquo;&mdash;was not
+this what Pan stood for to the Greeks of long ago?</p>
+
+<p>The gladness of living, the terror of living&mdash;the exquisite
+joy and the infinite pain&mdash;that has been the
+possession of Pan&mdash;for we have not yet found a more
+fitting title&mdash;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&rsquo;s feet and his horns,
+although these were handed on from him to Satan when
+Christianity broke down the altars of Paganism.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nature, which is the Time-vesture of God and reveals
+Him to the wise, hides Him from the foolish,&rdquo; 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">&ldquo;In Being&rsquo;s floods, in Action&rsquo;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">&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg&nbsp;216]</a></span>
+So speaks the <i>Erdgeist</i> in Goethe&rsquo;s <i>Faust</i>, and yet
+another of the greatest of the poets writes:</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains&mdash;<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&mdash;were it not He?&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Tennyson.</span></p>
+
+<p>Carlyle says that &ldquo;The whole universe is the Garment
+of God,&rdquo; 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&mdash;the human body&mdash;united, yet
+ever in conflict&mdash;that is Pan. The sighing and longing
+for things that must endure everlastingly&mdash;the riotous
+enjoyment of the beauty of life&mdash;the perfect appreciation
+of the things that are. Life is so real, so strong, so full
+of joyousness and of beauty,&mdash;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&nbsp;217]</a></span>
+died as a malefactor, on the cross&mdash;&ldquo;And it was about
+the sixth hour, and there was a darkness all over the
+earth&rdquo;&mdash;Thamus, an Egyptian pilot, was guiding a ship
+near the islands of Pax&aelig; in the Ionian Sea; and to him
+came a great voice, saying, &ldquo;Go! make everywhere the
+proclamation, <em>Great Pan is dead!</em>&rdquo;</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&rsquo;s words&mdash;&ldquo;<em>Pan is dead&mdash;Pan is dead.</em>&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;The lonely mountains o&rsquo;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&rsquo;d with poplar pale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The parting genius is with sighing sent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With flow&rsquo;r-inwoven tresses torn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.&rdquo;<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">&ldquo;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&nbsp;218]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Gods! we vainly do adjure you,&mdash;<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">&lsquo;<em>Here these grey old gods do lie</em>,&rsquo;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pan, Pan is dead.&rdquo;<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, &ldquo;<i>Joie de vivre</i>,&rdquo; and De Musset
+speaks of &ldquo;<i>Le vin de la jeunesse</i>&rdquo; which ferments &ldquo;<i>dans
+les veines de Dieu</i>.&rdquo; It is Pan who inspires Seumas, the
+old islander, of whom Fiona Macleod writes, and who,
+looking towards the sea at sunrise, says, &ldquo;Every
+morning like this I take my hat off to the beauty of the
+world.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;s
+feet, on the gentlest flowers of spring. They know not
+the meaning of &ldquo;the Green Fire of Life,&rdquo; nor have they
+ever known Pan&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&mdash;the
+ache of the <i>Weltschmerz</i>&mdash;the echo of the pipes of Pan.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;... 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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;220]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>LORELEI</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dass ich so traurig bin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ein M&auml;rchen 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 sch&ouml;nste Jungfrau sitzet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dort oben wunderbar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ihr gold&rsquo;nes Geschmeide blitzet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sie k&auml;mmt ihr gold&rsquo;nes Haar.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sie k&auml;mmt es mit gold&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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 &ldquo;Suicide,&rdquo; &ldquo;Death by drowning,&rdquo; or &ldquo;By Misadventure&rdquo;
+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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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 &ldquo;seen in that watery fury and their hellish hate and
+turbulence in the beating of the sea against the rocks.&rdquo;
+&ldquo;The bitter gifts of our lord Poseidon&rdquo; is the name
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg&nbsp;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&mdash;poet of the sea, of running
+water, and of lonely places&mdash;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. &ldquo;She is like a woman of the old tales whose
+beauty is dreadful,&rdquo; said Seumas, the islander, &ldquo;and
+who breaks your heart at last whether she smiles or
+frowns. But she doesn&rsquo;t care about that, or whether
+you are hurt or not. It&rsquo;s because she has no heart,
+being all a wild water.&rdquo;<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">&ldquo;Once I sat upon a promontory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin&rsquo;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&rsquo;s music.&rdquo;<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&mdash;the Lorelei.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg&nbsp;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 &ldquo;gleaming towns
+by the river-side and the green vineyards combed along
+the hills,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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">&ldquo;Her voice was like the voice the stars<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had when they sang together.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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 &ldquo;ein M&auml;rchen aus alten Zeiten&rdquo;&mdash;a legend of
+long ago.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg&nbsp;226]</a></span>
+But it is a very much older <i>M&auml;rchen</i> that tells us of
+the warning of Circe to Odysseus:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;</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">&ldquo;<i>Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Dass ich so traurig bin.</i>&rdquo;<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&nbsp;227]</a></span></p>
+<h2>FREYA, QUEEN OF THE NORTHERN GODS</h2>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;Friday&rsquo;s bairn is loving and giving,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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 &ldquo;Good Friday,&rdquo; the
+tragedy in which all humanity was involved, Friday
+was the day of Freya, &ldquo;The Beloved,&rdquo; gentle protectress,
+and most generous giver of all joys, delights, and
+pleasures. From her, in medi&aelig;val 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 &ldquo;Lady&rdquo;&mdash;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, &ldquo;Ladybird, ladybird, fly away
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg&nbsp;228]</a></span>
+home,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s Belt was known
+as &ldquo;Frigga&rsquo;s spindle&rdquo; 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">&ldquo;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&rsquo;d.&rdquo;<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&mdash;the silence of the lonely
+marshes where the heron stands in mutest contemplation&mdash;a
+tall, very stately, very queenly, wholly beautiful
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg&nbsp;229]</a></span>
+woman, with a bunch of keys at her girdle&mdash;symbol of
+her protection of the Northern housewife&mdash;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&mdash;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 &ldquo;feminine weakness&rdquo; 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&mdash;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&mdash;they
+who dealt always with fine metal&mdash;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&nbsp;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&mdash;the most hideous
+of all&mdash;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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. &ldquo;The army upon which
+my eyes shall first rest when I awake at the dawning,&rdquo;
+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&nbsp;232]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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;&mdash;<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.&rdquo;<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, &ldquo;What Longbeards are those?&rdquo;
+he cried.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They are Winilers!&rdquo; said Freya, in joyous triumph,
+&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&rsquo; 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&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Saxon and Norman and Dane are we&rdquo;&mdash;<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 &ldquo;loving and giving&rdquo;&mdash;the little child&rsquo;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&nbsp;234]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE DEATH OF BALDUR</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;I heard a voice, that cried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Baldur the Beautiful<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is dead, is dead!&rsquo;<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.&rdquo;<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&mdash;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">&ldquo;My strength is of the strength of ten,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because my heart is pure.&rdquo;<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>Baldrsbr&aacute;</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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;A twig of mistletoe, tender and fair, grew high
+above the field,&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;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; &lsquo;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.&rsquo;&rdquo;</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&nbsp;237]</a></span>
+&ldquo;Who, then, would avenge him?&rdquo; 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>&ldquo;<em>Who</em>,&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;<em>would refuse to weep at Baldur&rsquo;s
+death?</em>&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All things?&rdquo; queried Loki.</p>
+
+<p>And Freya answered, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;Why dost thou not take aim at Baldur with a
+weapon that fails and so join in the laughter?&rdquo; asked
+Loki.</p>
+
+<p>And Hodur sadly made answer:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg&nbsp;239]</a></span>
+&ldquo;Well dost thou know that darkness is my lot, nor
+have I ought to cast at my brother.&rdquo;</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. &ldquo;<em>Baldur the Beautiful is dead! is dead!</em>&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;That was the greatest woe that ever befell gods
+and men,&rdquo; says the story.</p>
+
+<p>The sound of terrible mourning in place of laughter
+brought Freya to where</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p></div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Matthew Arnold.</span></p>
+
+<p>When she saw what had befallen him, Freya&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;Come then! if Baldur was so dear beloved,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is true, and such a loss is Heaven&rsquo;s&mdash;<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.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Matthew Arnold.</span></p>
+
+<p>Gladly Hermoder made answer:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All things shall weep for Baldur!&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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">&ldquo;BALDUR THE BEAUTIFUL IS DEAD&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg&nbsp;241]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Seventy ells and four extended<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the grass the vessel&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<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, &ldquo;<em>All
+creatures weep, and Baldur shall return!</em>&rdquo;</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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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!&rdquo;<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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Longfellow.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Heartily know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When half-gods go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gods arrive.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;244]</a></span></p>
+<h2>BEOWULF</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;He was of mankind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In might the strongest.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Longfellow&rsquo;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&rsquo;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 &ldquo;the most ancient heroic poem in the Germanic
+language,&rdquo; and was brought to Britain by the &ldquo;Wing&egrave;d
+Hats&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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>&mdash;<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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&mdash;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&mdash;as his palace was named&mdash;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&nbsp;247]</a></span>
+Now, in the dark fens of that land there dwelt a monster&mdash;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&rsquo;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">&ldquo;A fair troop of warrior thanes guarding it found he;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heedlessly sleeping, they recked not of sorrow.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Never a thought did they give to the Grendel,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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&nbsp;249]</a></span>
+no greater hero lived in his kingdom than Beowulf,
+his own sister&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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, N&auml;geling, 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&mdash;a scald&mdash;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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;What are ye warlike men<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>wielding bright weapons,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wearing grey corselets and<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>boar-adorned helmets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who o&rsquo;er the water-paths<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>come with your foaming keel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ploughing the ocean surge?<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>I was appointed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Warden of Denmark&rsquo;s shores;<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>watch hold I by the wave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That on this Danish coast<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>no deadly enemy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leading troops over sea<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>should land to injure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None have here landed yet<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>more frankly coming<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than this fair company:<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>and yet ye answer not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The password of warriors,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>and customs of kinsmen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ne&rsquo;er have mine eyes beheld<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>a mightier warrior,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An earl more lordly than<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>is he the chief of you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He is no common man;<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>if looks belie him not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He is a hero bold,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>worthily weaponed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Anon must I know of you<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>kindred and country,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest ye of spies should go<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>free on our Danish soil.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now ye men from afar,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>sailing the surging sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have heard my earnest thought:<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>best is a quick reply,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I may swiftly know<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>whence ye have hither come.&rdquo;<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&rsquo;s deliverer, to slay
+the thing that</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Cometh in dark of night,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>sateth his secret hate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Worketh through fearsome awe,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>slaughter and shame.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>With joy the warden heard his noble words.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My men shall beach your ship,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and
+make her fast with a barrier of oars against the greedy
+tide. Come with me to the king.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It was a gallant band that strode into Heorot, where
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg&nbsp;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, N&auml;geling. 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">&ldquo;Needs must I now perform knightly deeds in this hall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or here must meet my doom in darksome night.&rdquo;<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">&ldquo;I have heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That that foul miscreant&rsquo;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.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg&nbsp;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 &ldquo;What is to be goes ever as it
+must,&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;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!&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&mdash;half wolf,
+half woman&mdash;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&mdash;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&rsquo;s sake, for the king&rsquo;s, and for the
+sake of his own honour. Then once again did he
+pledge himself to do all that man&rsquo;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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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&rsquo;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&mdash;stained with blood that
+ever welled upwards, and in which revelled with a
+fierce sort of joy&mdash;the rapture of bestial cruelty&mdash;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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;A glorious sword,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An old brand gigantic,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>trusty in point and edge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An heirloom of heroes.&rdquo;<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&mdash;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&nbsp;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 &ldquo;<em>Beowulf! Beowulf!</em>&rdquo;</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">&ldquo;Well hast thou treated us.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If on this earth I can<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>do more to win thy love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O prince of warriors,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>than I have wrought as yet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here stand I ready now<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>weapons to wield for thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I shall ever hear<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>o&rsquo;er the encircling flood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That any neighbouring foes<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>threaten thy nation&rsquo;s fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As Grendel grim before,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>swift will I bring to thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thousands of noble thanes,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>heroes to help thee.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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>&ldquo;The Must Be often helps an undoomed man when
+he is brave&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s stead, but Beowulf
+was too loyal a soul to supplant his uncle&rsquo;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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;Seeing that Death, a necessary end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will come when it will come.&rdquo;<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 &ldquo;beyond the dreams of avarice.&rdquo;
+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&mdash;a Firedrake&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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, &ldquo;For I alone,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;will win the gold
+and save my people, or Death shall take me.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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">&ldquo;I thank God eternal,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>the great King of Glory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the vast treasures<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>which I here gaze upon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I ere my death-day<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>might for my people<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Win so great wealth&mdash;<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>Since I have given my life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou must now look to<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>the needs of the nation;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here dwell I no longer,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>for Destiny calleth me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bid thou my warriors<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>after my funeral pyre<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Build me a burial-cairn<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>high on the sea-cliffs head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It shall for memory<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>tower up to Hronesness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So that the sea-farers<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>Beowulf&rsquo;s Barrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Henceforth shall name it,<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>they who drive far and wide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over the mighty flood<span class="s1">&nbsp;</span>their foaming Reels.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art the last of all<span class="s1">&nbsp;</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">&nbsp;</span>all the brave chiefs away!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now must I follow them!&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg&nbsp;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, &ldquo;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&rdquo;:</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Gentlest, most gracious, most keen to win glory.&rdquo;<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&mdash;where</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;High on the sea-cliff ledges<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The white gulls are trooping and crying&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>&mdash;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 C&aelig;sar</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&nbsp;266]</a></span></p>
+<h2>ROLAND THE PALADIN</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Roland, the flower of chivalry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Expired at Roncevall.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Thomas Campbell.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Hero-worship endures for ever while man endures.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Carlyle.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Roland, the gode knight.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Turpin&rsquo;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,
+&ldquo;God be our help! God be our help!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;Taillefer ... chantoit de Rollant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Et d&rsquo;Olivier, et de Vassaux<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Qui mourent en Rainschevaux.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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: &ldquo;In which battle was slain Roland,
+prefect of the marches of Brittany.&rdquo; Merely a Breton
+squire, we are told to believe&mdash;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 &ldquo;it is the memory that the
+soldier leaves after him, like the long trail of light that
+follows the sunken sun,&rdquo; 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&rsquo; campaign against the Saracens in Spain.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;No fortress stands before him unsubdued,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor wall, nor city left to be destroyed,&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>save one&mdash;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
+&ldquo;Mahommed, Apollo, and Termagaunt,&rdquo; and looked
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg&nbsp;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 &ldquo;Douzeperes&rdquo;&mdash;his
+Twelve Peers&mdash;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&nbsp;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&mdash;all
+those qualities which endeared him to the
+hearts of other men. Roland was his sister&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s cage and picks up a scrap almost out
+of the monarch&rsquo;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>&ldquo;A hungry one this,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and very bold.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;My father gave her wine,&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;They
+were drinking wine in that great hall. It will make her
+white cheeks red again.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;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>&ldquo;No! no! bold thief,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I cannot have
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg&nbsp;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?&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;No one sent me,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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&rdquo;&mdash;and the child
+struggled to free his hand that still held the cup.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who art thou, then?&rdquo; asked Charlemagne.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My name is Roland&mdash;let me go, I pray thee,&rdquo; and
+again he tried to drag himself free. And Charlemagne
+mockingly said:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Roland, I fear thy father and mother have taught
+thee to be a clever thief.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then anger blazed in Roland&rsquo;s eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My mother is a lady of high degree!&rdquo; he cried,
+&ldquo;and I am her page, her cupbearer, her knight!
+I do not speak false words!&rdquo;&mdash;and he would have
+struck the King for very rage.</p>
+
+<p>Then Charlemagne turned to his lords and asked&mdash;&ldquo;Who
+is this child?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And one made answer: &ldquo;He is the son of thy
+sister Bertha, and of Milon the knight, who was drowned
+these three weeks agone.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&mdash;so beloved by his mother, so loved and
+honoured by the King&mdash;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&mdash;he who
+was the Jonathan of Roland&rsquo;s David&mdash;nor would he
+have Naismes de Bavi&egrave;re, nor Turpin, &ldquo;the chivalrous
+and undaunted Bishop of Rheims.&rdquo; 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&nbsp;273]</a></span>
+&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then Roland, who never knew an ungenerous thought,
+quickly said: &ldquo;Then, indeed, it must be Ganelon who
+goes, for if he goes, or if he stays, you have none better
+than he.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And all the other peers applauded the choice, and
+Charlemagne said to Ganelon:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come hither, Ganelon, and receive my staff and
+glove, which the voice of all the Franks have given to
+thee.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;You and your friends have sent me to my death!&rdquo;
+he cried. &ldquo;But if by a miracle I should return, look
+you to yourself, Roland, for assuredly I shall be revenged!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Roland grew red, then very white, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;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?&rdquo; And eagerly
+he looked Charlemagne in the face&mdash;eager as, when a
+child, he had craved the cup of wine for his mother&rsquo;s
+sake.</p>
+
+<p>But Charlemagne, with darkened brow, shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ganelon must go,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;for so have I commanded.
+Go! for the honour of Jesus Christ, and for
+your Emperor.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg&nbsp;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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Thou hast done well, Ganelon,&rdquo; said the king.
+&ldquo;I give thanks to my God and to thee. Thou shalt be
+well rewarded.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Who, then, shall command the rearguard?&rdquo; he asked.
+And quickly Ganelon answered, &ldquo;Who but Roland?
+Ever would he seek the post where danger lies.&rdquo;</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">&ldquo;<i>For dred of dethe, he hid neuer his hed.</i>&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Leaving them behind with twenty thousand men, and
+with Ganelon commanding the vanguard, Charlemagne
+started.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Christ keep you!&rdquo; he said on parting with Roland&mdash;&ldquo;<em>I
+betak you to Crist.</em>&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&mdash;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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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; &ldquo;dew dymmd
+the floures,&rdquo; 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, &ldquo;who suffrid for us
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg&nbsp;278]</a></span>
+paynes sore,&rdquo; 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&mdash;&ldquo;A Roland for an Oliver&rdquo; 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">&ldquo;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.&rdquo;<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">&ldquo;&lsquo;Friend, what hast thou there?&rsquo; cried Roland.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;In this game &rsquo;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?&rsquo;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Here,&rsquo; said Oliver; &lsquo;so fight I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I have not time to draw it.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Friend,&rsquo; quoth Roland, &lsquo;more I love thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ever henceforth than a brother.&rsquo;&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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&rsquo; call.</p>
+
+<p>The war-cry of the soldiers of France&mdash;&ldquo;Montjoie!
+Montjoie!&rdquo;&mdash;rang clear above the fierce sound of the
+trumpets of the Saracen army.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;&lsquo;Soldiers of the Lord,&rsquo; cried Turpin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;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!&mdash;<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!&rsquo;&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg&nbsp;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&mdash;Death the inevitable&mdash;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>&ldquo;The blast of thy horn cannot bring back the dead
+to life,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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&nbsp;281]</a></span>
+beasts devour them and croaking wretches with foul
+beaks tear our flesh and leave our bones dishonoured.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That is well said,&rdquo; 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>&ldquo;Why shouldst thou fear, sire?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Roland
+has surely gone after some wild boar or deer, so fond is
+he of the chase.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;s blood. Yet ever
+he cried, &ldquo;Montjoie! Montjoie!&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s blessing upon
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg&nbsp;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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">&ldquo;... 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.&rdquo;<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&nbsp;283]</a></span>
+Veillantif, Roland&rsquo;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">&ldquo;&lsquo;Ah, gentle lord,&rsquo; said Roland, &lsquo;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.&rsquo;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&lsquo;Go,&rsquo; said the dying priest, &lsquo;but soon return.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thank God! the victory is yours and mine!&rsquo;&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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">&ldquo;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!&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Then did Roland know that for him, also, there
+&ldquo;was no other way but death.&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;It is Roland, the nephew of the Emperor!&rdquo; he joyously
+thought, and in triumph he said to himself, &ldquo;I shall
+bear his sword back with me!&rdquo; But as his Pagan hand
+touched the hilt of the sword and would have torn it from
+Roland&rsquo;s dying grasp, the hero was aroused from his swoon.
