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+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 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.
+
+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 Œneus, at
+the end of a fruitful year, offered sacrifices to the gods, he omitted
+to honour the goddess Diana by sacrificing to her, and to punish his
+neglect, she had sent this destroying army. When Meleager was victor,
+her wrath against his father grew yet more hot, and she sent a wild
+boar, large as the bulls of Epirus, and fierce and savage to kill and
+to devour, that it might ravage and lay waste the land of Calydon. The
+fields of corn were trampled under foot, the vineyards laid waste, and
+the olive groves wrecked as by a winter hurricane. Flocks and herds
+were slaughtered by it, or driven hither and thither in wild panic,
+working havoc as they fled. Many went out to slay it, but went only to
+find a hideous death. Then did Meleager resolve that he would rid the
+land of this monster, and called on all his 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 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, 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
+
+Œneus, 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 Œneus;
+ entry for Olivier originally had page references
+ duplicating the entry for Oliver, these have been amended
+ to the actual references in the text; page reference 119
+ added to Perseus entry.
+
+ 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 ***
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