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 THEREEDS BY THE RIVER?" (See page 209)]

PREFACE

Just as a little child holds out its hands to catch the sunbeams, tofeel and to grasp what, so its eyes tell it, is actually there, so, down through the ages, men have stretched out their hands in eagerendeavour to know their God. And because only through the human wasthe divine knowable, the old peoples of the earth made gods of theirheroes and not unfrequently endowed these gods with as many of thevices as of the virtues of their worshippers. As we read the myths ofthe East and the West we find ever the same story. That portion of theancient Aryan race which poured from the central plain of Asia, through the rocky defiles of what we now call "The Frontier, " topopulate the fertile lowlands of India, had gods who must once havebeen wholly heroic, but who came in time to be more degraded than themost vicious of lustful criminals. And the Greeks, Latins, Teutons, Celts, and Slavonians, who came of the same mighty Aryan stock, dideven as those with whom they owned a common ancestry. Originally theygave to their gods of their best. All that was noblest in them, allthat was strongest and most selfless, all the higher instincts oftheir natures were their endowment. And although their worship in timebecame corrupt and lost its beauty, there yet remains for us, in theold tales of the gods, a wonderful humanity that strikes a vibrantchord in the hearts of those who are the descendants of theirworshippers. For though creeds and forms may change, human naturenever 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'screed, 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 inhuman life. "

The most usual habits of mind in our own day are the theoretical andanalytical habits. Dissection, vivisection, analysis--those are theprocesses to which all things not conclusively historical and allthings spiritual are bound to pass. Thus we find the old mythsclassified into Sun Myths and Dawn Myths, Earth Myths and Moon Myths, Fire Myths and Wind Myths, until, as one of the most sane and vigorousthinkers of the present day[2] has justly observed: "If you take therhyme of Mary and her little lamb, and call Mary the sun and the lambthe moon, you will achieve astonishing results, both in religion andastronomy, when you find that the lamb followed Mary to school oneday. "

In this little collection of Myths, the stories are not presented tothe student of folklore as a fresh contribution to his knowledge. Rather is the book intended for those who, in the course of theirreading, frequently come across names which possess for them nomeaning, and who care to read some old stories, through which runs thesame humanity that their own hearts know. For although the old worshiphas passed away, it is almost impossible for us to open a book thatdoes not contain some mention of the gods of long ago. In ourchildhood we are given copies of Kingsley's _Heroes_ and ofHawthorne'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 thegods. Scarcely a poet has ever written but makes mention of them inone or other of his poems. It would seem as if there were no get-awayfrom them. We might expect in this twentieth century that the old godsof Greece and of Rome, the gods of our Northern forefathers, the godsof Egypt, the gods of the British race, might be forgotten. But evenwhen we read in a newspaper of aeroplanes, someone is more than likelyto quote the story of Bellerophon and his winged steed, or of Icarus, the flyer, and in our daily speech the names of gods and goddessescontinually crop up. We drive--or, at least, till lately we drove--inPhaetons. Not only schoolboys swear by Jove or by Jupiter. The silverysubstance 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 thenames of newspapers and debating societies as being the "Argus, "without perhaps quite realising who was Argus, the many-eyed. We talkof "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 arethe crockets on our cathedral spires and church pews remnants offire-worship, but one of our own most beautiful Christian blessings isprobably of Assyrian origin. "The Lord bless thee and keep thee. .. . The Lord make His face to shine upon thee. .. . The Lord lift up thelight of His countenance upon thee. .. . " So did the priests of thesun-gods invoke blessings upon those who worshipped. 

We make many discoveries as we study the myths of the North and of theSouth. In the story of Baldur we find that the goddess Hel ultimatelygave her name to the place of punishment precious to the Calvinisticmind. And because the Norseman very much disliked the bitter, cruelcold of the long winter, his heaven was a warm, well-fired abode, andhis place of punishment one of terrible frigidity. Somewhere on theother side of the Tweed and Cheviots was the spot selected by the Celtof southern Britain. On the other hand, the eastern mind, which knewthe terrors of a sun-smitten land and of a heat that was torture, hadfor a hell a fiery place of constantly burning flames. 

In the space permitted, it has not been possible to deal with morethan a small number of myths, and the well-known stories of Herakles, of Theseus, and of the Argonauts have been purposely omitted. Thesehave been so perfectly told by great writers that to retell them wouldseem absurd. The same applies to the Odyssey and the Iliad, thetranslations of which probably take rank amongst the finesttranslations in any language. 

The writer will feel that her object has been gained should anyreaders of these stories feel that for a little while they have leftthe toilful utilitarianism of the present day behind them, and, withit, its hampering restrictions of sordid actualities that are somurderous 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 asthey have never until now been dated by those of our own generation. 

We speak of things that took place "_Before the War_"; and betweenthat time and this stands a barrier immeasurable. 