+One great stroke cleft the Saracen&rsquo;s skull and laid him dead
+at Roland&rsquo;s feet. Then to Durendala Roland spoke:</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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!&rdquo;<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&rsquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s end, the
+soul of Roland passed away.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">&ldquo;... 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.&mdash;All bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The soul of Count Rolland to Paradise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i13">Aoi.&rdquo;<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>&ldquo;All the field was with blod ouer roun&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Many
+a good swerd was broken ther&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Many a fadirles
+child ther was at home.&rdquo;</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">&ldquo;&lsquo;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!&rsquo;&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Roland, thy hero, like a hero died,&rdquo; 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&nbsp;288]</a></span>
+<span class="i8">&ldquo;... 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!&rdquo;<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&nbsp;289]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE CHILDREN OF L&Icirc;R</h2>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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, L&icirc;r&rsquo;s lonely daughter<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.&rdquo;<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 L&icirc;r.</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 L&icirc;r
+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 L&icirc;r, for after an illness of three
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg&nbsp;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>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And the message brought comfort to L&icirc;r, 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 L&icirc;r 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 L&icirc;r:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Behold my three daughters. Choose which one
+thou wilt.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And L&icirc;r answered, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>That day he married Eve, and L&icirc;r 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&nbsp;291]</a></span>
+the world, the eyes of their mother closed on pleasant
+life forever, and once again L&icirc;r 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 L&icirc;r:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;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&rsquo;s care.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And again L&icirc;r 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&rsquo;s
+children as though they were her own. But when she
+saw how passionate was her husband&rsquo;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&nbsp;292]</a></span>
+Feast of Age&mdash;the feast of the great god Mannanan, of
+which those who partook never grew old&mdash;the four
+children of L&icirc;r 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 L&icirc;r 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&rsquo;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 L&icirc;r was quite blind,
+and that in a tone of her stepmother&rsquo;s voice, in a look
+she had surprised in her eyes, she had learned that the
+love that her father&rsquo;s wife professed for her and for the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg&nbsp;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 L&icirc;r, who must have wondered
+at the tears that stood in Finola&rsquo;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: &ldquo;Much wealth have I,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The servants heard her in horror, and in horror and
+shame for her they answered: &ldquo;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 L&icirc;r&rsquo;s innocent little children.&rdquo;</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&mdash;now Lough Derravaragh, in
+West Meath&mdash;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&nbsp;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 L&icirc;r. 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>&ldquo;Very evil is the deed that thou hast done,&rdquo; she
+said. &ldquo;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!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then she asked&mdash;a child still, longing to know when
+the dreary days of its banishment from other children
+should be over&mdash;&ldquo;Tell us how long a time must pass
+until we can take our own forms again.&rdquo;</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: &ldquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s runes can set
+ye free until that weird is dreed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke, a strange softening came into the
+evil woman&rsquo;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>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;296]</a></span>
+&ldquo;L&icirc;r loves thee no longer,&rdquo; she made answer. &ldquo;He
+will not trust his children to thee, lest thou shouldst work
+them some ill.&rdquo;</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, L&icirc;r 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, L&icirc;r&rsquo;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 L&icirc;r, 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 L&icirc;r 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 L&icirc;r:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The suffering of the little children who are dear
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg&nbsp;297]</a></span>
+to our souls shall come to an end at last. Thine shall
+be an eternal doom.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And he put her on oath to tell him &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A demon of the air,&rdquo; answered the cowering woman.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A demon of the air shalt thou be until time shall
+cease!&rdquo; said her foster-father. Thereupon he smote
+her with his druidical wand, and a creature too hideous
+for men&rsquo;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 L&icirc;r 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 L&icirc;r three hundred years
+passed happily away.</p>
+
+<p>Sad for them and for L&icirc;r, 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&nbsp;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 L&icirc;r
+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 L&icirc;r 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 L&icirc;r 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: &ldquo;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&nbsp;299]</a></span>
+appoint a place of meeting, lest we never look upon
+each other again.&rdquo;</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>&ldquo;If Aed would only come,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;then should
+we be happy indeed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg&nbsp;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 L&icirc;r.</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">&ldquo;Happy our father L&icirc;r 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&nbsp;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 &rsquo;neath my breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">L&icirc;r&rsquo;s sons have known no other rest.&rdquo;<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 L&icirc;r 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 L&icirc;r.</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>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg&nbsp;302]</a></span>
+Then said her brothers: &ldquo;In Him we put our trust,&rdquo;
+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 L&icirc;r joyously spread
+their wings and flew to their father&rsquo;s home at Shee
+Finnaha.</p>
+
+<p>But the house was there no more, for L&icirc;r, 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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Dost not know what sound it is?&rdquo; she asked,
+divining their thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We heard a faint, fearful voice,&rdquo; they said, &ldquo;but
+we know not what it is.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then said Finola: &ldquo;It is the voice of the Christian
+bell. Soon, now, shall our suffering be ended, for such
+is the will of God.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So very happily and peacefully they listened to the
+ringing of the bell, until Kemoc had said matins. Then
+said Finola: &ldquo;Let us now sing our music,&rdquo; 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 L&icirc;r 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 L&icirc;r, for whose sake he had
+come to Inis Glora, they told him all their piteous tale.</p>
+
+<p>Then said Kemoc, &ldquo;Come then to land, and put your
+trust in me, for on this island shall your enchantment
+come to an end.&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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>&ldquo;Is it truth that ye have dared to refuse a gift of
+your birds to my queen?&rdquo; he asked, in wrath.</p>
+
+<p>And Kemoc answered: &ldquo;It is truth.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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 L&icirc;r, in human form at last, turned to
+Kemoc and besought him to baptize them, because they
+knew that death was very near.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thou art not more sorrowful at parting from us
+than we are to part with you, dear Kemoc,&rdquo; they said.
+And Finola said, &ldquo;Bury us, I pray you, together.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;As oft in life my brothers dear<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Were sooth&rsquo;d by me to rest&mdash;<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&mdash;<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.&rdquo;<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 L&icirc;r.</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&nbsp;306]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DEIRDR&Ecirc;</h2>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&ldquo;Her beauty filled the old world of the Gael with a sweet, wonderful,
+and abiding rumour. The name of Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc;....&rdquo;</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">&ldquo;Morning star of loveliness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unhappy Helen of a Western land,&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>who is known to the Celts of Scotland as Darthool, to
+those of Ireland as Deirdr&ecirc;. As in the story of Helen,
+it is not easy, or even possible in the story of Deirdr&ecirc;,
+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 Deirdr&ecirc;, 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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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&rsquo; 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&nbsp;307]</a></span>
+But those who would revel in the old tale and have
+Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc; was born in Erin.
+All the most famous warriors of his time, heroes whose
+mighty deeds live on in legend, and whose title was
+&ldquo;The Champions of the Red Branch,&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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. &ldquo;A maiden fair, tall, long haired,
+for whom champions will contend ... and mighty
+kings be envious of her lovely, faultless form.&rdquo; 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>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Felim made answer:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Conor, the king, spoke then, and because the
+witchery of the perfect beauty and the magic charm of
+Deirdr&ecirc; was felt by him even before she was born, he
+said: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg&nbsp;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 &ldquo;more yellow than the western gold of the
+summer sun,&rdquo; looked on her with the fear that even
+the bravest heart feels on facing the Unknown. And
+Cathbad spoke: &ldquo;Let Deirdr&ecirc; be her name, sweet
+menace that she is.&rdquo; And the babe gazed up with starry
+eyes at the white-haired Druid as he chanted to her:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&ldquo;<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>&ldquo;<i>You will have a little grave apart to yourself; you will be a tale of wonder
+for ever, Deirdr&ecirc;.</i>&rdquo;</p></div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Lady Gregory&rsquo;s Translation.</span></p>
+
+<p>As Conor commanded, Deirdr&ecirc;, the little &ldquo;babe
+of destiny,&rdquo; 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>&ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; one day she asked her teacher, &ldquo;who
+made the stars, the firmament above, the earth, the
+flowers, both thee and me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg&nbsp;310]</a></span>
+And Cathbad answered: &ldquo;God. But who God is,
+alas! no man can say.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then Deirdr&ecirc;, 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. &ldquo;Ah, Cathbad!&rdquo;
+she cried, &ldquo;there shall come One in the dim future
+for whom all your Druid spells and charms are naught.&rdquo;</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&rsquo;s
+neck, and by her kisses strove to comfort him.</p>
+
+<p>As Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc; said: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg&nbsp;311]</a></span>
+And Lavarcam, without thought, made answer:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;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&rsquo;s
+wing. He has eyes of the darkest blue of the sky, and
+head and shoulders is he above all the men of Erin.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And what will be the name of that man, Lavarcam?&rdquo;
+asked Deirdr&ecirc;. &ldquo;And whence is he, and what
+his degree?&rdquo;</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 Deirdr&ecirc;: &ldquo;My love shall be given to
+none but Naoise, son of Usna. To him shall it belong
+forever.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>From that day forward, Naoise held kingship over
+the thoughts and dreams of Deirdr&ecirc;.</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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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&nbsp;312]</a></span>
+one day came from seeing Deirdr&ecirc;, 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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc; were hidden.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I have never seen men so near before,&rdquo; said
+Deirdr&ecirc;. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Lavarcam made answer: &ldquo;These are Naoise,
+Ardan, and Ainle&mdash;the three sons of Usna.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Deirdr&ecirc; looked hard at Lavarcam, and scorn and
+laughter were in her merry eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then shall I have speech with Naoise, Ardan, and
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg&nbsp;313]</a></span>
+Ainle,&rdquo; 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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc; gazed at them. Then:
+&ldquo;Are ye the Sons of Usna?&rdquo; 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 Deirdr&ecirc;: &ldquo;I blame thee
+not, poor swineherd,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and that thou mayst
+know that I deem thee a true man, I would fain ask
+thee to do one thing for me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And when the eyes of the herd met the eyes of
+Deirdr&ecirc;, a soul was born in him, and he knew things
+of which he never before had dreamed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I can do one thing to please thee, that will I
+do,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Aye, and gladly pay for it with my
+life. Thenceforth my life is thine.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Deirdr&ecirc; said: &ldquo;I would fain see Naoise, one of
+the Sons of Usna.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And once more the swineherd said: &ldquo;My life is
+thine.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then Deirdr&ecirc;, seeing in his eyes a very beautiful
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg&nbsp;314]</a></span>
+thing, stooped and kissed the swineherd on his weather-beaten,
+tanned forehead.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Go, then,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;to Naoise. Tell him that I,
+Deirdr&ecirc;, 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.&rdquo;</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 Deirdr&ecirc; had given him.</p>
+
+<p>Sorely puzzled was Lavarcam over the doings of
+Deirdr&ecirc; that day, for Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc;, rumour of his speech had reached the king,
+and the spears of Conor&rsquo;s men had enabled him to make
+true the words he had said to Deirdr&ecirc;: &ldquo;I will pay for it
+with my life.&rdquo; In this way was shed the first blood of
+that great sea of blood that was spilt for the love of
+Deirdr&ecirc;, 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&nbsp;315]</a></span>
+the camp of the Sons of Usna, and to Naoise she told
+the story of the love that Deirdr&ecirc; 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. &ldquo;I will come,&rdquo; he said to
+Lavarcam.</p>
+
+<p>Days passed, and Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc;
+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 Deirdr&ecirc;.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p></div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod.</span></p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg&nbsp;316]</a></span>
+From that moment Naoise &ldquo;gave his love to Deirdr&ecirc;
+above every other creature,&rdquo; 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 Deirdr&ecirc;
+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>&ldquo;Is it a wolf?&rdquo; cried Deirdr&ecirc;.</p>
+
+<p>And Naoise made answer: &ldquo;Either a dead man,
+or the mark of where a man has lain hidden thou wilt
+find under the bracken.&rdquo;</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: &ldquo;Well I knew that Conor would
+set a spy on my tracks. Come with me now, Deirdr&ecirc;,
+else may I lose thee forever.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And with a glad heart Deirdr&ecirc; went with him who
+was to be her lord, and Naoise took her to where his brothers
+awaited his coming. To Deirdr&ecirc;, 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&nbsp;317]</a></span>
+Naoise because of the certain wrath of Conor, the
+king.</p>
+
+<p>Then said Naoise: &ldquo;Although harm should come,
+for her dear sake I am willing to live in disgrace for the
+rest of my days.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Ardan and Ainle made answer: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc; were swift to discern evil
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg&nbsp;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&mdash;the vitrified fort&mdash;which he had built for himself
+and for those who should follow him.</p>
+
+<p>For Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc;,
+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&rsquo;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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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&nbsp;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 Deirdr&ecirc;&rsquo;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&mdash;all these things made music to
+Deirdr&ecirc;, to whom all things were dear.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Is tu mein na Dearshul agha</i>&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;The tenderness of
+heartsweet Deirdr&ecirc;&rdquo;&mdash;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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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&nbsp;320]</a></span>
+had planned to come against Naoise, to slay him, and
+to take Deirdr&ecirc; for his wife, but that ere he could come
+the Sons of Usna and Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc;, 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: &ldquo;Well content indeed!&rdquo; answered
+they.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And that is what I am not,&rdquo; 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>&ldquo;They took from me the one who would have been
+my wife,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;yet even that I can forgive, and if
+they would return to Erin, glad would my welcome be.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;321]</a></span>
+and Conor, glad at heart, said, &ldquo;My three best champions
+shall go to bring them back from their exile,&rdquo;
+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>&ldquo;Well did I know thou didst bear me no love,&rdquo;
+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 Deirdr&ecirc; the Beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thy name of old was Honeymouth,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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&rsquo;s possessions. Thus, when Ainle and
+Ardan carried off the chess-board with them in their flight,
+after the loss of Deirdr&ecirc;, that was the loss that gave the
+king the greatest bitterness. Now it came to pass that
+as Naoise and Deirdr&ecirc; were sitting in front of their dun,
+the little waves of Loch Etive lapping up on the seaweed,
+yellow as the hair of Deirdr&ecirc;, 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>&ldquo;That is the voice of a man of Erin!&rdquo; said Naoise,
+and stopped in his game to listen.</p>
+
+<p>But Deirdr&ecirc; said, very quickly: &ldquo;Not so! It is the
+voice of a Gael of Alba.&rdquo;</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&nbsp;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, Deirdr&ecirc; confessed to Naoise
+why she had refused at first to own that it was a voice
+from Erin that she heard.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I saw in a dream last night,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Naoise said: &ldquo;What then, best beloved, dost
+thou read from this dream of thine?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Deirdr&ecirc; said: &ldquo;I read that Fergus comes from
+Conor with honeyed words of peace, but behind his
+treacherous words lies death.&rdquo;</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 Deirdr&ecirc; and Naoise,
+the man of her heart, he told them of Conor&rsquo;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: &ldquo;I am ready.&rdquo; But his eyes
+dared not meet the sea-blue eyes of Deirdr&ecirc;, his queen.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Knowest thou that my pledge is one of honour?&rdquo;
+asked Fergus.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I know it well,&rdquo; 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&nbsp;324]</a></span>
+over the heart of Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc;, 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">&ldquo;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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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!&rdquo;<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 Deirdr&ecirc;, 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 (&ldquo;Carraig Uisneach&rdquo;) 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&nbsp;326]</a></span>
+had pledged to the three brothers for their safe-conduct
+and that of Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc; spoke truth when she told him sadly that
+he had sold his honour. The gloomy forebodings that
+had assailed the heart of Deirdr&ecirc; 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>&ldquo;To Emain Macha we must go, my beloved,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;To do other than this would be to show that
+we have fear, and fear we have none.&rdquo;</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 Deirdr&ecirc;, the evening was spent by in
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg&nbsp;327]</a></span>
+good cheer, and Deirdr&ecirc; had the joy of a welcome there
+from her old friend Lavarcam. For to Lavarcam Conor
+had said: &ldquo;I would have thee go to the House of the
+Red Branch and bring me back tidings if the beauty
+of Deirdr&ecirc; has waned, or if she is still the most beautiful
+of all women.&rdquo;</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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc;,
+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
+Deirdr&ecirc; a vision such as that of Cathbad the Druid on
+the night of her birth.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&ldquo;I see three torches quenched this night,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</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 Deirdr&ecirc; of all her
+loveliness, so that she was no more a thing to be desired.
+But Naoise had said to Deirdr&ecirc; when she foretold his
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg&nbsp;328]</a></span>
+doom: &ldquo;Better to die for thee and for thy deathless
+beauty than to have lived without knowledge of thee
+and thy love,&rdquo; and it may have been that some memory
+of the face of Deirdr&ecirc;, 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&mdash;a man whose father and three brothers
+had fallen in battle under the sword of Naoise&mdash;that he
+might see Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc;. 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. Deirdr&ecirc; 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&nbsp;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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc;, who was to
+be saved for a more cruel fate.</p>
+
+<p>In the House of the Red Branch, Deirdr&ecirc; 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
+Deirdr&ecirc;, and drank a drink, and went out against the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg&nbsp;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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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&nbsp;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. &ldquo;Slay me
+first!&rdquo; called Ardan as he drew near, sword in hand.
+&ldquo;I am the youngest, and, who knows, my death may
+change the tides of fate!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Ainle also craved that death might be dealt
+to him the first. But Naoise held out his own sword,
+&ldquo;The Retaliator,&rdquo; to the executioner.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mannanan, the son of L&icirc;r, gave me my good
+sword,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo; 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 Deirdr&ecirc; 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, Deirdr&ecirc; 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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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">&ldquo;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&mdash;<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.&rdquo;<br /></span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod&rsquo;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, Deirdr&ecirc; 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: &ldquo;<em>The Red
+Branch perisheth! Uladh passeth! Uladh passeth!</em>&rdquo; 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&nbsp;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: &ldquo;Deirdr&ecirc; the beautiful is dead ... is
+dead!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&ldquo;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>&rdquo;<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&nbsp;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&rsquo; 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 />
+&AElig;gean 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 />
+&AElig;gean Islands, <a href="#Page_172">172</a><br />
+&AElig;olus, <a href="#Page_144">144</a><br />
+&AElig;sculapius, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br />
+&AElig;sop, <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 />
+Alth&aelig;a, <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, Ph&oelig;bus, <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 />
+Arist&aelig;us, <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 />
+Athen&eacute;, 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 />
+Baldrsbr&aacute;, <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 />
+Bavi&egrave;re, 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&nbsp;335]</a></span>
+Beowulf&rsquo;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 />
+D&aelig;dalus, <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 />
+Dana&euml;, <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 />
+Dana&iuml;des, <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 />
+Deirdr&ecirc;, <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&nbsp;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&rsquo;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 />
+Eub&oelig;an 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 />
+Grae&aelig;, <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&nbsp;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 C&aelig;sar, <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 />
+L&icirc;r, <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&nbsp;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 />
+&mdash;&mdash; 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 />
+N&auml;geling, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a><br />
+Naiades, <a href="#Page_25">25</a><br />
+Naismes de Bavi&egrave;re, <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 />
+&OElig;neus, <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&rsquo;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 Athen&eacute;, <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 />
+Pax&aelig;, <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&nbsp;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 />
+Ph&oelig;bus, <a href="#Page_129">129</a><br />
+Ph&oelig;bus Apollo, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a><br />
+Ph&oelig;nicians, <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&nbsp;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>&mdash;were amended to
+was&mdash;"... with Saragossa still unconquered was too much to hope for."</p>
+
+<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_304">304</a>&mdash;Kemoc amended to
+Larguen&mdash;"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>&mdash;Aristaeus amended to Arist&aelig;us; Athene,
+Pallas amended to Athen&eacute;, Pallas.</p>
+
+<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_335">335</a>&mdash;page reference 230 amended to 300 in
+Carricknarone entry; page reference 313 added to Deirdr&ecirc; entry.</p>
+
+<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_336">336</a>&mdash;page reference 344 amended to 244 in
+England entry; Eridamus amended to Eridanus.</p>
+
+<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_337">337</a>&mdash;page reference 86 added to Idmon entry;
+Inis Rea amended to Iniskea.</p>
+
+<p class="blockquot">Page <a href="#Page_338">338</a>&mdash;Na&iuml;des amended to Naiades; page
+references 319 and 325 added to Naoise entry; Oeneus amended to &OElig;neus;
+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>&mdash;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>&mdash;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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+
+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom01.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom01.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc63ec0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom01.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom01th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom01th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c5220dc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom01th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom02.png b/22693-h/images/abom02.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d7174cf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom02.png
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom02th.png b/22693-h/images/abom02th.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..edee61d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom02th.png
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom03.png b/22693-h/images/abom03.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2f4ca06
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom03.png
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom04.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom04.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..21ede97
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom04.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom04th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom04th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d8158a2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom04th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom05.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom05.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3e4aa48
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom05.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom05th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom05th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b6e674d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom05th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom06.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom06.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..49d9a5c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom06.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom06th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom06th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3ec1422
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom06th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom07.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom07.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..535c996
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom07.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom07th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom07th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d1586d8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom07th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom08.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom08.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..305b501
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom08.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom08th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom08th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c779249
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom08th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom09.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom09.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..02084e1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom09.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom09th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom09th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7d020c2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom09th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom10.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom10.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..267804a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom10.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom10th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom10th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f9c9ab2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom10th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom11.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom11.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e713779
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom11.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom11th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom11th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..62b2acb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom11th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom12.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom12.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc11805
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom12.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom12th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom12th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..023a876
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom12th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom13.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom13.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..688ca7a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom13.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom13th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom13th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f428ccb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom13th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom14.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom14.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ca22e8a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom14.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom14th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom14th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ae5f785
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom14th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom15.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom15.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4ae4111
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom15.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom15th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom15th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9aca432
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom15th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom16.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom16.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d713a68
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom16.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom16th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom16th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0a739e6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom16th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom17.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom17.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c9cda78
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom17.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom17th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom17th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3ab2d00
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom17th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom18.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom18.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f625c26
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom18.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom18th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom18th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6ac0595
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom18th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom19.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom19.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c48f3e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom19.jpg
diff --git a/22693-h/images/abom19th.jpg b/22693-h/images/abom19th.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c640f94
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-h/images/abom19th.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/c001.jpg b/22693-page-images/c001.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a756a18
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/c001.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/c002.jpg b/22693-page-images/c002.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c65ea5b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/c002.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f001.jpg b/22693-page-images/f001.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6f10fa6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f001.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f002.png b/22693-page-images/f002.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7eb7e6d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f002.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f003.png b/22693-page-images/f003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a17fa9b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f003.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f004.png b/22693-page-images/f004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1dca070
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f004.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f005.png b/22693-page-images/f005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..62bfdbc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f005.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f006.png b/22693-page-images/f006.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a5d8f95
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f006.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f007.png b/22693-page-images/f007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..59e0d1d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f007.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f008.png b/22693-page-images/f008.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..54a715e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f008.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f009.png b/22693-page-images/f009.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f497234
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f009.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f010.png b/22693-page-images/f010.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c18546b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f010.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f011.png b/22693-page-images/f011.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..910c883
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f011.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/f012.png b/22693-page-images/f012.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a2d66db
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/f012.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p001.png b/22693-page-images/p001.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4086384
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p001.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p002.png b/22693-page-images/p002.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6ffcfe5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p002.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p003.png b/22693-page-images/p003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5256c41
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p003.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p004.png b/22693-page-images/p004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..322ecbe
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p004.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p005.png b/22693-page-images/p005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..030acc3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p005.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p006.png b/22693-page-images/p006.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..895d3a4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p006.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p007.png b/22693-page-images/p007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7900a0e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p007.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p008.png b/22693-page-images/p008.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9008a2e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p008.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p009.png b/22693-page-images/p009.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2085438
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p009.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p010.png b/22693-page-images/p010.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..44fea8b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p010.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p011.png b/22693-page-images/p011.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..73054f9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p011.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p012-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p012-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..68ed160
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p012-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p012.png b/22693-page-images/p012.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4b31374
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p012.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p013.png b/22693-page-images/p013.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..517f5a2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p013.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p014.png b/22693-page-images/p014.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..16c4f2c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p014.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p015.png b/22693-page-images/p015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..27ca367
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p015.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p016.png b/22693-page-images/p016.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8572f04
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p016.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p017.png b/22693-page-images/p017.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..96f2196
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p017.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p018.png b/22693-page-images/p018.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1fdb467
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p018.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p019.png b/22693-page-images/p019.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3600072
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p019.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p020.png b/22693-page-images/p020.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e1f45b0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p020.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p021.png b/22693-page-images/p021.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7357fb7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p021.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p022.png b/22693-page-images/p022.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1859944
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p022.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p023.png b/22693-page-images/p023.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d9ccaf8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p023.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p024.png b/22693-page-images/p024.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d369012
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p024.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p025.png b/22693-page-images/p025.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0bec59b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p025.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p026.png b/22693-page-images/p026.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6914aad
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p026.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p027.png b/22693-page-images/p027.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5ae2fe0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p027.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p028-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p028-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8e51ac4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p028-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p028.png b/22693-page-images/p028.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b0cd3a0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p028.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p029.png b/22693-page-images/p029.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ca4c34d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p029.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p030.png b/22693-page-images/p030.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..34ef720
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p030.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p031.png b/22693-page-images/p031.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5ba3f42
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p031.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p032.png b/22693-page-images/p032.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cc7e2bd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p032.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p033.png b/22693-page-images/p033.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1b70909
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p033.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p034.png b/22693-page-images/p034.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3cb0ae3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p034.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p035.png b/22693-page-images/p035.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7d5b41b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p035.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p036.png b/22693-page-images/p036.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e4ce971
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p036.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p037.png b/22693-page-images/p037.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..28ec5dc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p037.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p038-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p038-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a997de0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p038-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p038.png b/22693-page-images/p038.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..22aeaf0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p038.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p039.png b/22693-page-images/p039.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0510acf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p039.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p040.png b/22693-page-images/p040.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc09faf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p040.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p041.png b/22693-page-images/p041.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eeb885e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p041.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p042.png b/22693-page-images/p042.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ed8305c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p042.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p043.png b/22693-page-images/p043.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5df2ce3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p043.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p044.png b/22693-page-images/p044.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..934a7a0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p044.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p045.png b/22693-page-images/p045.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..875f2eb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p045.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p046.png b/22693-page-images/p046.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1a6c046
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p046.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p047.png b/22693-page-images/p047.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1d2aa4f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p047.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p048.png b/22693-page-images/p048.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b8e909d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p048.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p049.png b/22693-page-images/p049.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7ed128d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p049.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p050.png b/22693-page-images/p050.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..37ed568
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p050.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p051.png b/22693-page-images/p051.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9bea970
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p051.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p052-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p052-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..57294d9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p052-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p052.png b/22693-page-images/p052.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eef5c5c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p052.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p053.png b/22693-page-images/p053.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc53a9b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p053.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p054.png b/22693-page-images/p054.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7b7e3ef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p054.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p055.png b/22693-page-images/p055.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a4ffe22
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p055.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p056.png b/22693-page-images/p056.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..52af630
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p056.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p057.png b/22693-page-images/p057.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..47cf9d4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p057.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p058.png b/22693-page-images/p058.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3eebbea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p058.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p059.png b/22693-page-images/p059.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a59c8aa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p059.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p060.png b/22693-page-images/p060.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..014c631
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p060.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p061.png b/22693-page-images/p061.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..44d3b40
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p061.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p062.png b/22693-page-images/p062.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..46f6e19
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p062.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p063.png b/22693-page-images/p063.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..539c0fd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p063.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p064.png b/22693-page-images/p064.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ce14792
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p064.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p065.png b/22693-page-images/p065.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..572f1c9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p065.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p066.png b/22693-page-images/p066.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0bad016
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p066.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p067.png b/22693-page-images/p067.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ff5823c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p067.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p068.png b/22693-page-images/p068.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4a5b116
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p068.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p069.png b/22693-page-images/p069.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6a85378
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p069.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p070.png b/22693-page-images/p070.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3875dc2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p070.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p071.png b/22693-page-images/p071.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8163c7e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p071.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p072.png b/22693-page-images/p072.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..06fe413
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p072.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p073.png b/22693-page-images/p073.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ff8758e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p073.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p074.png b/22693-page-images/p074.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a1699a2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p074.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p075.png b/22693-page-images/p075.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..220b927
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p075.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p076.png b/22693-page-images/p076.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7d8232e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p076.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p077.png b/22693-page-images/p077.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4b3937b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p077.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p078.png b/22693-page-images/p078.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc6028f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p078.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p079.png b/22693-page-images/p079.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..51f23cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p079.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p080-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p080-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7608b3d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p080-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p080.png b/22693-page-images/p080.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b45572e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p080.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p081.png b/22693-page-images/p081.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cacaa1c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p081.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p082.png b/22693-page-images/p082.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7c8815a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p082.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p083.png b/22693-page-images/p083.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3eae95c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p083.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p084.png b/22693-page-images/p084.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0a8b8e1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p084.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p085.png b/22693-page-images/p085.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..23b51d4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p085.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p086.png b/22693-page-images/p086.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..59bcfed
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p086.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p087.png b/22693-page-images/p087.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e709f89
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p087.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p088.png b/22693-page-images/p088.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..484b4dd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p088.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p089.png b/22693-page-images/p089.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0dc7eb1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p089.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p090.png b/22693-page-images/p090.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c388903
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p090.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p091.png b/22693-page-images/p091.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..701596c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p091.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p092.png b/22693-page-images/p092.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f52110d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p092.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p093-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p093-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3e88950
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p093-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p093.png b/22693-page-images/p093.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c497fe9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p093.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p094.png b/22693-page-images/p094.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..36afb1f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p094.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p095.png b/22693-page-images/p095.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e48b142
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p095.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p096.png b/22693-page-images/p096.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c9e634
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p096.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p097.png b/22693-page-images/p097.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b7301df
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p097.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p098.png b/22693-page-images/p098.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cc815a3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p098.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p099.png b/22693-page-images/p099.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0a2eb23
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p099.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p100.png b/22693-page-images/p100.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7e2b5ff
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p100.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p101.png b/22693-page-images/p101.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..647c9ea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p101.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p102.png b/22693-page-images/p102.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e0c3fc1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p102.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p103.png b/22693-page-images/p103.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fe70419
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p103.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p104.png b/22693-page-images/p104.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..66ce3a3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p104.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p105.png b/22693-page-images/p105.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8aedc5c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p105.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p106.png b/22693-page-images/p106.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f99412c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p106.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p107.png b/22693-page-images/p107.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..20d0c30
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p107.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p108.png b/22693-page-images/p108.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3600c18
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p108.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p109.png b/22693-page-images/p109.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9697516
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p109.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p110.png b/22693-page-images/p110.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9db87f9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p110.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p111.png b/22693-page-images/p111.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..478399d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p111.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p112-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p112-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9989051
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p112-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p112.png b/22693-page-images/p112.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fdcf685
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p112.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p113.png b/22693-page-images/p113.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..49b1a16
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p113.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p114.png b/22693-page-images/p114.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e7cf9d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p114.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p115.png b/22693-page-images/p115.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6ced897
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p115.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p116.png b/22693-page-images/p116.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4ad6d76
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p116.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p117.png b/22693-page-images/p117.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc8f06c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p117.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p118.png b/22693-page-images/p118.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..33b17ef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p118.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p119.png b/22693-page-images/p119.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3d218a1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p119.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p120.png b/22693-page-images/p120.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7f9fc08
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p120.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p121.png b/22693-page-images/p121.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fedb789
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p121.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p122.png b/22693-page-images/p122.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..890d25a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p122.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p123.png b/22693-page-images/p123.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7e97b9b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p123.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p124.png b/22693-page-images/p124.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0c41a66
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p124.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p125.png b/22693-page-images/p125.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8b58110
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p125.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p126.png b/22693-page-images/p126.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6132294
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p126.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p127.png b/22693-page-images/p127.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b891d84
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p127.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p128.png b/22693-page-images/p128.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3f2f6f6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p128.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p129.png b/22693-page-images/p129.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..10eb0d0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p129.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p130.png b/22693-page-images/p130.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9adcf26
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p130.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p131.png b/22693-page-images/p131.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..359a0b0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p131.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p132-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p132-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c7a34cf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p132-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p132.png b/22693-page-images/p132.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3dd8999
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p132.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p133.png b/22693-page-images/p133.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2bc44ef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p133.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p134.png b/22693-page-images/p134.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cdb1fe0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p134.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p135.png b/22693-page-images/p135.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..98344e9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p135.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p136.png b/22693-page-images/p136.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2fec25d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p136.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p137.png b/22693-page-images/p137.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..04bc1cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p137.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p138.png b/22693-page-images/p138.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ad4c119
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p138.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p139.png b/22693-page-images/p139.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..170776a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p139.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p140.png b/22693-page-images/p140.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e04b217
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p140.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p141.png b/22693-page-images/p141.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8d33d51
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p141.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p142.png b/22693-page-images/p142.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..42d9b71
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p142.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p143.png b/22693-page-images/p143.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ad0b49c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p143.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p144.png b/22693-page-images/p144.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..62e25f5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p144.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p145.png b/22693-page-images/p145.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..723678c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p145.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p146.png b/22693-page-images/p146.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..19767a6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p146.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p147.png b/22693-page-images/p147.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a79ca8b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p147.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p148.png b/22693-page-images/p148.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d60ca7b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p148.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p149.png b/22693-page-images/p149.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6fdc5bd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p149.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p150.png b/22693-page-images/p150.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e76e49e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p150.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p151.png b/22693-page-images/p151.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..72c9b51
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p151.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p152-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p152-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d7bf107
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p152-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p152.png b/22693-page-images/p152.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6ed6ea4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p152.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p153.png b/22693-page-images/p153.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0db6c88
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p153.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p154.png b/22693-page-images/p154.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9c96a70
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p154.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p155.png b/22693-page-images/p155.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..57a7c81
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p155.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p156.png b/22693-page-images/p156.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8402ee7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p156.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p157.png b/22693-page-images/p157.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a70fec0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p157.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p158.png b/22693-page-images/p158.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b6e160b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p158.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p159.png b/22693-page-images/p159.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6f3c601
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p159.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p160.png b/22693-page-images/p160.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4bfb5ba
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p160.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p161.png b/22693-page-images/p161.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..54e9668
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p161.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p162.png b/22693-page-images/p162.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..62ee5e2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p162.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p163.png b/22693-page-images/p163.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ec8fdcc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p163.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p164.png b/22693-page-images/p164.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0deadad
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p164.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p165.png b/22693-page-images/p165.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..31d9710
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p165.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p166.png b/22693-page-images/p166.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bf91d9a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p166.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p167.png b/22693-page-images/p167.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1a24a27
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p167.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p168.png b/22693-page-images/p168.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d7186d8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p168.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p169.png b/22693-page-images/p169.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2f7746a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p169.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p170.png b/22693-page-images/p170.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..16e31e6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p170.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p171.png b/22693-page-images/p171.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..83c0988
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p171.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p172.png b/22693-page-images/p172.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5598835
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p172.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p173.png b/22693-page-images/p173.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9ca0699
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p173.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p174.png b/22693-page-images/p174.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2531924
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p174.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p175.png b/22693-page-images/p175.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dff2140
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p175.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p176-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p176-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..65456fc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p176-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p176.png b/22693-page-images/p176.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..da55d8a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p176.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p177.png b/22693-page-images/p177.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e0b2617
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p177.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p178.png b/22693-page-images/p178.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0f5a2ec
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p178.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p179.png b/22693-page-images/p179.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9be7173
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p179.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p180.png b/22693-page-images/p180.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3a30bf3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p180.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p181.png b/22693-page-images/p181.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6de4c41
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p181.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p182.png b/22693-page-images/p182.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e3a3322
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p182.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p183.png b/22693-page-images/p183.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a86465d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p183.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p184.png b/22693-page-images/p184.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..556a5f4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p184.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p185.png b/22693-page-images/p185.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c8b776
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p185.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p186.png b/22693-page-images/p186.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..35a8742
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p186.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p187.png b/22693-page-images/p187.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a2704da
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p187.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p188.png b/22693-page-images/p188.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ebbb40c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p188.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p189.png b/22693-page-images/p189.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..668bf6c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p189.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p190.png b/22693-page-images/p190.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..29f6e67
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p190.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p191.png b/22693-page-images/p191.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fd3e9dc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p191.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p192.png b/22693-page-images/p192.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4786663
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p192.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p193.png b/22693-page-images/p193.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f45f3f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p193.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p194.png b/22693-page-images/p194.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a1785b8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p194.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p195.png b/22693-page-images/p195.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8c11fce
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p195.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p196.png b/22693-page-images/p196.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1629f8a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p196.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p197.png b/22693-page-images/p197.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a1d0b39
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p197.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p198.png b/22693-page-images/p198.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4dd13bb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p198.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p199.png b/22693-page-images/p199.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..11321f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p199.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p200.png b/22693-page-images/p200.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4608928
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p200.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p201.png b/22693-page-images/p201.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5da64c7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p201.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p202.png b/22693-page-images/p202.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..02ba046
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p202.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p203.png b/22693-page-images/p203.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f1f2a41
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p203.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p204.png b/22693-page-images/p204.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2184365
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p204.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p205.png b/22693-page-images/p205.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..50a9b05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p205.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p206.png b/22693-page-images/p206.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ba2d144
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p206.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p207.png b/22693-page-images/p207.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..535da96
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p207.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p208.png b/22693-page-images/p208.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8804090
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p208.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p209.png b/22693-page-images/p209.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c421c9b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p209.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p210.png b/22693-page-images/p210.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4d563b3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p210.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p211.png b/22693-page-images/p211.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b97900b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p211.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p212.png b/22693-page-images/p212.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab9225d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p212.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p213.png b/22693-page-images/p213.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6d4cb2d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p213.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p214.png b/22693-page-images/p214.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1b39187
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p214.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p215.png b/22693-page-images/p215.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7edfb34
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p215.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p216.png b/22693-page-images/p216.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f3ac28e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p216.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p217.png b/22693-page-images/p217.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aba7fd6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p217.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p218.png b/22693-page-images/p218.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d952849
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p218.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p219.png b/22693-page-images/p219.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ee5b1e9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p219.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p220.png b/22693-page-images/p220.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..179cda0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p220.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p221.png b/22693-page-images/p221.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5769613
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p221.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p222.png b/22693-page-images/p222.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..acc7d5c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p222.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p223.png b/22693-page-images/p223.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cb0672c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p223.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p224.png b/22693-page-images/p224.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ad78b8c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p224.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p225.png b/22693-page-images/p225.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..79dd02f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p225.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p226.png b/22693-page-images/p226.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7f66886
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p226.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p227.png b/22693-page-images/p227.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cd3f04b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p227.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p228-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p228-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7dfcf34
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p228-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p228.png b/22693-page-images/p228.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d5541bc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p228.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p229.png b/22693-page-images/p229.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..28a96d9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p229.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p230.png b/22693-page-images/p230.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c72c6f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p230.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p231.png b/22693-page-images/p231.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..51b211f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p231.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p232.png b/22693-page-images/p232.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6ba1280
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p232.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p233.png b/22693-page-images/p233.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5344592
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p233.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p234.png b/22693-page-images/p234.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f25ad40
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p234.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p235.png b/22693-page-images/p235.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..138051d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p235.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p236.png b/22693-page-images/p236.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b1818e4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p236.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p237.png b/22693-page-images/p237.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6a9cbeb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p237.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p238.png b/22693-page-images/p238.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e655dd4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p238.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p239.png b/22693-page-images/p239.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..30a81ca
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p239.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p240-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p240-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..89918e9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p240-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p240.png b/22693-page-images/p240.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..976ebb3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p240.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p241.png b/22693-page-images/p241.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ca3cc45
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p241.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p242.png b/22693-page-images/p242.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..74c7424
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p242.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p243.png b/22693-page-images/p243.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..524511d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p243.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p244.png b/22693-page-images/p244.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0390aea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p244.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p245.png b/22693-page-images/p245.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3916398
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p245.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p246.png b/22693-page-images/p246.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..84c2d75
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p246.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p247.png b/22693-page-images/p247.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bd385e1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p247.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p248.png b/22693-page-images/p248.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dd8bb57
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p248.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p249.png b/22693-page-images/p249.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..88c27f0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p249.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p250.png b/22693-page-images/p250.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..93853b5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p250.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p251.png b/22693-page-images/p251.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ff8a896
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p251.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p252.png b/22693-page-images/p252.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b3dc2e1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p252.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p253.png b/22693-page-images/p253.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a8c9705
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p253.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p254.png b/22693-page-images/p254.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3b04b47
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p254.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p255.png b/22693-page-images/p255.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0893fd1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p255.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p256.png b/22693-page-images/p256.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c283502
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p256.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p257.png b/22693-page-images/p257.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ed36f77
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p257.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p258.png b/22693-page-images/p258.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f712e86
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p258.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p259.png b/22693-page-images/p259.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8c7dde6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p259.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p260.png b/22693-page-images/p260.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e1692d2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p260.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p261.png b/22693-page-images/p261.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6ee5a01
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p261.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p262.png b/22693-page-images/p262.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab6a6be
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p262.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p263-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p263-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a303073
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p263-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p263.png b/22693-page-images/p263.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..84be1e4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p263.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p264.png b/22693-page-images/p264.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dea5747
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p264.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p265.png b/22693-page-images/p265.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f6d604d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p265.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p266.png b/22693-page-images/p266.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..342ee58
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p266.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p267.png b/22693-page-images/p267.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e378ddb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p267.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p268.png b/22693-page-images/p268.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..05e65ba
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p268.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p269.png b/22693-page-images/p269.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..16aff89
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p269.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p270.png b/22693-page-images/p270.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..688aee2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p270.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p271.png b/22693-page-images/p271.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fd23d96
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p271.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p272.png b/22693-page-images/p272.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f53d90a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p272.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p273.png b/22693-page-images/p273.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..88372af
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p273.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p274.png b/22693-page-images/p274.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f34e455
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p274.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p275.png b/22693-page-images/p275.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6c1c8f0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p275.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p276.png b/22693-page-images/p276.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cf0befc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p276.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p277.png b/22693-page-images/p277.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..98e520d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p277.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p278.png b/22693-page-images/p278.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b874a16
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p278.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p279.png b/22693-page-images/p279.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a635d4b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p279.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p280.png b/22693-page-images/p280.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9eb2387
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p280.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p281.png b/22693-page-images/p281.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..15bbec6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p281.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p282.png b/22693-page-images/p282.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8081031
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p282.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p283-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p283-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6bf9157
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p283-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p283.png b/22693-page-images/p283.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a18f481
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p283.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p284.png b/22693-page-images/p284.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ae886d4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p284.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p285.png b/22693-page-images/p285.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..32db11a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p285.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p286.png b/22693-page-images/p286.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..932233c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p286.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p287.png b/22693-page-images/p287.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4030bdc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p287.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p288.png b/22693-page-images/p288.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..741b8dc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p288.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p289.png b/22693-page-images/p289.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..664d838
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p289.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p290.png b/22693-page-images/p290.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ac98dff
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p290.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p291.png b/22693-page-images/p291.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..295a76d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p291.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p292.png b/22693-page-images/p292.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..134591b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p292.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p293.png b/22693-page-images/p293.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..46daf7a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p293.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p294-insert.jpg b/22693-page-images/p294-insert.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b1b7e71
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p294-insert.jpg
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p294.png b/22693-page-images/p294.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b1e7328
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p294.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p295.png b/22693-page-images/p295.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3e14472
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p295.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p296.png b/22693-page-images/p296.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..311d321
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p296.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p297.png b/22693-page-images/p297.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eb8ace3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p297.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p298.png b/22693-page-images/p298.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4144c70
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p298.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p299.png b/22693-page-images/p299.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dafe6fb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p299.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p300.png b/22693-page-images/p300.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b553781
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p300.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p301.png b/22693-page-images/p301.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6f37a99
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p301.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p302.png b/22693-page-images/p302.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..052acfb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p302.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p303.png b/22693-page-images/p303.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..00dd524
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p303.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p304.png b/22693-page-images/p304.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7439080
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p304.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p305.png b/22693-page-images/p305.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a1f7da7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p305.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p306.png b/22693-page-images/p306.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9645993
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p306.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p307.png b/22693-page-images/p307.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..48ddc8a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p307.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p308.png b/22693-page-images/p308.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5251dd8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p308.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p309.png b/22693-page-images/p309.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6fd2cbc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p309.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p310.png b/22693-page-images/p310.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8a617ad
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p310.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p311.png b/22693-page-images/p311.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f0aaf8f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p311.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p312.png b/22693-page-images/p312.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ee8e07d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p312.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p313.png b/22693-page-images/p313.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..93b7b88
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p313.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p314.png b/22693-page-images/p314.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..347a3ee
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p314.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p315.png b/22693-page-images/p315.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bee59d4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p315.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p316.png b/22693-page-images/p316.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..58f4d45
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p316.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p317.png b/22693-page-images/p317.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..77065ab
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p317.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p318.png b/22693-page-images/p318.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0aa504f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p318.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p319.png b/22693-page-images/p319.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..79f6f3f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p319.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p320.png b/22693-page-images/p320.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8558856
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p320.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p321.png b/22693-page-images/p321.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d1d9fef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p321.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p322.png b/22693-page-images/p322.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..050d918
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p322.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p323.png b/22693-page-images/p323.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..420f9e3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p323.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p324.png b/22693-page-images/p324.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6a9c1d5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p324.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p325.png b/22693-page-images/p325.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bb7988f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p325.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p326.png b/22693-page-images/p326.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2bc353b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p326.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p327.png b/22693-page-images/p327.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4172c63
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p327.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p328.png b/22693-page-images/p328.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..72ccfde
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p328.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p329.png b/22693-page-images/p329.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..928c911
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p329.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p330.png b/22693-page-images/p330.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d46a0a2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p330.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p331.png b/22693-page-images/p331.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9c24954
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p331.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p332.png b/22693-page-images/p332.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..114edf8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p332.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p333.png b/22693-page-images/p333.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..99071fd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p333.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p334.png b/22693-page-images/p334.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3299eee
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p334.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p335.png b/22693-page-images/p335.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3f498ff
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p335.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p336.png b/22693-page-images/p336.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..50a5dbb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p336.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p337.png b/22693-page-images/p337.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0d8b421
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p337.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p338.png b/22693-page-images/p338.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..866943b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p338.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p339.png b/22693-page-images/p339.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c7a861c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p339.png
diff --git a/22693-page-images/p340.png b/22693-page-images/p340.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1644855
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693-page-images/p340.png
diff --git a/22693.txt b/22693.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5d2ea03
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11517 @@
+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: ASCII
+
+*** 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
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+          A
+    BOOK OF MYTHS
+
+     BY JEAN LANG
+
+   (MRS. JOHN LANG)
+
+ WITH SIXTEEN ORIGINAL
+  DRAWINGS IN COLOUR
+   BY HELEN STRATTON
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+ THOMAS NELSON & SONS
+       NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "WHAT WAS HE DOING, THE GREAT GOD PAN, DOWN IN THE
+REEDS BY THE RIVER?" (See page 209)]
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+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 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[1] 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."
+
+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[2] 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."
+
+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 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 _Heroes_ and of
+Hawthorne's _Tanglewood Tales_. 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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 Odyssey and the Iliad, the
+translations of which probably take rank amongst the finest
+translations in any language.
+
+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.
+
+    "Great God! I'd rather be
+    A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
+    So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
+    Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
+    Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
+    Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn."
+
+        JEAN LANG.
+
+
+POSTSCRIPT
+
+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.
+
+We speak of things that took place "_Before the War_"; and between
+that time and this stands a barrier immeasurable.
+
+This book, with its Preface, was completed in 1914--"_Before the
+War._"
+
+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 GOD in
+whom we believe as a GOD 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.
+
+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?
+
+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."
+
+And, surely, to all those who are fighting, and suffering, and dying
+for a noble cause, the GOD of gods, the GOD of battles, who is also
+the GOD of peace, and the GOD of Love, has become an ever near and
+eternally living entity.
+
+    "Our little systems have their day;
+    They have their day and cease to be,
+    They are but broken lights of Thee,
+    And Thou, oh Lord, art more than they."
+
+        JEAN LANG.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1] _Teutonic Heathendom._
+
+[2] John Kelman, D.D., _Among Famous Books_.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                  PAGE
+
+  PROMETHEUS AND PANDORA                             1
+
+  PYGMALION                                         11
+
+  PHAETON                                           16
+
+  ENDYMION                                          26
+
+  ORPHEUS                                           31
+
+  APOLLO AND DAPHNE                                 42
+
+  PSYCHE                                            46
+
+  THE CALYDONIAN HUNT                               69
+
+  ATALANTA                                          78
+
+  ARACHNE                                           82
+
+  IDAS AND MARPESSA                                 90
+
+  ARETHUSA                                         100
+
+  PERSEUS THE HERO                                 105
+
+  NIOBE                                            124
+
+  HYACINTHUS                                       129
+
+  KING MIDAS OF THE GOLDEN TOUCH                   134
+
+  CEYX AND HALCYONE                                144
+
+  ARISTAEUS THE BEE-KEEPER                          154
+
+  PROSERPINE                                       161
+
+  LATONA AND THE RUSTICS                           169
+
+  ECHO AND NARCISSUS                               174
+
+  ICARUS                                           181
+
+  CLYTIE                                           189
+
+  THE CRANES OF IBYCUS                             192
+
+  SYRINX                                           197
+
+  THE DEATH OF ADONIS                              202
+
+  PAN                                              209
+
+  LORELEI                                          220
+
+  FREYA, QUEEN OF THE NORTHERN GODS                227
+
+  THE DEATH OF BALDUR                              234
+
+  BEOWULF                                          244
+
+  ROLAND THE PALADIN                               266
+
+  THE CHILDREN OF LIR                              289
+
+  DEIRDRE                                          306
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  "What was he doing, the great god Pan,
+  Down in the reeds by the river?"                   _Frontispiece_
+
+                                                               PAGE
+
+  Then Pygmalion covered his eyes                                12
+
+  She checked her hounds, and stood beside Endymion              28
+
+  Swiftly he turned, and found his wife behind him               38
+
+  Thus did Psyche lose her fear, and enter the golden doors      52
+
+  She stopped, and picked up the treasure                        80
+
+  Marpessa sat alone by the fountain                             92
+
+  They whimpered and begged of him                              112
+
+  Darkness fell on the eyes of Hyacinthus                       132
+
+  A grey cold morning found her on the seashore                 152
+
+  She haunted him like his shadow                               176
+
+  Freya sat spinning the clouds                                 228
+
+  "Baldur the Beautiful is dead!"                               240
+
+  A stroke shivered the sword                                   262
+
+  Roland seized once more his horn                              282
+
+  One touch for each with a magical wand of the Druids          294
+
+
+
+
+A BOOK OF MYTHS
+
+
+
+
+PROMETHEUS AND PANDORA
+
+
+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.
+
+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, _I_?"
+
+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 an image,
+in form like the gods. Into its nostrils Eros breathed the spirit of
+life, Pallas Athene 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+Armed with fire, the beasts became his vassals. With fire he forged
+weapons, defied the frost and cold, coined money, made implements for
+tillage, introduced the arts, and was able to destroy as well as to
+create.
+
+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.
+
+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 Athene, 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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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,
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+                          "Yet I argue not
+    Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot
+    Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
+    Right onward."
+
+So spoke Milton, the blind Titan of the seventeenth century; and
+Shakespeare says:
+
+    "True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;
+    Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings."
+
+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, the smell
+of the unclean thing, and again with fierce beak and talons the
+vulture greedily began its work.
+
+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.
+
+    "Three thousand years of sleep-unsheltered hours,
+    And moments aye divided by keen pangs
+    Till they seemed years, torture and solitude,
+    Scorn and despair,--these are mine empire.
+    More glorious far than that which thou surveyest
+    From thine unenvied throne, O, Mighty God!
+    Almighty, had I deigned to share the shame
+    Of thine ill tyranny, and hung not here
+    Nailed to this wall of eagle-baffling mountain,
+    Black, wintry, dead, unmeasured; without herb,
+    Insect, or beast, or shape or sound of life.
+    Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, for ever!"
+
+        Shelley.
+
+    "Titan! to whose immortal eyes
+    The sufferings of mortality
+    Seen in their sad reality,
+    Were not as things that gods despise;
+    What was thy pity's recompense?
+    A silent suffering, and intense;
+    The rock, the vulture, and the chain,
+    All that the proud can feel of pain,
+    The agony they do not show,
+    The suffocating sense of woe,
+    Which speaks but in its loneliness,
+    And then is jealous lest the sky
+    Should have a listener, nor will sigh
+    Until its voice is echoless."
+
+        Byron.
+
+    "Yet, I am still Prometheus, wiser grown
+    By years of solitude,--that holds apart
+    The past and future, giving the soul room
+    To search into itself,--and long commune
+    With this eternal silence;--more a god,
+    In my long-suffering and strength to meet
+    With equal front the direst shafts of fate,
+    Than thou in thy faint-hearted despotism ...
+    Therefore, great heart, bear up! thou art but type
+    Of what all lofty spirits endure that fain
+    Would win men back to strength and peace through love:
+    Each hath his lonely peak, and on each heart
+    Envy, or scorn or hatred tears lifelong
+    With vulture beak; yet the high soul is left;
+    And faith, which is but hope grown wise, and love
+    And patience, which at last shall overcome."
+
+        Lowell.
+
+
+
+
+PYGMALION
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _should_
+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.
+
+[Illustration: THEN PYGMALION COVERED HIS EYES]
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"O Aphrodite!" he said, "who can do all things, give me, I pray you,
+one like my Galatea for my wife!"
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+PHAETON
+
+    "The road, to drive on which unskilled were Phaeton's hands."
+
+        Dante--_Purgatorio_.
+
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Clymene listened with grief to his complaint. He was so young, so
+gallant, so foolish.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+Phoebus 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.
+
+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:
+
+"In truth thou art my dear son," he said, "and by 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."
+
+But the boy pled on:
+
+"I am shamed for ever, my father," he said. "Surely thou wouldst not
+have son of thine proved liar and braggart?"
+
+"Not even the gods themselves can do this thing," answered Apollo.
+"Nay, not even the almighty Zeus. None but I, Phoebus Apollo, may
+drive the flaming chariot of the sun, for the way is beset with
+dangers and none know it but I."
+
+"Only tell me the way, my father!" cried Phaeton. "So soon I could
+learn."
+
+Half in sadness, Apollo smiled.
+
+"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...."
+
+"I fear none of these things, oh my father!" cried Phaeton. "Grant
+that for one day only I drive thy white-maned steeds!"
+
+Very pitifully Apollo looked at him, and for a little space he was
+silent.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Rather Death than Dishonour," said Phaeton, and proudly he added,
+"For once would I drive like the god, my father. I have no fear."
+
+So was Apollo vanquished, and Phaeton gained his heart's desire.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+To Phaeton the Italian Naiades reared a tomb, and inscribed on the
+stone these words:
+
+    "Driver of Phoebus' chariot, Phaeton,
+    Struck by Jove's thunder, rests beneath this stone,
+    He could not rule his father's car of fire,
+    Yet was it much, so nobly to aspire."
+
+        Ovid.
+
+
+
+
+ENDYMION
+
+
+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.
+
+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 Diana who now has for hunting-ground the
+blue firmament of heaven where the pale Pleiades
+
+    "Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid."
+
+        Tennyson.
+
+    "She gleans her silvan trophies; down the wold
+    She hears the sobbing of the stags that flee
+    Mixed with the music of the hunting roll'd,
+    But her delight is all in archery,
+    And naught of ruth and pity wotteth she
+    More than her hounds that follow on the flight;
+    The goddess draws a golden bow of might
+    And thick she rains the gentle shafts that slay.
+    She tosses loose her locks upon the night,
+    And through the dim wood Dian threads her way."
+
+        Andrew Lang.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Now one night as she passed Mount Latmos, there 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 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.
+
+[Illustration: SHE CHECKED HER HOUNDS, AND STOOD BESIDE ENDYMION]
+
+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,
+
+    "There came a lovely vision of a maid,
+    Who seemed to step as from a golden car
+    Out of the low-hung moon."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+ORPHEUS
+
+    "Orpheus with his lute made trees,
+    And the mountain tops that freeze,
+    Bow themselves when he did sing;
+    To his music plants and flowers
+    Ever sprung, as sun and showers
+    There had made a lasting spring.
+    Everything that heard him play,
+    Even the billows of the sea,
+    Hung their heads, and then lay by,
+    In sweet music is such art,
+    Killing care and grief of heart
+    Fall asleep, or hearing die."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+    "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?"
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 Danaides 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
+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 AEgean 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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....
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 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.
+
+He took his lyre again then and played:
+
+    "Such strains as would have won the ear
+    Of Pluto, to have quite set free
+    His half-regained Eurydice."
+
+        Milton.
+
+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!"
+
+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:
+
+    "At that elm-vista's end I trace,
+    Dimly thy sad leave-taking face,
+    Eurydice! Eurydice!
+    The tremulous leaves repeat to me
+    Eurydice! Eurydice!"
+
+        Lowell.
+
+[Illustration: SWIFTLY HE TURNED, AND FOUND HIS WIFE BEHIND HIM]
+
+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.
+
+"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."[3]
+
+But in the good ship _Argo_, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 remained unhealed. Again the trees listened to the songs
+of longing. Again they echoed, "Eurydice! Eurydice!"
+
+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!"
+
+"Combien d'autres sont morts de meme! C'est la lutte eternelle de la
+force brutale contre l'intelligence douce et sublime inspiree du ciel,
+dont le royaume n'est pas de ce monde."
+
+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.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[3] Kingsley.
+
+
+
+
+APOLLO AND DAPHNE
+
+
+Conqueror of all conquerable earth, yet not always victorious over the
+heart of a maid was the golden-locked Apollo.
+
+As mischievous Eros played one day with his bow and arrows, Apollo
+beheld him and spoke to him mockingly.
+
+"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."
+
+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!"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+With beseeching hands, Apollo followed her. A god was he, yet to him
+had come the vast humility of 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Help me, Peneus!" she cried. "Save me, oh my father, from him whose
+love I fear!"
+
+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 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!"
+
+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.
+
+                "I espouse thee for my tree:
+    Be thou the prize of honour and renown;
+    The deathless poet, and the poem, crown;
+    Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn,
+    And, after poets, be by victors worn."
+
+        Ovid (_Dryden's translation_).
+
+
+
+
+PSYCHE
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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
+
+    "Straight he rose from earth and down the wind
+    Went glittering 'twixt the blue sky and the sea."
+
+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 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.
+
+"They spoke truth!" said the lad to himself. "Not even my mother is as
+fair as this princess."
+
+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.
+
+    "From place to place Love followed her that day
+    And ever fairer to his eyes she grew,
+    So that at last when from her bower he flew,
+    And underneath his feet the moonlit sea
+    Went shepherding his waves disorderly,
+    He swore that of all gods and men, no one
+    Should hold her in his arms but he alone;
+    That she should dwell with him in glorious wise
+    Like to a goddess in some paradise;
+    Yea, he would get from Father Jove this grace
+    That she should never die, but her sweet face
+    And wonderful fair body should endure
+    Till the foundations of the mountains sure
+    Were molten in the sea; so utterly
+    Did he forget his mother's cruelty."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"No mortal lover shall fair Psyche know," said the 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!"
+
+    "... Of dead corpses shalt thou be the king,
+    And stumbling through the dark land shalt thou go,
+    Howling for second death to end thy woe."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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."
+
+[Illustration: THUS DID PSYCHE LOSE HER FEAR, AND ENTER THE GOLDEN
+DOORS]
+
+Thus did Psyche lose her fear, and enter the golden 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 vocabulary. Love loved, and Psyche listened, and
+soon she knew that her lover was Love himself.
+
+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:
+
+    "I am with thee only while I keep
+    My visage hidden; and if thou once shouldst see
+    My face, I must forsake thee; the high gods
+    Link Love with Faith, and he withdraws himself
+    From the full gaze of knowledge."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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. 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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+"What, then, shall I do?" piteously she asked of her sisters. And the
+women, pitilessly, and well content, answered:
+
+"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."
+
+Shaking with sobs, Psyche made answer:
+
+"I love him so!... I love him so!"
+
+And her sisters turned upon her with furious scorn and well-simulated
+wrath.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "Farewell! though I, a god, can never know
+    How thou canst lose thy pain, yet time will go
+    Over thine head, and thou mayst mingle yet
+    The bitter and the sweet, nor quite forget,
+    Nor quite remember, till these things shall seem
+    The wavering memory of a lovely dream."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+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.
+
+"I have lost my Love," she moaned. "What is Life to me any longer!
+Come to me then, O Death!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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:
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+With flaming scorn and anger Aphrodite received her.
+
+    "O thou fool," she said, "I will not let thee die!
+    But thou shalt reap the harvest thou hast sown,
+    And many a day that wretched lot bemoan;
+    Thou art my slave, and not a day shall be
+    But I will find some fitting task for thee."
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"Eros sent them to me:" she thought. "Even yet his love for me is not
+dead."
+
+And what she thought was true.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 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
+
+    "O'er her head there flew the bird of Jove,
+    The bearer, of his servant, friend of Love,
+    Who, when he saw her, straightway towards her flew,
+    And asked her why she wept, and when he knew,
+    And who she was, he said, 'Cease all thy fear,
+    For to the black waves I thy ewer will bear,
+    And fill it for thee; but, remember me,
+    When thou art come unto thy majesty.'"
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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 exquisite than any that the eyes of gods or of
+men had as yet looked upon.
+
+"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."
+
+And at these scornful words, the heart of Psyche leaped within her.
+
+"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.
+
+"Better were it for me to hasten my journey to the shades," she
+thought.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"For my beauty, Eros--_Love_--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!"
+
+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.
+
+But Eros, who had loved her ever, with a love that knew the ebb and
+flow of no tides, rose from his bed and 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.
+
+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.
+
+"My _Beloved_!" 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:
+
+               "Dear, unclose thine eyes.
+    Thou mayst look on me now. I go no more,
+    But am thine own forever."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+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 of gold, the
+voice of the great Father and King of Olympus rang out loud and clear:
+
+    "Drink now, O beautiful, and have no fear!
+    For with this draught shalt thou be born again,
+    And live for ever free from care and pain."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+In this wise did Psyche, a human soul, attain by bitter suffering to
+the perfect happiness of purified love.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE CALYDONIAN HUNT
+
+
+OEneus and Althaea 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.
+
+"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.
+
+"To thee, O New-Born," she said, "and to this wood that burns, do we
+give the same span of days to live."
+
+From her bed sprang Althaea, 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."
+
+And the baby laughed.
+
+    "Those grey women with bound hair
+    Who fright the gods frighted not him; he laughed
+    Seeing them, and pushed out hands to feel and haul
+    Distaff and thread."
+
+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 AEtolia, he fought against their army and scattered
+it as a wind in autumn drives the fallen leaves before it.
+
+But his victory brought evil upon him. When his father OEneus, 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 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 Althaea, 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.
+
+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. 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+                      "The sudden string
+    Rang, and sprang inward, and the waterish air
+    Hissed, and the moist plumes of the songless reeds
+    Moved as a wave which the wind moves no more.
+    But the boar heaved half out of ooze and slime,
+    His tense flank trembling round the barbed wound,
+    Hateful; and fiery with invasive eyes
+    And bristling with intolerable hair
+    Plunged, and the hounds clung, and green flowers and white
+    Reddened and broke all round them where they came.
+    And charging with sheer tusk he drove, and smote
+    Hyleus; and sharp death caught his sudden soul,
+    And violent sleep shed night upon his eyes."
+
+        Swinburne.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Aimed on the left side his well-handled spear
+    Grasped where the ash was knottiest hewn, and smote,
+    And with no missile wound, the monstrous boar
+    Right in the hairiest hollow of his hide
+    Under the last rib, sheer through bulk and bone,
+    Deep in; and deeply smitten, and to death,
+    The heavy horror with his hanging shafts,
+    Leapt, and fell furiously, and from raging lips
+    Foamed out the latest wrath of all his life."
+
+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.
+
+"This is thy spoil, not mine," he said. "The wounding shaft was sped
+by thee. To thee belongs the praise."
+
+And Atalanta blushed rosily, and laughed low and 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.
+
+At that the brows of the heroes grew dark, and angrily one cried:
+
+                                "Lo, now,
+    Shall not the Arcadian shoot out lips at us,
+    Saying all we were despoiled by this one girl."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Tidings of the slaying of the boar had been brought to Althaea 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 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.
+
+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.
+
+So ended the Calydonian Hunt, and Atalanta 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.
+
+
+
+
+ATALANTA
+
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 loved.
+How he was to use the apples she then told him, and, well content,
+Milanion returned home.
+
+Next day he spoke to Atalanta.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Look for look did the virgin huntress give him.
+
+Then her cheeks grew red, as though the rosy-fingered dawn had touched
+them, and the dawning of love came into her heart.
+
+Even Meleager was not quite so goodly a youth as this. Not even
+Meleager had been so wholly fearless.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+[Illustration: SHE STOPPED, AND PICKED UP THE TREASURE]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+ARACHNE
+
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+To Pallas Athene, 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 coming of Demeter, and Athene was fain to admire, while
+she marvelled at the magic skill of the fair Arachne.
+
+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
+Athene, 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Didst say _equal_ Athene? 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
+_equalling_ the work of Athene; _excelling_ were the better word."
+
+In anger Pallas Athene made answer.
+
+"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."
+
+Laughing still, Arachne made reply:
+
+"I fear not, Athene, 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 boast. My skill is as
+great as that of Athene, and greater still it shall be. Let Athene try
+a contest with me if she dare! Well do I know who will be the victor."
+
+Then Athene 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.
+
+"Lo, Athene 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.
+
+"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."
+
+The eyes of Athene, 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.
+
+    "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 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."
+
+        Ovid.
+
+Their canvases wrought, then did Athene 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 Athene 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 Athene. 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.
+
+Darker and yet more dark grew the eyes of Athene 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,
+
+    "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."
+
+        Moschus.
+
+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, Athene grasped the cord, loosened it, and spoke Arachne's
+doom:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+    "Not anie damzell, which her vaunteth most
+    In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne,
+    Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast
+    In dieper, in damaske, or in lyne,
+    Nor anie skil'd in workmanship embost,
+    Nor anie skil'd in loupes of fingring fine,
+    Might in their divers cunning ever dare
+    With this so curious networke to compare."
+
+        Spenser.
+
+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 AEsculapius 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 Athene.
+
+    "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."
+
+        Bartholomew.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+IDAS AND MARPESSA
+
+
+By day, while the sun-god drove his chariot in the high heavens and
+turned the blue-green AEgean 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.
+
+More beautiful than any flower that grew in the 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.
+
+"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.
+
+To Evenos Apollo quickly imparted his desire. He was not used to
+having his imperial wishes denied, nor 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.
+
+"Am I in truth so wondrous fair?" she asked her father.
+
+"Fair enough to mate with Apollo himself!" proudly answered Evenos.
+
+And joyously Marpessa replied, "Ah, then am I happy indeed! I would be
+beautiful for my Idas' sake!"
+
+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 gush of tenderness, and made her eyes sparkle
+so that Apollo gladly thought, "Soon she will be mine."
+
+[Illustration: MARPESSA SAT ALONE BY THE FOUNTAIN]
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _Evenos_ forever.
+
+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 earth
+by Jupiter. While the echoes still re-echoed, there came from Olympus
+the voice of Zeus himself.
+
+"_Let her decide!_" he said.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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."
+
+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:
+
+    "After such argument what can I plead?
+    Or what pale promise make? Yet since it is
+    In woman to pity rather than to aspire,
+    A little I will speak. I love thee then
+    Not only for thy body packed with sweet
+    Of all this world, that cup of brimming June,
+    That jar of violet wine set in the air,
+    That palest rose sweet in the night of life;
+    Nor for that stirring bosom all besieged
+    By drowsing lovers, or thy perilous hair;
+    Nor for that face that might indeed provoke
+    Invasion of old cities; no, nor all
+    Thy freshness stealing on me like strange sleep.
+    Nor for this only do I love thee, but
+    Because Infinity upon thee broods;
+    And thou art full of whispers and of shadows.
+    Thou meanest what the sea has striven to say
+    So long, and yearned up the cliffs to tell;
+    Thou art what all the winds have uttered not,
+    What the still night suggesteth to the heart.
+    Thy voice is like to music heard ere birth,
+    Some spirit lute touched on a spirit sea;
+    Thy face remembered is from other worlds,
+    It has been died for, though I know not when,
+    It has been sung of, though I know not where.
+    It has the strangeness of the luring West,
+    And of sad sea-horizons; beside thee
+    I am aware of other times and lands,
+    Of birth far-back, of lives in many stars.
+    O beauty lone and like a candle clear
+    In this dark country of the world! Thou art
+    My woe, my early light, my music dying."
+
+        Stephen Phillips.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Marpessa spoke at last, in low words that seemed to come "remembered
+from other worlds."
+
+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?
+
+    "Yet I, being human, human sorrow miss."
+
+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 endless existence in which no life was, yoked to one whose youth
+was immortal, whose beauty was everlasting?
+
+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:
+
+    "But if I live with Idas, then we two
+    On the low earth shall prosper hand in hand
+    In odours of the open field, and live
+    In peaceful noises of the farm, and watch
+    The pastoral fields burned by the setting sun.
+    And he shall give me passionate children, not
+    Some radiant god that will despise me quite,
+    But clambering limbs and little hearts that err.
+    ... So shall we live,
+    And though the first sweet sting of love be past,
+    The sweet that almost venom is; though youth,
+    With tender and extravagant delight,
+    The first and secret kiss by twilight hedge,
+    The insane farewell repeated o'er and o'er,
+    Pass off; there shall succeed a faithful peace;
+    Beautiful friendship tried by sun and wind,
+    Durable from the daily dust of life."
+
+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.
+
+But Marpessa spoke on:
+
+    "And thou beautiful god, in that far time,
+    When in thy setting sweet thou gazest down
+    On his grey head, wilt thou remember then
+    That once I pleased thee, that I once was young?"
+
+So did her voice cease, and on the earth fell sudden darkness. For to
+Apollo had come the shame of love 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.
+
+
+
+
+ARETHUSA
+
+
+"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.
+
+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
+
+    "Have glimpse of Proteus rising from the sea,
+    Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "The Earth seemed to love her
+    And Heaven smiled above her."
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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
+_Fiori Maggio_ 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.
+
+"Arethusa!" she heard him cry, in a voice of piteous
+longing--"Arethusa!--my beloved!"
+
+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 red geranium flowers and the great snow-capped
+mountain of Sicily.
+
+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.
+
+      "And now from their fountains
+      In Enna's mountains,
+    Down one vale where the morning basks,
+      Like friends once parted
+      Grown single-hearted,
+    They ply their watery tasks,
+      At sunrise they leap
+      From their cradles steep
+    In the cave of the shelving hill;
+      At noontide they flow
+      Through the woods below
+    And the meadows of asphodel;
+      And at night they sleep
+      In the rocking deep
+    Beneath the Ortygian shore;
+      Like spirits that lie
+      In the azure sky
+    When they love but live no more."
+
+        Shelley.
+
+
+
+
+PERSEUS THE HERO
+
+    "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."
+
+        Charles Kingsley.
+
+
+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. Danae 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 Danae 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 Danae was placed, to drag out her weary days.
+
+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 Danae became the bride of Zeus and happily passed
+with him the time of her imprisonment.
+
+To her at length was born a son, a beautiful and 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 Danae 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.
+
+    "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.'"
+
+        Simonides of Keos.
+
+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 AEgean 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 Danae 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 old Polydectes, the king, ever watched her more eagerly,
+always more hotly desired her for his wife. But Danae, 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.
+
+"I am Pallas Athene," 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 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."
+
+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?"
+
+And in his dream Perseus answered without hesitation:
+
+"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."
+
+Then Pallas Athene, 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.
+
+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 Athene 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, 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 Athene 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 Athene, in low voice,
+asked him:
+
+"Perseus, wilt even end the sorrow of this piteous sinful one?" he
+answered, "Even that will I do--the gods helping me."
+
+And Pallas Athene, 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.
+
+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 was to be a great vengeance,
+and the vengeance was delayed.
+
+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.
+
+"Thou sayest that thy father is one of the gods!" they said. "Where is
+thy godlike gift, O Perseus!"
+
+And Polydectes, glad to humble the lad who was keeper of his mother's
+honour, echoed their foolish taunt.
+
+"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.
+
+Then Perseus, his head thrown back, gazed in the bold eyes of
+Polydectes.
+
+Son of Zeus he was indeed, as he looked with royal scorn at those whom
+he despised.
+
+"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."
+
+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 Athene had lit the fire that burned in him
+now, and that though he should shed the last drop of his life's blood
+to win what he sought, right would triumph, and wrong must be worsted.
+
+Still quivering with anger, Perseus went down to the blue sea that
+gently whispered its secrets to the shore on which he stood.
+
+"If Pallas Athene would but come," he thought--"if only my dreams
+might come true."
+
+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.
+
+So he prayed, "Come to me! I pray you, Pallas Athene, come! and let me
+dream true."
+
+His prayer was answered.
+
+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 Athene 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
+Athene gave him counsel, and more than counsel she gave.
+
+In his hand she placed a polished shield, than which no mirror shone
+more brightly.
+
+"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."
+
+"But how, then, shall I cross the wet grey fields of this watery
+way?" asked Perseus. "Would that I were a white-winged bird that skims
+across the waves."
+
+And, with the smile of a loving comrade, Hermes laid his hand on the
+shoulder of Perseus.
+
+"My winged shoes shall be thine," he said, "and the white-winged
+sea-birds shalt thou leave far, far behind."
+
+"Yet another gift is thine," said Athene. "Gird on, as gift from the
+gods, this sword that is immortal."
+
+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?"
+
+But Athene said Nay, at his mother's weeping his heart might relent,
+and the offering that the Olympians desired was the head of Medusa.
+
+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 Athene had directed him.
+
+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.
+
+It was a dark grim place to which he came, and in a gloomy cavern by
+the sea lived the Graeae, the three grey sisters that Athene 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
+the eye, and muttered and shivered in the blackness and the cold.
+
+[Illustration: THEY WHIMPERED AND BEGGED OF HIM]
+
+Boldly Perseus spoke to them and asked them to guide him to the place
+where Medusa and her sisters the Gorgons dwelt.
+
+"No others know where they dwell," he said. "Tell me, I pray thee, the
+way that I may find them."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+Then they whimpered and begged of him, and when they found that all
+their beseeching was in vain, at length they told him.
+
+"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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+And with the nymphs Perseus went up the mountain and asked the patient
+giant to guide him to the place of his quest.
+
+"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."
+
+"What is this helmet?" asked Perseus, "and how can I gain it?"
+
+"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."
+
+"What wouldst thou?" asked Perseus.
+
+And Atlas said, "For many a long year have I 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Two of them, like monstrous swine, lay asleep,
+
+    "But a third woman paced about the hall,
+    And ever turned her head from wall to wall,
+    And moaned aloud and shrieked in her despair,
+    Because the golden tresses of her hair
+    Were moved by writhing snakes from side to side,
+    That in their writhing oftentimes would glide
+    On to her breast or shuddering shoulders white;
+    Or, falling down, the hideous things would light
+    Upon her feet, and, crawling thence, would twine
+    Their slimy folds upon her ankles fine."
+
+        William Morris.
+
+In the shield of Pallas Athene the picture was mirrored, and as
+Perseus gazed on it his soul grew heavy for 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+So Perseus uncovered the face of Medusa and held it up for the Titan
+to gaze upon.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Far down below him as he flew one day he saw 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"Lo! he comes!" she cried. "Save me! ah, save me! I am so young to
+die."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Who so grateful then as the king and queen of Ethiopia? and who so
+happy as Andromeda? for Perseus, 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.
+
+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.
+
+For seven days the marriage feast lasted, but on the eighth night
+Pallas Athene came to Perseus in a dream.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Then did Perseus and Andromeda, in a red-prowed galley made by cunning
+craftsmen from Phoenicia, sail away westward, until at length they
+came to the blue water of the AEgean 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 Danae, the fair mother of Perseus.
+
+Black grew the brow of the son of Danae 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.
+
+"So thou hast returned? oh nameless son of a deathless god," he said.
+"Thou didst boast, but methinks thy boast was an empty one!"
+
+But even as he spoke, the jeering smile froze on his face, and the
+faces of those who sat with him stiffened in horror.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+With his wife and his mother, Perseus then sailed away, for he had a
+great longing to take Danae back to the land of her birth and to see
+if her father, Acrisius, 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.
+
+"I go to seek Acrisius," he said. "My mother's father is your king."
+
+Again his galley sailed away, and at last, up the long Euboean Sea
+they came to the town of Larissa, where the old king now dwelt.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"Further still!" they cried. "Further still canst thou hurl! thou art
+a hero indeed!"
+
+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:
+
+"Behold me! I am Perseus, grandson of the man I have slain! Who can
+avoid the decree of the gods?"
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+NIOBE
+
+    "... Like Niobe, all tears."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+
+The quotation is an overworked quotation, like many another of those
+from _Hamlet_; 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.
+
+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 nor in heaven. Even in our
+own day there are mortal mothers who feel as Niobe felt.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+And to her boastful words Latona gave ear, and anger began to grow in
+her heart.
+
+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.
+
+"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 seven daughters, and see if they in beauty and all else
+do not equal the dwellers in Olympus!"
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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. 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.
+
+"She is so little!" she wailed. "So young--so dear! Ah, spare me
+_one_," she said, "only one out of so many!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+HYACINTHUS
+
+                ... "The sad death
+    Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath
+    Of Zephyr slew him--Zephyr penitent
+    Who now, ere Phoebus mounts the firmament,
+    Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain."
+
+        Keats.
+
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.[4]
+
+[Illustration: DARKNESS FELL ON THE EYES OF HYACINTHUS]
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[4] Legend says that on the petals of the hyacinth Apollo transcribed
+the letters "Ai,"--"Alas!"
+
+
+
+
+KING MIDAS OF THE GOLDEN TOUCH
+
+
+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 "_History_" 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.
+
+This is the story of Midas, one of the chief tragic comedians of
+mythology.
+
+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:
+
+"The first man who enters your city riding in a car shall be your
+king."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Therefore one day when he and his court were sitting 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.
+
+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.
+
+Not even for a moment did Midas ponder.
+
+"I would have gold," he said hastily--"much gold. I would have that
+touch by which all common and valueless things become golden
+treasures."
+
+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."
+
+Then Bacchus and Silenus went away, a rout of singing revellers at
+their heels, and Midas quickly put to proof the words of Bacchus.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+In despair, at length he cried to the god who had given him the gift
+that he hated.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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:
+
+"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."
+
+Apollo heard his boast, and heard it angrily.
+
+"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?"
+
+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:
+
+"Yea, would I, Apollo! Willingly would I play thee a match--thou on
+thy golden lyre--I on my reeds from the river."
+
+Thus did it come to pass that Apollo and Pan matched against each
+other their music, and King Midas was one of the judges.
+
+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.
+
+"Canst, then, make music like unto my music, Apollo?" he said.
+
+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 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.
+
+For the space of many seconds all was silence.
+
+Then, in low voice, Apollo asked:
+
+"Ye who listen--who is the victor?"
+
+And earth and sea and sky, and all the creatures of earth and sky, and
+of the deep, replied as one:
+
+"The victory is thine, Divine Apollo."
+
+Yet was there one dissentient voice.
+
+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."
+
+Therefore he raised his voice, and called very loud: "Pan's music is
+sweeter and truer and greater than the music of Apollo. Pan is the
+victor, and I, King Midas, give him the victor's crown!"
+
+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.
+
+Then he spoke:
+
+"The ears of an ass have heard my music," he said. "Henceforth shall
+Midas have ass's ears."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 whispered to the damp earth:
+"King Midas has ass's ears."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CEYX AND HALCYONE
+
+    "St. Martin's summer, halcyon days."
+
+        _King Henry VI_, i. 2, 131.
+
+
+"Halcyon days"--how often is the expression made use of, how seldom do
+its users realise from whence they have borrowed it.
+
+"These were halcyon days," says the old man, and his memory wanders
+back to a time when for him
+
+      "All the world is young, lad,
+    And all the trees are green;
+    And every goose a swan, lad,
+    And every lass a queen."
+
+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.
+
+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 AEolus, 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
+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
+AEgean Sea to risk on it the life of the woman that he loved so well.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 joy it is to lash the waves into rage and to strew
+with dead men and broken timber the angry, surf-beaten shore.
+
+"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.
+
+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 AEgean 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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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, 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A GREY COLD MORNING FOUND HER ON THE SEASHORE]
+
+Yet the gods were not merciless--or, perhaps, the love of Halcyone was
+an all-conquering love. For as 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Ceyx!" they cry. "Remember Ceyx!"
+
+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.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    _Note._--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
+    halcyonidae, excelling all others in their calmness."
+
+
+
+
+ARISTAEUS THE BEE-KEEPER
+
+    "... Every sound is sweet;
+    Myriads of rivers hurrying thro' the lawn,
+    The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
+    And murmuring of innumerable bees."
+
+        Tennyson.
+
+
+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.
+
+How many of us who watch their ardent labours know the story of
+Aristaeus--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 perilous voyagings and beguiled to
+swarm in the sanctuary of a hive.
+
+Aristaeus 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 Aristaeus 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 Aristaeus 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 Aristaeus, 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.
+
+Underneath the swift-flowing water of a deep river, the nymph who was
+the mother of Aristaeus 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 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.
+
+The voice was that of Aristaeus, calling aloud for his mother. Then his
+mother gave command, and the waters of the river rolled asunder and
+let Aristaeus 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:
+
+"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."
+
+"This do I already know, my son," said Cyrene, and smiled upon
+Aristaeus.
+
+"Yet dost thou not know," said Aristaeus, "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 to the hives
+their honeyed treasure. The comb is empty. The bees are all dead--or,
+if not dead, they have forsaken me forever."
+
+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."
+
+Then Aristaeus 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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 Aristaeus 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 Aristaeus 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, Aristaeus shouted aloud. And Proteus, awaking,
+swiftly turned himself into a wild boar with white tusks that lusted
+to thrust themselves into the thighs of Aristaeus. But Aristaeus,
+unflinching, kept his firm hold of the chain. Next did he become a
+tiger, tawny and velvet black, and fierce to devour. And still
+Aristaeus 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 Aristaeus held him. Then came a lion, its
+yellow pelt scented with the lust of killing, and while Aristaeus 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
+irresistible command of the almighty waves of the sea. Yet still
+Aristaeus 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 Aristaeus.
+
+"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 Aristaeus, 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, Aristaeus! 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."
+
+"This will I do most faithfully, O Proteus," said Aristaeus, and
+gravely loosened the chains and returned to where his mother awaited
+him, and thence travelled to his own sunny land of Greece.
+
+Most faithfully, as he had said, did Aristaeus 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 the heart of a man who has striven valiantly in a great
+fight and to whom the battle is assured.
+
+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."
+
+"Out of the eater came forth meat, out of the strong came forth
+sweetness."
+
+And Aristaeus, 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.
+
+
+
+
+PROSERPINE
+
+    "Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,
+    Thou from whose immortal bosom,
+    Gods, and men, and beasts have birth,
+    Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
+    Breathe thine influence most divine
+    On thine own child, Proserpine.
+
+    If with mists of evening dew
+    Thou dost nourish those young flowers
+    Till they grow, in scent and hue,
+    Fairest children of the hours,
+    Breathe thine influence most divine
+    On thine own child, Proserpine."
+
+        Shelley.
+
+
+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!"
+
+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 grow
+with more dazzling colours and more fragrant perfume than in the fair
+garden of Sicily.
+
+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.
+
+    "'The coal-black horses rise--they rise,
+    O mother, mother!' low she cries--
+    Persephone--Persephone!
+    'O light, light, light!' she cries, 'farewell;
+    The coal-black horses wait for me.
+    O shade of shades, where I must dwell,
+    Demeter, mother, far from thee!'"[5]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "What ails her that she comes not home?
+    Demeter seeks her far and wide,
+    And gloomy-browed doth ceaseless roam
+    From many a morn till eventide.
+    'My life, immortal though it be,
+    Is nought,' she cries, 'for want of thee,
+    Persephone--Persephone!'"
+
+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.
+
+    "'My life is nought for want of thee,--
+    Persephone! Persephone!'" ...
+
+The cry is borne down through the ages, to echo and re-echo so long as
+mothers love and Death is still unchained.
+
+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.
+
+"Let us go to the Sun God," said Hecate. "Surely 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Then upon the earth did there come dearth and drought and barrenness.
+
+    "The wheat
+    Was blighted in the ear, the purple grapes
+    Blushed no more on the vines, and all the gods
+    Were sorrowful ..."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Unwillingly Zeus granted the request of Demeter.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 Demeter to save her child.
+She "had eaten of Love's seed" and "changed into another."
+
+    "He takes the cleft pomegranate seeds:
+    'Love, eat with me this parting day;'
+    Then bids them fetch the coal-black steeds--
+    'Demeter's daughter, wouldst away?'
+    The gates of Hades set her free;
+    'She will return full soon,' saith he--
+    'My wife, my wife Persephone.'"
+
+        Ingelow.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Time calls, and Change
+    Commands both men and gods, and speeds us on
+    We know not whither; but the old earth smiles
+    Spring after spring, and the seed bursts again
+    Out of its prison mould, and the dead lives
+    Renew themselves, and rise aloft and soar
+    And are transformed, clothing themselves with change,
+    Till the last change be done."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[5] Jean Ingelow.
+
+
+
+
+LATONA AND THE RUSTICS
+
+
+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!"
+
+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.
+
+This is the story of the frogs that have helped to point the gibes of
+Aristophanes, the morals of AEsop, and which have always been, more or
+less, regarded as the low comedians of the animal world.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Surely, good people," she said, and her voice was sad and low, "water
+is free to all. Very far have I 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 in the mud of the
+green-scummed pools, thy homes in the water that thy flat feet have
+defiled."
+
+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
+"_Krroak! krroak! krroak!_" that we know so well.
+
+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.
+
+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
+AEgean 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.
+
+And on this sanctuary there were born to Latona twin children,
+thereafter to be amongst the most famed of the deathless gods--the
+god and goddess, Apollo and Diana.
+
+    "... Those hinds that were transformed to frogs
+    Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny,
+    Which after held the sun and moon in fee."
+
+        Milton.
+
+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.
+
+"We did not know! We did not understand! Pity us! Ah, pity us!
+_Krroak! krroak! krroak!_"
+
+
+
+
+ECHO AND NARCISSUS
+
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Narcissus, the beautiful son of a nymph and a river 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Who's here?" he called.
+
+"_Here!_" answered Echo.
+
+Narcissus, peering amongst the trees' long shadows and seeing no one,
+called "Come!"
+
+And "_Come!_" called the glad voice of Echo, while the nymph, with
+fast-beating heart, felt that her day of happiness had come indeed.
+
+"Why do you shun me?" then called Narcissus.
+
+"_Why do you shun me?_" Echo repeated.
+
+"Let us join one another," said the lad, and the simple words seemed
+turned into song when Echo said them over.
+
+"_Let us join one another!_" 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 she pushed aside the leaves of the trackless
+wood, and ran forward with white arms outstretched to him who was lord
+of her life.
+
+[Illustration: SHE HAUNTED HIM LIKE HIS SHADOW]
+
+With cold eyes and colder heart the one she loved beheld her.
+
+"Away!" he cried, shrinking back as if from something that he hated.
+"_Away!_ I would rather die than that you should have me!"
+
+"_Have me!_" 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.
+
+Heartwhole and happy, Narcissus, slayer of happiness, 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.
+
+Hot and tired from the chase, Narcissus sought one day a lonely pool
+in the woods, there to rest and to quench his thirst.
+
+    "In some delicious ramble, he had found
+    A little space, with boughs all woven round;
+    And in the midst of all, a clearer pool
+    Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool
+    The blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping
+    Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+Echo and the other nymphs were avenged, yet when they looked on the
+beautiful dead Narcissus, they were 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.
+
+                  "A lonely flower he spied,
+    A meek and forlorn flower, with naught of pride,
+    Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clearness,
+    To woo its own sad image into nearness;
+    Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move,
+    But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love."
+
+        Keats.
+
+
+
+
+ICARUS
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Daedalus, 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, 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 Daedalus 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 Daedalus 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 Daedalus was here. Too much was this
+for the artist's jealous spirit.
+
+One day they stood together on the top of the Acropolis, and Daedalus,
+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 Athene, protectress of all clever craftsmen, came to
+his rescue. By her Perdrix was turned into the bird that still bears
+his name, and Daedalus 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.
+
+For his crime Daedalus was banished from Athens, and in the court of
+Minos, king of Crete, he found 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, Daedalus 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 Daedalus 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 Daedalus, 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 Daedalus, the mighty
+craftsman.
+
+Many a Cretan bird was sacrificed before the task 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, Daedalus 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, Daedalus, 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.
+
+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 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 Daedalus 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Gentle Dawn, the rosy-fingered, was slowly making her way up from the
+East when Daedalus 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 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.
+
+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
+AEgean 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 the radiant sun-god smiling down on
+him, the warning of Daedalus was forgotten. As he had excelled other
+lads in foot races, now did Icarus wish to excel the birds themselves.
+Daedalus 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 AEgean Sea to where
+the sun-god's horses took their nightly rest by the trackless seas of
+the unknown West.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+On the dead, still face of Icarus they shone, and they spangled as if
+with diamonds the wet plumage that still, widespread, bore him up on
+the waves.
+
+Stricken at heart was Daedalus, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+So much had he dared--so little accomplished.
+
+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?
+
+
+
+
+CLYTIE
+
+
+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?
+
+"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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+    "The heart that has truly loved never forgets,
+      But as truly loves on to the close;
+    As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets
+      The same look that she turned when he rose."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRANES OF IBYCUS
+
+    "For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
+    With most miraculous organ."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+
+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.
+
+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
+sands of Egypt, to dance and beck and bow to each other by the marshes
+of his homeland.
+
+"Welcome back, little brothers!" he cried. "May you and I both meet
+with naught but kindness from the people of this land!"
+
+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.
+
+"Take up my cause, dear cranes!" he said, "since no voice but yours
+answers my cry!"
+
+And the cranes screamed hoarsely and mournfully as if in farewell, as
+they flapped their way towards Corinth and left the poet lying dead.
+
+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.
+
+"Is it thus I find you restored to me?" said he who had expected him
+in Corinth as his honoured guest; "I who hoped to place the victor's
+laurels on your head when you triumphed in the temple of song!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+
+    "With all the pomp of horror, dy'd in gore."
+
+        Virgil.
+
+In solemn cadence, while the thousands of beholders watched and
+listened enthralled, the Furies walked round the theatre and sang
+their song of terror:
+
+"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!"
+
+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:
+
+"_See there! see there! behold, comrade, the cranes of Ibycus!_"
+
+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.
+
+"Seize him! seize him!" cried in unison the voices of thousands.
+"Seize the man, and him to whom he spoke!"
+
+Frantically the trembling wretch tried to deny his words, but it was
+too late. The roar of the multitudes 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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+SYRINX
+
+    "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?"
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+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.
+
+This is the story of Syrinx, the reed, as Ovid has told it to us.
+
+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.
+
+    "But as for Love, truly I know him not,
+    I have passionately turned my lips therefrom,
+    And from that fate the careless gods allot."
+
+        Lady Margaret Sackville.
+
+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.
+
+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. He was Life itself. So
+did they talk, and Syrinx listened with a smile. Not Pan himself could
+bring Fear to her.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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, 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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"Thus shalt thou still be mine, my Syrinx," he said.
+
+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.
+
+So did the god make music.
+
+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:
+
+    "A note of music by its own breath slain,
+    Blown tenderly from the frail heart of a reed,"
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE DEATH OF ADONIS
+
+    "The fairest youth that ever maiden's dream conceived."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 on him and bring
+him death, the boy laughed mockingly and with scorn.
+
+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.
+
+With terrible foreboding, Aphrodite tried to dissuade him from his
+venture.
+
+    "O, be advised: thou know'st not what it is
+    With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
+    Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,
+    Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Alas, he naught esteems that face of thine,
+    To which love's eyes pay tributary gazes;
+    Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,
+    Whose full perfection all the world amazes;
+    But having thee at vantage--wondrous dread!--
+    Would root these beauties as he roots the mead."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+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.
+
+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 maybe persuade him, for love of her, to give up the
+perilous chase because she loved him so.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+And as, _in extremis_, 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "A cruel, cruel wound on his thigh hath Adonis, but a
+    deeper wound in her heart doth Cytherea[6] 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:
+
+    "'_Woe, woe for Cytherea, he hath perished, the lovely
+    Adonis!_'"
+
+        Bion.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Never can it be that the Queen of Love and of 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."
+
+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.
+
+    "But even in death, so strong is love,
+    I could not wholly die; and year by year,
+    When the bright springtime comes, and the earth lives,
+    Love opens these dread gates, and calls me forth
+    Across the gulf. Not here, indeed, she comes,
+    Being a goddess and in heaven, but smooths
+    My path to the old earth, where still I know
+    Once more the sweet lost days, and once again
+    Blossom on that soft breast, and am again
+    A youth, and rapt in love; and yet not all
+    As careless as of yore; but seem to know
+    The early spring of passion, tamed by time
+    And suffering, to a calmer, fuller flow,
+    Less fitful, but more strong."
+
+        Lewis Morris.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 _Sursum Corda_, 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
+
+    "Le ciel tout en fleur semble une immense rose
+    Qu'un Adonis celeste a teinte de son sang."
+
+        De Heredia.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[6] Aphrodite.
+
+
+
+
+PAN
+
+    "What was he doing, the great god Pan,
+      Down in the reeds by the river?
+    Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
+    Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
+    And breaking the golden lilies afloat
+      With the dragon-fly on the river.
+
+    He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
+      From the deep cool bed of the river:
+    The limpid water turbidly ran,
+    And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
+    And the dragon-fly had fled away,
+      Ere he brought it out of the river.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    'This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan
+      (Laughed while he sat by the river),
+    'The only way, since gods began
+    To make sweet music, they could succeed.'
+    Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
+      He blew in power by the river.
+
+    Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
+      Piercing sweet by the river!
+    Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
+    The sun on the hill forgot to die,
+    And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
+      Came back to dream on the river.
+
+    Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
+      To laugh as he sits by the river,
+    Making a poet out of a man:
+    The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,
+    For the reed which grows nevermore again
+      As a reed with the reeds in the river."
+
+        E. B. Browning.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 _motif_--the
+clear, magical fluting of the pipes of Pan.
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _All_.
+
+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 whom
+he made melody from the pipes for whose creation a maid had perished.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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. _Panic_ was the name given to this
+fear--the name by 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, _Fear_ 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--
+
+    "_To Pan, and to the Sylvan deities_"?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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."
+
+"_The Beauty and the terror of the world_"--was not this what Pan
+stood for to the Greeks of long ago?
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+    "In Being's floods, in Action's storm,
+    I walk and work, above, beneath,
+    Work and weave in endless motion!
+            Birth and Death,
+            An infinite ocean;
+            A seizing and giving
+            The fire of Living;
+    'Tis thus at the roaring loom of Time I ply,
+    And weave for God the Garment thou seest Him by."
+
+So speaks the _Erdgeist_ in Goethe's _Faust_, and yet another of the
+greatest of the poets writes:
+
+    "The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains--
+    Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns?
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    And the ear of man cannot hear, and the eye of man cannot see;
+    But if we could see and hear, this Vision--were it not He?"
+
+        Tennyson.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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 Paxae in the Ionian Sea; and to him came a great voice,
+saying, "Go! make everywhere the proclamation, _Great Pan is dead!_"
+
+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--"_Pan is dead--Pan is dead._"
+
+    "The lonely mountains o'er
+    And the resounding shore,
+    A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;
+    From haunted spring and dale
+    Edg'd with poplar pale,
+    The parting genius is with sighing sent;
+    With flow'r-inwoven tresses torn,
+    The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn."
+
+        Milton.
+
+Pan was dead, and the gods died with him.
+
+    "Gods of Hellas, gods of Hellas,
+    Can ye listen in your silence?
+    Can your mystic voices tell us
+    Where ye hide? In floating islands,
+    With a wind that evermore
+    Keeps you out of sight of shore?
+          Pan, Pan is dead.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Gods! we vainly do adjure you,--
+    Ye return nor voice nor sign!
+    Not a votary could secure you
+    Even a grave for your Divine!
+    Not a grave to show thereby,
+    '_Here these grey old gods do lie,_'
+          Pan, Pan is dead."
+
+        E. B. Browning.
+
+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, "_Joie de vivre_," and De Musset speaks
+of "_Le vin de la jeunesse_" which ferments "_dans les veines de
+Dieu_." 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."
+
+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 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
+_Weltschmerz_--the echo of the pipes of Pan.
+
+    "... Oftenest in the dark woods I hear him sing
+    Dim, half-remembered things, where the old mosses cling
+    To the old trees, and the faint wandering eddies bring
+    The phantom echoes of a phantom spring."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+
+
+LORELEI
+
+    "Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
+    Dass ich so traurig bin;
+    Ein Maerchen aus alten Zeiten,
+    Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Die schoenste Jungfrau sitzet
+    Dort oben wunderbar,
+    Ihr gold'nes Geschmeide blitzet,
+    Sie kaemmt ihr gold'nes Haar.
+
+    Sie kaemmt es mit gold'nem Kamme,
+    Und singt ein Lied dabei;
+    Das hat eine wundersame,
+    Gewaltige Melodei."
+
+        Heine.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Such were the sirens who would have compassed the 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 given to them by one of the earliest poets of Greece[7] 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."[8]
+
+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:
+
+    "Once I sat upon a promontory,
+    And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
+    Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
+    That the rude sea grew civil at her song;
+    And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
+    To hear the sea-maid's music."
+
+        Shakespeare.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Her voice was like the voice the stars
+    Had when they sang together."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+It is "ein Maerchen aus alten Zeiten"--a legend of long ago.
+
+But it is a very much older _Maerchen_ that tells us of the warning of
+Circe to Odysseus:
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+    "_Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,_
+    _Dass ich so traurig bin._"
+
+For the sadness of heart, the melancholy that their music brings us is
+a mystery which none on this earth may ever unravel.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[7] Archilochus of Paros.
+
+[8] Fiona Macleod (_The Winged Destiny_).
+
+
+
+
+FREYA, QUEEN OF THE NORTHERN GODS
+
+
+"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
+mediaeval times, the high-born women who acted as dispensers to their
+lords first took the title _Frouwa_ (=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.
+
+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 home," is commemorating the name of the Lady, Freya, to whom
+his ancestors offered their prayers.
+
+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.
+
+    "Of me the gods are sprung;
+    And all that is to come I know, but lock
+    In my own breast, and have to none reveal'd."
+
+        Matthew Arnold.
+
+[Illustration: FREYA SAT SPINNING THE CLOUDS]
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Take thou thy women-folk,
+    Maidens and wives;
+    Over your ankles
+    Lace on the white war-hose;
+    Over your bosoms
+    Link up the hard mail-nets;
+    Over your lips
+    Plait long tresses with cunning;--
+    So war beasts full-bearded
+    King Odin shall deem you,
+    When off the grey sea-beach
+    At sunrise ye greet him."
+
+        Charles Kingsley.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 _Langobarden_ 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.
+
+With the coming of Christianity, Freya, the Beloved, was cast out
+along with all the other old forgotten gods. 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.
+
+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--
+
+    "Saxon and Norman and Dane are we"--
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE DEATH OF BALDUR
+
+    "I heard a voice, that cried,
+    'Baldur the Beautiful
+    Is dead, is dead!'
+    And through the misty air
+    Passed like the mournful cry
+    Of sunward sailing cranes."
+
+        Longfellow.
+
+
+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.
+
+    "My strength is of the strength of ten,
+    Because my heart is pure."
+
+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 _Baldrsbra_. The god of the
+Norsemen was essentially a god of battles, and we are told by great
+authorities that Baldur was originally 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+Odin alone remained unsatisfied. Mounted on his 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.
+
+    "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.'"
+
+        Dasent.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"_Who_," he asked, "_would refuse to weep at Baldur's death?_"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _sans peur et sans reproche_.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"All things?" queried Loki.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+Hodur stood aside, while the other gods merrily pursued their sport.
+
+"Why dost thou not take aim at Baldur with a weapon that fails and so
+join in the laughter?" asked Loki.
+
+And Hodur sadly made answer:
+
+"Well dost thou know that darkness is my lot, nor have I ought to
+cast at my brother."
+
+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. "_Baldur the Beautiful is dead! is dead!_"
+
+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.
+
+"That was the greatest woe that ever befell gods and men," says the
+story.
+
+The sound of terrible mourning in place of laughter brought Freya to
+where
+
+    "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."
+
+        Matthew Arnold.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+    "Come then! if Baldur was so dear beloved,
+    And this is true, and such a loss is Heaven's--
+    Hear, how to Heaven may Baldur be restored.
+    Show me through all the world the signs of grief!
+    Fails but one thing to grieve, here Baldur stops!
+    Let all that lives and moves upon the earth
+    Weep him, and all that is without life weep;
+    Let Gods, men, brutes, beweep him; plants and stones,
+    So shall I know the loss was dear indeed,
+    And bend my heart, and give him back to Heaven."
+
+        Matthew Arnold.
+
+Gladly Hermoder made answer:
+
+"All things shall weep for Baldur!"
+
+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.
+
+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 _Ringhorn_,
+the largest in the world.
+
+[Illustration: "BALDUR THE BEAUTIFUL IS DEAD"]
+
+    "Seventy ells and four extended
+    On the grass the vessel's keel;
+    High above it, gilt and splendid,
+    Rose the figure-head ferocious
+    With its crest of steel."
+
+        Longfellow.
+
+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.
+
+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, "_All creatures weep, and
+Baldur shall return!_"
+
+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:
+
+    "Neither in life, nor yet in death,
+    Gave he me gladness.
+    Let Hel keep her prey."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "They launched the burning ship!
+    It floated far away
+    Over the misty sea,
+    Till like the sun it seemed,
+    Sinking beneath the waves,
+    Baldur returned no more!"
+
+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 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
+_Resurrection_.
+
+    "So perish the old Gods!
+    But out of the sea of time
+    Rises a new land of song,
+    Fairer than the old."
+
+        Longfellow.
+
+    "Heartily know,
+    When half-gods go,
+    The gods arrive."
+
+        Emerson.
+
+
+
+
+BEOWULF
+
+    "He was of mankind
+    In might the strongest."
+
+        Longfellow's Translation.
+
+
+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.
+
+It is "the most ancient heroic poem in the Germanic language," and was
+brought to Britain by the "Winged 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.
+
+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
+and his hearth-sharers once lived, and there, on the highest ness of
+our eastern coast, under a great barrow, that Beowulf was buried.
+_Beowulfesby_--_Bowlby_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+
+    "A fair troop of warrior thanes guarding it found he;
+    Heedlessly sleeping, they recked not of sorrow."
+
+Never a thought did they give to the Grendel,--
+
+    "A haunter of marshes, a holder of moors,
+                                ... Secret
+    The land he inhabits; dark, wolf-haunted ways
+    Of the windy hillside, by the treacherous tarn;
+    Or where, covered up in its mist, the hill stream
+    Downward flows."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+In the realm of the Goths, Hygelac was king, and 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.
+
+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 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, Naegeling, in token of his valour.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 little time the valiant warden
+watched them from afar, and then, one man against fifteen, he rode
+quickly down and challenged the warriors.
+
+    "What are ye warlike men      wielding bright weapons,
+    Wearing grey corselets and      boar-adorned helmets,
+    Who o'er the water-paths      come with your foaming keel
+    Ploughing the ocean surge?      I was appointed
+    Warden of Denmark's shores;      watch hold I by the wave
+    That on this Danish coast      no deadly enemy
+    Leading troops over sea      should land to injure.
+    None have here landed yet      more frankly coming
+    Than this fair company:      and yet ye answer not
+    The password of warriors,      and customs of kinsmen.
+    Ne'er have mine eyes beheld      a mightier warrior,
+    An earl more lordly than      is he the chief of you;
+    He is no common man;      if looks belie him not,
+    He is a hero bold,      worthily weaponed.
+    Anon must I know of you      kindred and country,
+    Lest ye of spies should go      free on our Danish soil.
+    Now ye men from afar,      sailing the surging sea,
+    Have heard my earnest thought:      best is a quick reply,
+    That I may swiftly know      whence ye have hither come."
+
+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
+
+    "Cometh in dark of night,      sateth his secret hate,
+    Worketh through fearsome awe,      slaughter and shame."
+
+With joy the warden heard his noble words.
+
+"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."
+
+It was a gallant band that strode into Heorot, where 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, Naegeling. 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Needs must I now perform knightly deeds in this hall,
+    Or here must meet my doom in darksome night."
+
+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,
+
+    "I have heard
+    That that foul miscreant's dark and stubborn flesh
+    Recks not the force of arms ...
+    Hand to hand ... Beowulf will grapple with the mighty foe."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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:
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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:
+
+    "Grieve not!... Each man must undergo death at the end of life.
+    Let him win, while he may, warlike fame in the world!
+    That is best after death for the slain warrior."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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,
+
+                                "A glorious sword,
+    An old brand gigantic,      trusty in point and edge,
+    An heirloom of heroes."
+
+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 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.
+
+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 "_Beowulf! Beowulf!_"
+
+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:
+
+                                "Well hast thou treated us.
+    If on this earth I can      do more to win thy love,
+    O prince of warriors,      than I have wrought as yet,
+    Here stand I ready now      weapons to wield for thee.
+    If I shall ever hear      o'er the encircling flood
+    That any neighbouring foes      threaten thy nation's fall,
+    As Grendel grim before,      swift will I bring to thee
+    Thousands of noble thanes,      heroes to help thee."
+
+Then, in their ship, that the Warden of the Coast once had challenged,
+Beowulf and his warriors set sail for their own dear land.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 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:
+
+    "Seeing that Death, a necessary end,
+    Will come when it will come."[9]
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A STROKE SHIVERED THE SWORD]
+
+The hero's sword flashed, and smote a stark blow upon its scaly head.
+But Beowulf could not deal death 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.
+
+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 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:
+
+    "I thank God eternal,      the great King of Glory,
+    For the vast treasures      which I here gaze upon,
+    That I ere my death-day      might for my people
+    Win so great wealth--      Since I have given my life,
+    Thou must now look to      the needs of the nation;
+    Here dwell I no longer,      for Destiny calleth me!
+    Bid thou my warriors      after my funeral pyre
+    Build me a burial-cairn      high on the sea-cliffs head;
+    It shall for memory      tower up to Hronesness,
+    So that the sea-farers      Beowulf's Barrow
+    Henceforth shall name it,      they who drive far and wide
+    Over the mighty flood      their foaming Reels.
+    Thou art the last of all      the kindred of Wagmund!
+    Wyrd[10] has swept all my kin,      all the brave chiefs away!
+    Now must I follow them!"
+
+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":
+
+    "Gentlest, most gracious, most keen to win glory."
+
+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
+
+    "High on the sea-cliff ledges
+    The white gulls are trooping and crying"
+
+--the barrow of Beowulf covers a very valiant hero, a very perfect
+gentleman.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[9] Shakespeare (_Julius Caesar_).
+
+[10] Goddess of Fate.
+
+
+
+
+ROLAND THE PALADIN
+
+    "Roland, the flower of chivalry,
+    Expired at Roncevall."
+
+        Thomas Campbell.
+
+    "Hero-worship endures for ever while man
+    endures."
+
+        Carlyle.
+
+    "Roland, the gode knight."
+
+        Turpin's _History of Charlemagne_.
+
+
+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
+_Chanson de Roland_, and shouted, as chorus, "God be our help! God be
+our help!"
+
+    "Taillefer ... chantoit de Rollant
+    Et d'Olivier, et de Vassaux
+    Qui mourent en Rainschevaux."
+
+        Wace, _Roman de Rose_.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+777 or 778 A.D. 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.
+
+    "No fortress stands before him unsubdued,
+    Nor wall, nor city left to be destroyed,"
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"A hungry one this," he said, "and very bold."
+
+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.
+
+"My father gave her wine," he thought. "They were drinking wine in
+that great hall. It will make her white cheeks red again."
+
+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.
+
+"No! no! bold thief," he said, "I cannot have my golden cup stolen
+from me, be it done by ever so sturdy a robber. Tell me, who sent thee
+out to steal?"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Who art thou, then?" asked Charlemagne.
+
+"My name is Roland--let me go, I pray thee," and again he tried to
+drag himself free. And Charlemagne mockingly said:
+
+"Roland, I fear thy father and mother have taught thee to be a clever
+thief."
+
+Then anger blazed in Roland's eyes.
+
+"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.
+
+Then Charlemagne turned to his lords and asked--"Who is this child?"
+
+And one made answer: "He is the son of thy sister Bertha, and of Milon
+the knight, who was drowned these three weeks agone."
+
+Then the heart of Charlemagne grew heavy with remorse when he found
+that his sister had so nearly died 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 Baviere,
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+And all the other peers applauded the choice, and Charlemagne said to
+Ganelon:
+
+"Come hither, Ganelon, and receive my staff and glove, which the voice
+of all the Franks have given to thee."
+
+But the honour which all the others coveted was not held to be an
+honour by Ganelon. In furious rage he turned upon Roland:
+
+"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!"
+
+And Roland grew red, then very white, and said:
+
+"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.
+
+But Charlemagne, with darkened brow, shook his head.
+
+"Ganelon must go," he said, "for so have I commanded. Go! for the
+honour of Jesus Christ, and for your Emperor."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"Thou hast done well, Ganelon," said the king. "I give thanks to my
+God and to thee. Thou shalt be well rewarded."
+
+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.
+
+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
+dangers for the rearguard naturally seemed to Charlemagne to be the
+greatest, and to his Douzeperes he turned, as before, for counsel.
+
+"Who, then, shall command the rearguard?" he asked. And quickly
+Ganelon answered, "Who but Roland? Ever would he seek the post where
+danger lies."
+
+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:
+
+    "_For dred of dethe, he hid neuer his hed._"
+
+Leaving them behind with twenty thousand men, and with Ganelon
+commanding the vanguard, Charlemagne started.
+
+"Christ keep you!" he said on parting with Roland--"_I betak you to
+Crist._"
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+    "I will fight with them that us hathe sought
+    And or I se my brest blod throughe my harnes ryn
+    Blow never horn for no help then."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Red was Roland, red with bloodshed;
+    Red his corselet, red his shoulders,
+    Red his arm, and red his charger."
+
+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.
+
+    "'Friend, what hast thou there?' cried Roland.
+    'In this game 'tis not a distaff,
+    But a blade of steel thou needest.
+    Where is now Hauteclaire, thy good sword,
+    Golden-hilted, crystal-pommelled?'
+    'Here,' said Oliver; 'so fight I
+    That I have not time to draw it.'
+    'Friend,' quoth Roland, 'more I love thee
+    Ever henceforth than a brother.'"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The war-cry of the soldiers of France--"Montjoie! Montjoie!"--rang
+clear above the fierce sound of the trumpets of the Saracen army.
+
+    "'Soldiers of the Lord,' cried Turpin,
+    'Be ye valiant and steadfast,
+    For this day shall crowns be given you
+    Midst the flowers of Paradise.
+    In the name of God our Saviour,
+    Be ye not dismayed nor frighted,
+    Lest of you be shameful legends
+    Chanted by the tongues of minstrels.
+    Rather let us die victorious,
+    Since this eve shall see us lifeless!--
+    Heaven has no room for cowards!
+    Knights, who nobly fight, and vainly,
+    Ye shall sit among the holy
+    In the blessed fields of Heaven.
+    On then, Friends of God, to glory!'"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 beasts devour
+them and croaking wretches with foul beaks tear our flesh and leave
+our bones dishonoured."
+
+"That is well said," quoth Roland and Oliver.
+
+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.
+
+For days on end Charlemagne had been alarmed at the delay of his
+rearguard, but ever the false Ganelon had reassured him.
+
+"Why shouldst thou fear, sire?" he asked. "Roland has surely gone
+after some wild boar or deer, so fond is he of the chase."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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:
+
+      "... a blast of that dread horn,
+    On Fontarabian echoes borne,
+      That to King Charles did come,
+    When Rowland brave, and Olivier,
+    And every paladin and peer,
+      On Roncesvalles died."
+
+        Sir Walter Scott.
+
+[Illustration: ROLAND SEIZED ONCE MORE HIS HORN]
+
+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.
+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.
+
+    "'Ah, gentle lord,' said Roland, 'give me leave
+    To carry here our comrades who are dead,
+    Whom we so dearly loved; they must not lie
+    Unblest; but I will bring their corpses here
+    And thou shalt bless them, and me, ere thou die.'
+    'Go,' said the dying priest, 'but soon return.
+    Thank God! the victory is yours and mine!'"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+    "Alas! brave priest, fair lord of noble birth,
+    Thy soul I give to the great King of Heaven!
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    May thy fair soul escape the pains of Hell,
+    And Paradise receive thee in its bowers!"
+
+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 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.
+
+"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:
+
+    "I surely die; but, ere I end,
+    Let me be sure that thou art ended too my friend!
+    For should a heathen grasp thee when I am clay,
+    My ghost would grieve full sore until the judgment day!"
+
+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 pass of
+Roncesvalles, even such a blast may be heard, waking all the echoes
+and sounding through the lonely hollows of the hills.
+
+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.
+
+              "... With hands devoutly joined
+    He breathed his last. God sent his Cherubim,
+    Saint Raphael, Saint Michel del Peril.
+    Together with them Gabriel came.--All bring
+    The soul of Count Rolland to Paradise.
+                                      Aoi."
+
+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.
+
+"All the field was with blod ouer roun"--"Many a good swerd was broken
+ther"--"Many a fadirles child ther was at home."
+
+By the side of Roland, Charlemagne vowed vengeance, but ere he avenged
+his death he mourned over him with infinite anguish:
+
+    "'The Lord have mercy, Roland, on thy soul!
+    Never again shall our fair France behold
+    A knight so worthy, till France be no more!
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    How widowed lies our fair France, and how lone!
+    How will the realms that I have swayed rebel,
+    Now thou art taken from my weary age!
+    So deep my woe that fain would I die too
+    And join my valiant Peers in Paradise,
+    While men inter my weary limbs with thine!'"
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+                    "... Roland, and Olyvere,
+    And of the twelve Tussypere,
+    That dieden in the batayle of Runcyvale;
+    Jesu lord, heaven king,
+    To his bliss hem and us both bring,
+    To liven withouten bale!"
+
+        Sir Otuel.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHILDREN OF LIR
+
+    "Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water;
+    Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose;
+    While murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter
+    Tells to the night-star her tale of woes."
+
+        Moore.
+
+
+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
+Lir.
+
+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 Lir 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 Lir, for after an
+illness of three 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:
+
+"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."
+
+And the message brought comfort to Lir, 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 Lir 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 Lir:
+
+"Behold my three daughters. Choose which one thou wilt."
+
+And Lir 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."
+
+That day he married Eve, and Lir 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 the world, the eyes of their mother closed on
+pleasant life forever, and once again Lir was a widower, more bowed
+down by grief than before.
+
+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 Lir:
+
+"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."
+
+And again Lir went to the palace at Loch Derg, the Great Lake, and
+there he married Eva, the second of the foster-daughters of the king.
+
+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 Feast of Age--the feast of the great god
+Mannanan, of which those who partook never grew old--the four children
+of Lir were present, and gave joy to all who beheld them by their
+great beauty, their nobility, and their gentleness.
+
+But as the love that all others gave to the four children of Lir 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
+Lir 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 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 Lir, 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.
+
+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."
+
+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 Lir's
+innocent little children."
+
+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 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.
+
+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 Lir. 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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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."
+
+[Illustration: ONE TOUCH FOR EACH, WITH A MAGICAL WAND OF THE DRUIDS]
+
+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
+Darvra; three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle,[11] which is
+between Erin and Alba; three hundred years more at Ivros Domnann[12]
+and at Inis Glora,[13] 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."
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+When she reached the palace without the children, the king asked in
+disappointment why she had not brought them with her.
+
+"Lir loves thee no longer," she made answer. "He will not trust his
+children to thee, lest thou shouldst work them some ill."
+
+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, Lir 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, Lir'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 Lir, 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 Lir 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 Lir:
+
+"The suffering of the little children who are dear to our souls shall
+come to an end at last. Thine shall be an eternal doom."
+
+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."
+
+"A demon of the air," answered the cowering woman.
+
+"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.
+
+Then the king of the Dedannans and all his people went with Lir 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 Lir three hundred years
+passed happily away.
+
+Sad for them and for Lir, 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, 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 Lir
+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.
+
+Weary were the great white wings of the children of Lir 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
+Lir with dread. For always they had desired love and beauty, and the
+ugliness of unrestrained cruelty and fury made them sick at soul.
+
+To her brothers Finola said: "Beloved ones, of a surety the storm must
+drive us apart. Let us, then, appoint a place of meeting, lest we
+never look upon each other again."
+
+And, knowing that she spoke wisely and well, the three brothers
+appointed as their meeting-place the rock of Carricknarone.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"If Aed would only come," she said, "then should we be happy indeed."
+
+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 Lir.
+
+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.
+
+    "Happy our father Lir afar,
+    With mead, and songs of love and war:
+    The salt brine, and the white foam,
+    With these his children have their home.
+
+    In the sweet days of long ago,
+    Soft-clad we wandered to and fro:
+    But now cold winds of dawn and night
+    Pierce deep our feathers thin and light.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Beneath my wings my brothers lie
+    When the fierce ice-winds hurtle by;
+    On either side and 'neath my breast
+    Lir's sons have known no other rest."
+
+        Fiona Macleod (William Sharp).
+
+Only once during those dreary three hundred years did the children of
+Lir 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 Lir.
+
+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.
+
+But Finola said to them:
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+When the nine hundred years of their sorrowful doom had ended, the
+children of Lir joyously spread their wings and flew to their father's
+home at Shee Finnaha.
+
+But the house was there no more, for Lir, 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.
+
+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.
+
+And while the years went by, there came to Erin one who brought glad
+tidings, for the holy Patrick came to lead men out of darkness into
+light. With him came Kemoc, and Kemoc made his home on Inis Glora.
+
+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.
+
+"Dost not know what sound it is?" she asked, divining their thoughts.
+
+"We heard a faint, fearful voice," they said, "but we know not what it
+is."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+And when the wonderful melody of their song reached the ears of Kemoc,
+he knew that none but the children of Lir 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 Lir, for whose sake he had come to
+Inis Glora, they told him all their piteous tale.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Is it truth that ye have dared to refuse a gift of your birds to my
+queen?" he asked, in wrath.
+
+And Kemoc answered: "It is truth."
+
+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.
+
+But as the king held their chains in his rude grasp, a wondrous thing
+took place.
+
+Instead of swans, there followed Larguen a very old woman,
+white-haired and feeble, and three very old men, 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 Lir, in human form at last, turned to Kemoc and
+besought him to baptize them, because they knew that death was very
+near.
+
+"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."
+
+    "As oft in life my brothers dear
+      Were sooth'd by me to rest--
+    Ficra and Conn beneath my wings,
+      And Aed before my breast;
+
+    So place the two on either hand--
+      Close, like the love that bound me;
+    Place Aed as close before my face,
+      And twine their arms around me."
+
+        Joyce.
+
+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.
+
+He buried them as Finola had wished, and raised a mound over them, and
+carved their names on a stone.
+
+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 Lir.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[11] The North Channel.
+
+[12] Erris, in Mayo.
+
+[13] A small island off Benmullet.
+
+
+
+
+DEIRDRE
+
+    "Her beauty filled the old world of the Gael with a
+    sweet, wonderful, and abiding rumour. The name of
+    Deirdre 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 Deirdre...."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+So long ago, that it was before the birth of our Lord, so says
+tradition, there was born that
+
+          "Morning star of loveliness,
+    Unhappy Helen of a Western land,"
+
+who is known to the Celts of Scotland as Darthool, to those of Ireland
+as Deirdre. As in the story of Helen, it is not easy, or even possible
+in the story of Deirdre, 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 Deirdre, 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 Deirdre the Beautiful and the Sons of Usna.
+
+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 _Book of Leinster_.
+
+But those who would revel in the old tale and have Deirdre 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.
+
+Conchubar, or Conor, ruled the kingdom of the Ultonians, now Ulster,
+when Deirdre 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.
+
+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 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:
+
+"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."
+
+And Felim made answer:
+
+"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."
+
+But Conor, the king, spoke then, and because the witchery of the
+perfect beauty and the magic charm of Deirdre 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."
+
+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 Deirdre 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:
+
+    "_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._
+
+    "_You will have a little grave apart to yourself; you
+    will be a tale of wonder for ever, Deirdre._"
+
+        Lady Gregory's Translation.
+
+As Conor commanded, Deirdre, 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.
+
+"Tell me," one day she asked her teacher, "who made the stars, the
+firmament above, the earth, the flowers, both thee and me?"
+
+And Cathbad answered: "God. But who God is, alas! no man can say."
+
+Then Deirdre, 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."
+
+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.
+
+As Deirdre 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.
+
+One winter day, when the snow lay deep, it came to pass that Deirdre
+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 Deirdre 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."
+
+And Lavarcam, without thought, made answer:
+
+"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."
+
+"And what will be the name of that man, Lavarcam?" asked Deirdre. "And
+whence is he, and what his degree?"
+
+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[14] in the Isle of Skye.
+
+Then said Deirdre: "My love shall be given to none but Naoise, son of
+Usna. To him shall it belong forever."
+
+From that day forward, Naoise held kingship over the thoughts and
+dreams of Deirdre.
+
+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.
+
+Now Conor had made a law that none but Cathbad, Lavarcam, and the
+nurse of Deirdre 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 one
+day came from seeing Deirdre, 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.
+
+Then Lavarcam sped back to Deirdre 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 Deirdre 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 Deirdre were hidden.
+
+"I have never seen men so near before," said Deirdre. "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?"
+
+And Lavarcam made answer: "These are Naoise, Ardan, and Ainle--the
+three sons of Usna."
+
+But Deirdre looked hard at Lavarcam, and scorn and laughter were in
+her merry eyes.
+
+"Then shall I have speech with Naoise, Ardan, and 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.
+
+And the rough hinds, seeing such perfect loveliness, made very sure
+that Deirdre was one of the _sidhe_[15] and stared at her with the
+round eyes and gaping mouths of wondering terror.
+
+For a moment Deirdre gazed at them. Then: "Are ye the Sons of Usna?"
+she asked.
+
+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 Deirdre: "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."
+
+And when the eyes of the herd met the eyes of Deirdre, a soul was born
+in him, and he knew things of which he never before had dreamed.
+
+"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."
+
+And Deirdre said: "I would fain see Naoise, one of the Sons of Usna."
+
+And once more the swineherd said: "My life is thine."
+
+Then Deirdre, seeing in his eyes a very beautiful thing, stooped and
+kissed the swineherd on his weather-beaten, tanned forehead.
+
+"Go, then," she said, "to Naoise. Tell him that I, Deirdre, 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."
+
+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 Deirdre had given him.
+
+Sorely puzzled was Lavarcam over the doings of Deirdre that day, for
+Deirdre 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
+Deirdre, 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
+Deirdre: "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
+Deirdre, the Beauty of the World.
+
+From where the swineherd lay, Lavarcam went to the camp of the Sons
+of Usna, and to Naoise she told the story of the love that Deirdre
+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.
+
+Days passed, and Deirdre 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 _sidhe_ 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 Deirdre 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 Deirdre.
+
+    "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."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+From that moment Naoise "gave his love to Deirdre 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.
+
+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 Deirdre to escape from the furious wrath of the king
+who desired her for his own.
+
+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.
+
+"Is it a wolf?" cried Deirdre.
+
+And Naoise made answer: "Either a dead man, or the mark of where a man
+has lain hidden thou wilt find under the bracken."
+
+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.
+
+Then said Naoise: "Well I knew that Conor would set a spy on my
+tracks. Come with me now, Deirdre, else may I lose thee forever."
+
+And with a glad heart Deirdre went with him who was to be her lord,
+and Naoise took her to where his brothers awaited his coming. To
+Deirdre, both Ainle and Ardan swiftly gave their lifelong allegiance
+and their love, but they were full of forebodings for her and for
+Naoise because of the certain wrath of Conor, the king.
+
+Then said Naoise: "Although harm should come, for her dear sake I am
+willing to live in disgrace for the rest of my days."
+
+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."
+
+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,[16] and then in a great black galley
+they set sail, and Deirdre 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.
+
+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 Deirdre were swift to discern
+evil 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.
+
+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.
+
+For Deirdre 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 Deirdre, 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[17] they
+built for Deirdre a sunny bower.
+
+On a sloping bank above the waterfall they built the little nest,
+thatched with the royal fern of the mountains, 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 Deirdre'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 Deirdre, to whom all things
+were dear.
+
+"_Is tu mein na Dearshul agha_"--"The tenderness of heartsweet
+Deirdre"--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 _Oea_ speak.
+
+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.
+
+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
+Deirdre and the Sons of Usna. Rumour came to him that the king of
+Alba had planned to come against Naoise, to slay him, and to take
+Deirdre for his wife, but that ere he could come the Sons of Usna and
+Deirdre 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 Deirdre,
+fairest of women.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+At these words there was great rejoicing amongst the lords of the Red
+Branch and all those who listened, 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.
+
+"Well did I know thou didst bear me no love," said Conor, and black
+was his brow.
+
+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.
+
+Then Conor gladly gave Fergus command to go to Alba as his emissary,
+and to fetch back with him the three brothers and Deirdre the
+Beautiful.
+
+"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."
+
+This he said, because to Fergus and to all the other of the Red
+Branch, a _geasa_, or pledge, was sacrosanct. And well he knew that
+Fergus had as one of his _geasa_ that he would never refuse an
+invitation to a feast.
+
+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.
+
+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 Deirdre, that was the
+loss that gave the king the greatest bitterness. Now it came to pass
+that as Naoise and Deirdre were sitting in front of their dun, the
+little waves of Loch Etive lapping up on the seaweed, yellow as the
+hair of Deirdre, 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.
+
+"That is the voice of a man of Erin!" said Naoise, and stopped in his
+game to listen.
+
+But Deirdre said, very quickly: "Not so! It is the voice of a Gael of
+Alba."
+
+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 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, Deirdre confessed to Naoise
+why she had refused at first to own that it was a voice from Erin that
+she heard.
+
+"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."
+
+And Naoise said: "What then, best beloved, dost thou read from this
+dream of thine?"
+
+And Deirdre said: "I read that Fergus comes from Conor with honeyed
+words of peace, but behind his treacherous words lies death."
+
+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.
+
+And when Fergus stood before Deirdre 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.
+
+Then said Naoise: "I am ready." But his eyes dared not meet the
+sea-blue eyes of Deirdre, his queen.
+
+"Knowest thou that my pledge is one of honour?" asked Fergus.
+
+"I know it well," said Naoise.
+
+So in joyous feasting was that night spent, and only over the heart
+of Deirdre hung that black cloud of sorrow to come, of woe
+unspeakable.
+
+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.
+
+And Deirdre, over whom hung a doom she had not the courage to name,
+sang a song at parting:
+
+THE LAY OF DEIRDRE
+
+    "Beloved land, that Eastern land,
+    Alba, with its wonders.
+    O that I might not depart from it,
+    But that I go with Naoise.
+
+    Beloved is Dunfidgha and Dun Fin;
+    Beloved the Dun above them;
+    Beloved is Innisdraighende;[18]
+    And beloved Dun Suibhne.[19]
+
+    Coillchuan! O Coillchuan!
+    Where Ainnle would, alas! resort;
+    Too short, I deem, was then my stay
+    With Ainnle in Oirir Alban.
+
+    Glenlaidhe![20] O Glenlaidhe!
+    I used to sleep by its soothing murmur;
+    Fish, and flesh of wild boar and badger,
+    Was my repast in Glenlaidhe.
+
+    Glenmasan! O Glenmasan![21]
+    High its herbs, fair its boughs.
+    Solitary was the place of our repose
+    On grassy Invermasan.
+
+    Gleneitche![22] O Gleneitche!
+    There was raised my earliest home.
+    Beautiful its woods on rising,
+    When the sun struck on Gleneitche.
+
+    Glen Urchain![23] O Glen Urchain!
+    It was the straight glen of smooth ridges,
+    Not more joyful was a man of his age
+    Than Naoise in Glen Urchain.
+
+    Glendaruadh![24] O Glendaruadh!
+    My love each man of its inheritance.
+    Sweet the voice of the cuckoo, on bending bough,
+    On the hill above Glendaruadh.
+
+    Beloved is Draighen and its sounding shore;
+    Beloved is the water o'er the pure sand.
+    O that I might not depart from the east,
+    But that I go with my beloved!"
+
+        _Translated by W. F. Skene, LL.D._
+
+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
+Deirdre, on their hearts also descended the strange sorrow of an evil
+thing from which no courage could save them.
+
+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 _geasa_, even
+although by holding to it the honour he had pledged to the three
+brothers for their safe-conduct and that of Deirdre 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 Deirdre
+spoke truth when she told him sadly that he had sold his honour. The
+gloomy forebodings that had assailed the heart of Deirdre 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 _geasa_ 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 Deirdre, the evening was spent by in good cheer, and
+Deirdre 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 Deirdre has
+waned, or if she is still the most beautiful of all women."
+
+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 Deirdre 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 Deirdre, 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 Deirdre a vision such as
+that of Cathbad the Druid on the night of her birth.
+
+    "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."
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+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
+Deirdre of all her loveliness, so that she was no more a thing to be
+desired. But Naoise had said to Deirdre when she foretold his 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 Deirdre, 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 Deirdre 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 Deirdre. 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.
+Deirdre 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 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 Deirdre 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 Deirdre, who was to be saved
+for a more cruel fate.
+
+In the House of the Red Branch, Deirdre 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 Deirdre, and drank a drink, and went out
+against the men of Conor, and where his brothers had slain hundreds,
+a thousand fell before his sword.
+
+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.
+
+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 Deirdre 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 Deirdre 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
+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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Mannanan, the son of Lir, 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 Deirdre 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.
+
+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, Deirdre fled, and begged
+him to protect her for the little span of life that she knew yet
+remained to her. 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.
+
+    "Is it honour that ye love, brave and chivalrous Ultonians?
+    Or is the word of a base king better than noble truth?
+    Of a surety ye must be glad, who have basely slain honour
+    In slaying the three noblest and best of your brotherhood.
+
+               *   *   *   *   *
+
+    Let now my beauty that set all this warring aflame,
+    Let now my beauty be quenched as a torch that is spent--
+    For here shall I quench it, here, where my loved one lies,
+    A torch shall it be for him still through the darkness of death."
+
+        Fiona Macleod's Translation.
+
+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, Deirdre 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: "_The Red Branch perisheth! Uladh
+passeth! Uladh passeth!_" and when he had so spoken, the soul of
+Cathbad the Druid passed away.
+
+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.
+
+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: "Deirdre the beautiful is dead ... is dead!"
+
+    "I hear a voice crying, crying, crying: is it the wind
+    I hear, crying its old weary cry time out of mind?
+
+    _The grey wind weeps, the grey wind weeps, the grey wind weeps:_
+    _Dust on her breast, dust on her eyes, the grey wind weeps._"
+
+        Fiona Macleod.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[14] Now Dunskaith.
+
+[15] Fairies.
+
+[16] The Hill of Howth, at Dublin Bay.
+
+[17] Dale of the Waterfall: now Dalness.
+
+[18] Inistrynich.
+
+[19] Dun Sween.
+
+[20] Glen Lug.
+
+[21] At the head of Holy Loch, Argyllshire.
+
+[22] Glen Etive.
+
+[23] Glenorchy.
+
+[24] Glendaruel.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX
+
+
+Acheron, 37
+
+Achilles, 71
+
+Acrisius, 105, 121, 122, 123
+
+Adam, 220
+
+Adonis, 178, 192, 202, 203, 205, 206, 207, 208
+
+Advocates' Library, 306
+
+Aed, 290, 299, 300, 304, 305
+
+AEgean Sea, 36, 90, 106, 121, 145, 146, 186
+
+AEgean Islands, 172
+
+AEolus, 144
+
+AEsculapius, 88
+
+AEsop, 169
+
+Ainle, 313, 315, 316, 317, 322, 325, 329, 330, 331
+
+Ainnle, 324
+
+Aix, 287
+
+Aix-la-Chapelle, 287
+
+Ajax, 71
+
+Alba, 295, 299, 307, 311, 317, 318, 319, 320, 321, 322, 325, 327, 331
+
+Alban, Oirir, 324
+
+Alexander the Great, 135
+
+Alpheus, 102, 103, 104
+
+Althaea, 69, 71, 75
+
+Amphion, 124, 128
+
+Anapus, 101
+
+Andromeda, 119, 120, 123
+
+Angelo, Michael, 203
+
+Anglo-Saxon, 245
+
+Angrbotha, 236
+
+Aphrodite, 5, 13, 14, 15, 42, 46, 47, 49, 56, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65,
+    66, 67, 79, 81, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206
+
+Apollo, 5, 16, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 24, 27, 28, 29, 32, 42, 43, 44, 45,
+    49, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 101, 125, 126, 127, 129, 130,
+    131, 132, 133, 139, 140, 141, 142, 145, 164, 165, 173, 185, 186,
+    187, 188, 190, 191, 192, 267
+
+Apollo Belvidere, 11
+
+Apollo, Phoebus, 19
+
+Appin, 317
+
+Arachne, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 88, 89
+
+Arcadia, 71, 77, 78, 197, 211
+
+Arcadian, 75
+
+Archilochus, 223
+
+Ard, Loch, 320
+
+Ardan, 312, 315, 316, 317, 322, 323, 325, 329, 330, 331
+
+Arethusa, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104
+
+Argo, 39
+
+Argonauts, 39
+
+Argos, 105, 122, 128
+
+Aristaeus, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160
+
+Aristophanes, 169
+
+Argyllshire, 324
+
+Arnold, Matthew, 228, 239, 240
+
+Aros, 317
+
+Artemis, 26, 27
+
+Arthur, King, 268
+
+Aschere, 256
+
+Asgard, 230, 231, 235, 239, 240, 242
+
+Asia, 135
+
+Atalanta, 71, 72, 73, 74, 76, 78, 79, 80, 81
+
+Athene, Pallas, 3, 4, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111,
+    112, 115, 120, 182
+
+Athens, 181, 182
+
+Atlas, 114, 115, 117
+
+Aude the Fair, 282, 287
+
+Aurora, 20, 21
+
+Australia, 220
+
+Awe, Loch, 320
+
+
+Bacchantes, 40
+
+Bacchus, 40, 136, 138
+
+Baldrsbra, 234
+
+Baldur, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243
+
+Ballycastle, 325
+
+Bann, 301
+
+Bartholomew, 88
+
+Baviere, Naismes de, 272
+
+Belvidere, Apollo, 11
+
+Ben Cruachan, 318
+
+Ben Etair, 317
+
+Benmullet, 295
+
+Beowulf, 229, 244, 245, 246, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256,
+    257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265
+
+Beowulf's Barrow, 264
+
+Beowulfesby, 245
+
+Bertha, 269, 271, 272
+
+Bion, 206
+
+Blancandrin, 268, 274
+
+Blaye, 287
+
+Bodb the Red, 289, 290, 291, 296, 301
+
+Boreas, 212
+
+Borrach, 321, 325, 326
+
+Bowlby Cliff, 244, 245
+
+Branch, Red, 307, 308, 320, 321, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333
+
+Breton, 267
+
+Brisingamen, 229, 255, 260
+
+Britain, 244, 268
+
+Brittany, 267
+
+Brocken, 233
+
+Browning, E. B., 209, 218
+
+Buinne the Red, 322, 329
+
+Byron, 10
+
+
+Calliope, 32
+
+Calvary, 216
+
+Calvinism, 215
+
+Calydon, 69, 70, 71, 78
+
+Calydonian Hunt, 69, 72, 76
+
+Campbell, Thos., 266
+
+Carlyle, Thos., 215, 216, 266
+
+Carmichael, Alexander, 307
+
+Carraig Uisneach, 325
+
+Carricknarone, 299, 300
+
+Cassiopeia, 123
+
+Castor, 71
+
+Cathbad, 307, 309, 310, 311, 327, 330, 332
+
+Caucasus, Mt., 8
+
+Celts, 289, 306
+
+Cepheus, 123
+
+Cerberus, 34
+
+Ceyx, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 150, 151, 152, 153
+
+Champions of the Red Branch, 307, 308
+
+Chanson de Roland, 266
+
+Chaos, 2
+
+Charlemagne, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276,
+    277, 280, 281, 282, 286, 287
+
+Charles, King, 282
+
+Charon, 37, 38
+
+Chemmis, 117
+
+Chinese, 208
+
+Christian, 272, 275, 295, 303
+
+Christianity, 215, 227, 232
+
+Cimmerian Mountains, 148
+
+Circe, 226
+
+Claros, 145
+
+Clio, 129
+
+Clymene, 16, 17, 18, 24
+
+Clytie, 189
+
+Cocytus, 59, 63, 64, 104, 115, 167, 207
+
+Coillchuan, 324
+
+Colophon, 83, 86, 87
+
+Conall, 321
+
+Conchubar, 307
+
+Conn, 290, 295, 299, 304, 305
+
+Connaught, 304
+
+Conor, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311, 313, 316, 317, 319, 320, 321, 322,
+    323, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 333
+
+Copenhagen, 244
+
+Cordova, 268, 274
+
+Corinth, 192, 193
+
+Crete, 182, 183
+
+Cruachan, Ben, 318
+
+Cuchulainn, 321, 331, 332
+
+Cyane, 163
+
+Cyclades, 107
+
+Cycnus, 24
+
+Cynthian, 126
+
+Cyprus, 11, 13, 60, 194, 202, 204
+
+Cyrene, 155, 156, 157
+
+Cytherea, 206
+
+Cytherian shores, 203
+
+
+Daedalus, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 187, 188
+
+Dail-an-eas, 318
+
+Dalness, 318
+
+Danae, 105, 106, 107, 121
+
+Danaides, 35
+
+Dane, 233, 248, 250, 257, 259
+
+Danish, 250, 251, 256
+
+Dante, 16
+
+Daphne, 42, 43, 44
+
+Darthool, 306
+
+Darvra, Lake, 293, 295, 296, 297
+
+Dasent, 236
+
+David, 272
+
+Day, 2
+
+Dearshul, 319
+
+Decca, 304
+
+Dedannans, 289, 291, 297, 301
+
+Deirdre, 306, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 316, 317,
+    318, 319, 320, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330,
+    331, 332, 333
+
+Delos, 172, 186
+
+Demeter, 84, 162, 165, 166, 167, 168
+
+Denmark, 245, 251
+
+Derg, Lough, 290, 291
+
+Derravaragh, Lough, 293
+
+Destiny, The Winged, 223
+
+Diana, II., 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 43, 70, 72, 73, 75, 76, 90, 97, 99,
+    101, 103, 116, 125, 126, 127, 128, 130, 164, 173, 175, 190, 198,
+    200, 203, 204, 210
+
+Diana Vernon, 26
+
+Douzeperes, 268, 269, 272, 274, 275, 277, 282, 283, 286, 287
+
+Draighen, 325
+
+Druid, 307, 309, 310, 327, 330, 332
+
+Druid's runes, 295
+
+Druids, 294
+
+Dryden, 45
+
+Dryope, 210, 211
+
+Dublin Bay, 317
+
+Dunfidgha, 324
+
+Dun Fin, 324
+
+Dunskaith, 311
+
+Dun Suibhne, 324
+
+Dun Sween, 324
+
+Durendala, 276, 284, 285
+
+
+Echo, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 210
+
+Edinburgh, 306
+
+Egypt, 39, 117, 193
+
+Egyptian, 217
+
+Egyptians, 117
+
+Emain Macha, 314, 323, 326, 327, 328, 333
+
+Emerson, 243
+
+Endymion, 26, 28, 29, 30
+
+England, 344
+
+Enna, 104
+
+Epaphos, 16, 17, 21
+
+Epimethus, 2, 5, 6, 7
+
+Epirus, 70
+
+Erdgeist, 216
+
+Erebus, 2
+
+Eridanus, 24
+
+Erin, 289, 290, 295, 297, 298, 299, 301, 302, 307, 308, 311, 317, 319,
+    320, 321, 322, 323, 325, 333
+
+Erris, 295
+
+Eros, 2, 42, 47, 48, 51, 53, 54, 56, 57, 58, 62, 66, 67, 91, 202, 203
+
+Essa, 317
+
+Etair, Ben, 317
+
+Ethiopia, 118, 119, 120
+
+Ethiopians, 23
+
+Etive, Glen, 325
+
+Etive, Loch, 318, 320, 322, 324, 326, 333
+
+Etna, 101, 103
+
+Euboean Sea, 122
+
+Eumenides, 194
+
+Europa, 87
+
+Europe, 289
+
+Eurydice, 31, 32, 33, 34, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 115, 159
+
+Eva, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296
+
+Eve, 290, 291
+
+Evenos, 91, 92, 93, 94
+
+
+Faust, 216
+
+Fechin, St., 222
+
+Felim, 307, 308, 309
+
+Fensalir, 238
+
+Fergus, 321, 322, 323, 325, 326, 329
+
+Ficra, 290, 295, 299, 304, 305
+
+Finola, 290, 292, 293, 294, 298, 299, 300, 301, 303, 304, 305
+
+Fiori Maggio, 103
+
+Firedrake, 261, 262, 263, 264
+
+Fleece, Golden, 39, 70
+
+Florence, 124
+
+Fontarabian, 282
+
+France, 266, 275, 278, 279, 280, 282, 286
+
+Franks, 267, 273, 276, 277, 279, 280
+
+Freya, 227, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 235, 238, 239, 255
+
+Friday, 277
+
+Frieslanders, 260
+
+Frigga, 228
+
+Furies, 35, 194, 196
+
+
+Gabriel, 286
+
+Gael, 300, 306, 307, 322, 332
+
+Gaelic, 319
+
+Galahad, 234
+
+Galatea, 13, 14, 15
+
+Ganelon, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 287
+
+Gautier, Sir, 277, 282
+
+Geasa, 326
+
+Germanic language, 244
+
+Germany, 233
+
+Glendaruadh, 325
+
+Glendaruel, 325
+
+Gleneitche, 325
+
+Glenlaidhe, 324
+
+Glenmasan, 324
+
+Glenmasan MS., 306
+
+Glenorchy, 325
+
+Goar, St., 224
+
+Goethe, 216
+
+Golden Fleece, 39, 70
+
+Gordias, 134, 135
+
+Gorgons, 113, 114, 115, 116, 120, 121, 123
+
+Goths, 248, 249, 250, 252, 253, 260, 264, 265
+
+Gothland, 249, 250, 252, 260
+
+Graeae, 112
+
+Greece, 26, 71, 72, 74, 154, 192, 193, 210, 223, 229, 234, 289
+
+Greek, 100, 128, 160
+
+Greeks, 3, 215
+
+Green Islands, 307
+
+Gregory, Lady, 307, 309
+
+Grendel, 247, 248, 250, 253, 254, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 262
+
+
+Hades, 34, 35, 36, 39, 65, 67, 167, 194
+
+Halcyon birds, 153
+
+Halcyone, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 150, 151, 152, 153
+
+Hamlet, 124
+
+Hardred, 260
+
+Hastings, 266
+
+Hauteclaire, 278
+
+Hecate, 164, 205
+
+Heine, 220, 223, 226
+
+Hel, 236, 239, 240, 241
+
+Heliades, 24
+
+Hellas, 217
+
+Hellenistic, 218
+
+Henry VI, King, 144
+
+Heorot, 246, 248, 251, 256
+
+Hera, 169, 170, 175
+
+Heredia, De, 208
+
+Hermes, 5, 111, 112, 116, 120, 210, 211
+
+Hermoder, 239, 240
+
+Hesiod, 4
+
+Hesperides, Garden of the, 113, 114, 116, 117, 118, 137
+
+Hesperus, 144
+
+Hlidskialf, 231
+
+Hodur, 238, 239
+
+Holy Loch, 324
+
+Homeric Hymns, 210
+
+Howth, Hill of, 317
+
+Hrothgar, 246, 247, 248, 250, 251, 254, 255, 256, 257
+
+Hyacinthus, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133
+
+Hyde, Dr. Douglas, 307
+
+Hygeia, 88
+
+Hygelac, 248, 260
+
+Hyleus, 74
+
+Hymen, 33
+
+
+Ibycus, 192, 194, 195, 196
+
+Icarus, 181, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188
+
+Ice Giants, 230
+
+Ida, Mount, 185
+
+Idas, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 97, 98, 99
+
+Idmon, 83, 86
+
+Illann the Fair, 322, 326, 329
+
+Ingelow, Jean, 167
+
+Inis Glora, 295, 301, 302, 303, 304
+
+Iniskea, 302
+
+Inistrynich, 324
+
+Innisdraighende, 324
+
+Invermasan, 324
+
+Ionia, 145, 147
+
+Ionian Sea, 217
+
+Ireland, 289, 306
+
+Iris, 148, 149
+
+Ivros Domnann, 295, 301
+
+Ixion, 35
+
+
+Jason, 39, 70, 71, 73
+
+Jerusalem, 216
+
+Jonathan, 272
+
+Jove, 4, 25, 49, 64
+
+Joyce, 305
+
+Judas, 274
+
+Julius Caesar, 261
+
+Juno, 146, 148, 150
+
+Jupiter, 8, 95, 210
+
+
+Keats, 129, 180
+
+Keos, 106
+
+Kemoc, 303, 304, 305
+
+Kingsley, Charles, 105, 232
+
+
+Ladon, 200
+
+Lang, Andrew, 27
+
+Langobarden, 232
+
+Larguen, 304, 305
+
+Larissa, 122
+
+Latmos, Mount, 27, 30
+
+Latona, 125, 126, 127, 128, 169, 170, 171, 172
+
+Lavarcam, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 327, 328
+
+Lebynthos, 186
+
+Leinster, Book of, 306
+
+Lethe, 149
+
+Leto, 169
+
+Libetlera, 41
+
+Libya, 23, 116
+
+Libyan, 39
+
+Light, 2
+
+Liguria, 24
+
+Lilith, 220
+
+Lir, 289, 290, 291, 292, 293, 294, 296, 297, 298, 300, 301, 302, 303,
+    305
+
+Loki, 234, 236, 237, 238, 239, 242
+
+Lombardy, 232
+
+Lomond, Loch, 320
+
+London Bridge, 221
+
+Long Loch, 320
+
+Longbeards, 232
+
+Longfellow, 234, 241, 243, 244
+
+Lora, Falls of, 318
+
+Lorelei, 220, 223, 224, 225
+
+Love, 2
+
+Lowell, 10, 38
+
+Luna, 27
+
+Lycia, 170
+
+Lycormas, 93, 94
+
+Lydia, 83, 88, 128
+
+Lyra, 41
+
+Lysimeleia, 101
+
+
+Macleod, Fiona, 31, 197, 218, 219, 223, 301, 306, 307, 315, 332, 333
+
+Madonna, 227
+
+Mahommed, 267
+
+Mannanan, 292, 331
+
+Marpessa, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99
+
+Marsiglio, 267
+
+Marsile, 267, 268, 272, 274, 275, 279, 280, 281
+
+Mary, Virgin, 227
+
+Mayo, 295
+
+Meander, 183
+
+Meath, West, 293
+
+Medusa, 108, 110, 111, 112, 113, 115, 116, 120
+
+Meleager, 69, 70, 72, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 80
+
+Michael, St., 286
+
+Midas, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 141, 142, 143, 198, 210
+
+Milanion, 79, 80, 81
+
+Milesians, 297
+
+Milo, 10
+
+Milon, 269, 271
+
+Milton, 8, 38, 217
+
+Minos, 182, 183, 188
+
+Montjoie, 279, 281
+
+Moore, Thos., 289
+
+Morgue, 221
+
+Morpheus, 149, 150, 151
+
+Morris, William, 49, 50, 58, 68, 115
+
+---- Lewis, 29, 67, 165, 168, 202, 207
+
+Moschus, 87
+
+Mount Olympus, 41, 81
+
+Mowgli, 214
+
+Moyle, 289, 295, 298, 301, 317
+
+Mull, 317
+
+Munster, 304
+
+Muses, 41, 129
+
+Musset, De, 218
+
+
+Naegeling, 250, 251
+
+Naiades, 25
+
+Naismes de Baviere, 272
+
+Nanna, 235, 241
+
+Naoise, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 316, 317, 318, 319, 320, 322, 323,
+    324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 332
+
+Narcissus, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180
+
+Nelson, 100
+
+Neptune, 93, 94, 99
+
+Nereids, 188
+
+Nestor, 71, 72
+
+Nibelungs, 224
+
+Niflheim, 236, 237, 239
+
+Niobe, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128
+
+Norman, 233, 266
+
+Norseman, 331
+
+Norsemen, 228, 229, 234
+
+North Channel, 295
+
+North Cape, 260
+
+North Sea, 244
+
+Norway, 233, 331
+
+
+Odin, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 234, 235, 236, 237
+
+Odysseus, 221, 226
+
+Oea, 319
+
+OEneus, 69, 70
+
+Oise, 214, 215
+
+Olifant, 276, 280, 284, 285
+
+Oliver, 272, 277, 278, 280, 281, 282, 283, 287
+
+Olivier, 266, 282
+
+Olympians, 6, 9, 60, 112, 129, 180, 211
+
+Olympus, 3, 4, 5, 24, 45, 46, 49, 67, 68, 86, 95, 105, 108, 122, 126,
+    135, 140, 155, 166, 171, 185, 187, 191, 203, 207, 210, 211
+
+Olympus, Mount, 130
+
+Orion's Belt, 228
+
+Orpheus, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 159, 210
+
+Orphics, 39, 40, 41
+
+Ortygia, 100, 104
+
+Otuel, Sir, 288
+
+Ovid, 25, 45, 86, 197
+
+
+Pactolus, 83, 138
+
+Pagan, 285
+
+Paganism, 215, 216
+
+Pallas Athene, 3, 83, 84, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 115, 120
+
+Palodes, 217
+
+Pan, 59, 63, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 209,
+    210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219
+
+Pandora, 1, 2, 5, 6, 7
+
+Pantheism, 215, 216
+
+Paphian, 206
+
+Paphos, 15, 203
+
+Paros, 223
+
+Parthenian Hill, 71
+
+Patrick, St., 295, 302
+
+Paxae, 217
+
+Paynim, 280, 283
+
+Peleus, 71
+
+Peneus, 42, 43, 44, 45
+
+Perdrix, 182
+
+Perseus, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116,
+    117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123
+
+Persephone, 80, 161, 164, 165, 167
+
+Phaeton, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25
+
+Phillips, Stephen, 96
+
+Phineus, 120
+
+Phlegethon, 194
+
+Phoebus, 129
+
+Phoebus Apollo, 18, 19
+
+Phoenicians, 120
+
+Phrygia, 134, 135, 136, 142
+
+Pied Piper, 212
+
+Pirithous, 71
+
+Pitys, 210, 212
+
+Pleiades, 27, 90
+
+Plemmgrium, 101
+
+Plexippus, 71
+
+Pluto, 23, 35, 36, 37, 38, 64, 80, 103, 115, 120, 162, 163, 165, 166,
+    167, 210
+
+Pollux, 71
+
+Polydectes, 106, 107, 109, 110, 121
+
+Pomona, 210
+
+Poseidon, 146, 172, 186, 192, 222
+
+Praxiteles, 124
+
+Prometheus, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10
+
+Proserpine, 35, 36, 64, 65, 66, 161, 162, 163, 165, 166, 167, 192
+
+Proteus, 100, 157, 158, 159
+
+Psyche, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60,
+    61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 210
+
+Purgatorio, 16
+
+Pygmalion, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 102
+
+Pyrenees, 275
+
+
+Quail Island, 101
+
+
+Rachel, 128
+
+Rainschevaux, 266
+
+Raphael, St., 286
+
+Rathlin Island, 325
+
+Red Branch, Champions of, 307, 308, 320, 321, 332, 333
+
+Red Branch, House of, 327, 328, 329, 330
+
+Retaliator, The, 331
+
+Rheims, Bishop of, 272
+
+Rhine, 224, 225
+
+Ringhorn, 240
+
+Roland, 266, 267, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 276, 277, 278, 279,
+    280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288
+
+Rollant, 266
+
+Roman de Rose, 266
+
+Roman Empire, 267
+
+Romans, 27
+
+Roncevall, 266
+
+Roncesvalles, 267, 274, 275, 276, 277, 281, 282, 286
+
+Rossa the Red, 321, 323
+
+Round Table, 268
+
+Rowland, 282
+
+Runcyvale, 288
+
+
+Sackville, Lady Margaret, 197
+
+Saeland, 244, 265
+
+Samos, 107, 186
+
+Samson, 160
+
+Saracens, 267, 274, 276, 277, 278, 279, 280, 282, 283, 285, 286
+
+Saragossa, 267, 272
+
+Saxon, 233
+
+Scandinavia, 227, 245
+
+Scotland, 220, 306
+
+Scott, Sir Walter, 26, 282
+
+Scyld Scefing, 245, 246
+
+Seine, 221
+
+Selene, 27, 210
+
+Seriphos, 106, 109, 120, 121
+
+Seumas, 218, 223
+
+Sgathaig, 311
+
+Shakespeare, 31, 124, 134, 192, 204, 223, 261
+
+Shannon, 290
+
+Sharp, William, 301
+
+Shee Finnaha, 289, 290, 296, 302
+
+Shelley, 9, 104, 161
+
+Sicily, 36, 100, 104, 162, 163, 167, 186, 188
+
+Silenus, 136
+
+Simonides, 106
+
+Sipylus, Mount, 128
+
+Sirens, 226
+
+Sisyphus, 35
+
+Skene, W. F., 307
+
+Skye, Isle of, 311
+
+Sleipnir, 236
+
+Socrates, 153
+
+Somnus, 148, 149, 150
+
+Spain, 267
+
+Spartan, 129
+
+Spenser, 88
+
+Striven, Loch, 320
+
+Styx, 19, 63, 64
+
+Sweden, 233
+
+Swedes, 249
+
+Swinburne, 74
+
+Sylvan deities, 214
+
+Synge, J. M., 307
+
+Syracuse, 100, 101
+
+Syria, 216
+
+Syrinx, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 210
+
+
+Taenarus, 34
+
+Taillefer, 266
+
+Tailleken, 295
+
+Talus, 182
+
+Tantalus, 35, 124
+
+Telamon, 71, 73
+
+Tennyson, 27, 154, 216
+
+Termagaunt, 267
+
+Thames, 221
+
+Thamus, 217
+
+Theban, 124
+
+Thebes, 124, 125, 126
+
+Theseus, 71
+
+Thessaly, 144, 146, 147, 152
+
+Thrace, 32, 33, 38, 39
+
+Tiberius, 216
+
+Titan, 8, 9, 35
+
+Titans, 2, 4, 117, 124
+
+Toxeus, 71
+
+Trachine, 150
+
+Triton, 100
+
+Tussypere, 288
+
+Turpin, 266, 277, 279, 280, 282, 283, 284, 287
+
+Tymolus, 83, 87
+
+Tyrian, 86
+
+
+Uffizi Palace, 124
+
+Ulster, 307
+
+Ultonians, 307, 313, 320, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333
+
+Uladh, 332
+
+Ulva, 222
+
+Urchain, Glen, 325
+
+Usna, Sons of, 306, 311, 312, 313, 315, 317, 318, 319, 320, 321, 322,
+    324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333
+
+
+Valhalla, 228, 267
+
+Vali, 237
+
+Vandals, 231
+
+Vatican, 11
+
+Veillantif, 276, 282
+
+Venus, 11, 26, 202
+
+Vernon, Diana, 26
+
+Versailles, 11
+
+Virgil, 194
+
+Vulcan, 4
+
+
+Wace, 266
+
+Wagmund, 264
+
+Walpurgis Night, 233
+
+Wessex, 244
+
+Westminster, 221
+
+Whitby, 244
+
+Wiglaf, 263, 264
+
+William the Conqueror, 266
+
+Winged Destiny, The, 223
+
+Winilers, 231, 232
+
+Wolf Woman, 258, 260, 262, 263
+
+
+Yeats, W. B., 307
+
+Yorkshire, 244, 265
+
+
+Zeus, 3, 4, 8, 9, 22, 24, 30, 34, 86, 95, 105, 106, 107, 112, 120,
+    123, 124, 166, 169, 170, 172, 202, 206
+
+Zephyr, 129
+
+Zephyrus, 51, 54, 59, 71, 103, 131, 133, 180
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note
+
+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.
+
+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 203 and in
+the Index, by which the author presumably meant Michelangelo; this
+has also been left as printed.
+
+The following amendments have been made:
+
+  Page 268--were amended to was--"... with Saragossa still
+  unconquered was too much to hope for."
+
+  Page 304--Kemoc amended to Larguen--"Then Larguen, in
+  furious anger, ..."
+
+Illustrations have been moved so that they are not in mid-paragraph.
+The frontispiece illustration has been moved to follow the title page.
+
+OE and oe ligatures have not been retained in this version.
+
+Index entries have been made consistent with the main text, as
+follows:
+
+  Page 334--Aristaeus amended to Aristaeus; Athene, Pallas
+  amended to Athene, Pallas.
+
+  Page 335--page reference 230 amended to 300 in
+  Carricknarone entry; page reference 313 added to Deirdre
+  entry.
+
+  Page 336--page reference 344 amended to 244 in England
+  entry; Eridamus amended to Eridanus.
+
+  Page 337--page reference 86 added to Idmon entry; Inis Rea
+  amended to Iniskea.
+
+  Page 338--Naides amended to Naiades; page references 319
+  and 325 added to Naoise entry; Oeneus amended to OEneus;
+  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.
+
+  Page 339--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.
+
+  Page 340--Tiberias amended to Tiberius; Uffizzi Palace
+  amended to Uffizi Palace; Uluadh amended to Uladh.
+
+
+
+
+
+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.txt or 22693.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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/22693.zip b/22693.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..009c463
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22693.zip
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ea64056
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #22693 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22693)