This book, with its Preface, was completed in 1914--"_Before theWar. _"

Since August 1914 the finest humanity of our race has been enduringPromethean agonies. But even as Prometheus unflinchingly bore thecruelties of pain, of heat and of cold, of hunger and of thirst, andthe tortures inflicted by an obscene bird of prey, so have endured themen of our nation and of those nations with whom we are proud to beallied. Much more remote than they seemed one little year ago, nowseem the old stories of sunny Greece. But if we have studied thestrange transmogrification of the ancient gods, we can look withinterest, if with horror, at the Teuton representation of the GOD inwhom we believe as a GOD of perfect purity, of honour, and of love. According to their interpretation of Him, the God of the Huns wouldseem to be as much a confederate of the vicious as the most degradedgod of ancient worship. And if we turn with shame from the Divinity sooften and so glibly referred to by blasphemous lips, and look on apicture that tears our hearts, and yet makes our hearts big withpride, we can understand how it was that those heroes who fought anddied in the Valley of the Scamander came in time to be regarded not asmen, but as gods. 

There is no tale in all the world's mythology finer than the tale thatbegan in August 1914. How future generations will tell the tale, whocan say?

But we, for whom Life can never be the same again, can say with allearnestness: "It is the memory that the soldier leaves behind him, like the long train of light that follows the sunken sun--that is allwhich is worth caring for, which distinguishes the death of the braveor the ignoble. "

And, surely, to all those who are fighting, and suffering, and dyingfor a noble cause, the GOD of gods, the GOD of battles, who is alsothe GOD of peace, and the GOD of Love, has become an ever near andeternally 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 childmust have noted that when the baby has learned to speak even a little, it begins to show its growing intelligence by asking questions. "Whatis this?" it would seem at first to ask with regard to simple thingsthat to it are still mysteries. Soon it arrives at the morefar-reaching inquiries--"Why is this so?" "How did this happen?" Andas the child's mental growth continues, the painstaking andconscientious parent or guardian is many times faced by questionswhich lack of knowledge, or a sensitive honesty, prevents him fromanswering either with assurance or with ingenuity. 

As with the child, so it has ever been with the human race. Man hasalways come into the world asking "How?" "Why?" "What?" and so theHebrew, the Greek, the Maori, the Australian blackfellow, theNorseman--in a word, each race of mankind--has formed for itself anexplanation of existence, an answer to the questions of the gropingchild-mind--"Who made the world?" "What is God?" "What made a Godthink of fire and air and water?" "Why am I, _I_?"

Into the explanation of creation and existence given by the Greekscome the stories of Prometheus and of Pandora. The world, as first itwas, to the Greeks was such a world as the one of which we read in theBook of Genesis--"without form, and void. " It was a sunless world inwhich land, air, and sea were mixed up together, and over whichreigned a deity called Chaos. With him ruled the goddess of Night andtheir son was Erebus, god of Darkness. When the two beautiful childrenof Erebus, Light and Day, had flooded formless space with theirradiance, Eros, the god of Love, was born, and Light and Day and Love, working together, turned discord into harmony and made the earth, thesea, and the sky into one perfect whole. A giant race, a race ofTitans, in time populated this newly-made earth, and of these one ofthe mightiest was Prometheus. To him, and to his brother Epimethus, was entrusted by Eros the distribution of the gifts of faculties andof instincts to all the living creatures in the world, and the task ofmaking a creature lower than the gods, something less great than theTitans, yet in knowledge and in understanding infinitely higher thanthe beasts and birds and fishes. At the hands of the Titan brothers, birds, beasts, and fishes had fared handsomely. They were Titanic intheir generosity, and so prodigal had they been in their gifts thatwhen they would fain have carried out the commands of Eros they foundthat nothing was left for the equipment of this being, to be calledMan. Yet, nothing daunted, Prometheus took some clay from the groundat his feet, moistened it with water, and fashioned it into an image, in form like the gods. Into its nostrils Eros breathed the spirit oflife, Pallas Athené endowed it with a soul, and the first man lookedwonderingly round on the earth that was to be his heritage. Prometheus, proud of the beautiful thing of his own creation, wouldfain have given Man a worthy gift, but no gift remained for him. Hewas naked, unprotected, more helpless than any of the beasts of thefield, more to be pitied than any of them in that he had a soul tosuffer. 

Surely Zeus, the All Powerful, ruler of Olympus, would have compassionon Man? But Prometheus looked to Zeus in vain; compassion he had none. Then, in infinite pity, Prometheus bethought himself of a powerbelonging to the gods alone and unshared by any living creature on theearth. 

"We shall give Fire to the Man whom we have made, " he said toEpimethus. To Epimethus this seemed an impossibility, but toPrometheus nothing was impossible. He bided his time and, unseen bythe gods, he made his way into Olympus, lighted a hollow torch with aspark from the chariot of the Sun and hastened back to earth with thisroyal gift to Man. Assuredly no other gift could have brought him morecompletely the empire that has since been his. No longer did hetremble and cower in the darkness of caves when Zeus hurled hislightnings across the sky. No more did he dread the animals thathunted him and drove him in terror before them. 

Armed with fire, the beasts became his vassals. With fire he forgedweapons, defied the frost and cold, coined money, made implements fortillage, introduced the arts, and was able to destroy as well as tocreate. 

From his throne on Olympus, Zeus looked down on the earth and saw, with wonder, airy columns of blue-grey smoke that curled upwards tothe sky. He watched more closely, and realised with terrible wraththat the moving flowers of red and gold that he saw in that land thatthe Titans shared with men, came from fire, that had hitherto been thegods' own sacred power. Speedily he assembled a council of the gods tomete out to Prometheus a punishment fit for the blasphemous daring ofhis crime. This council decided at length to create a thing thatshould for evermore charm the souls and hearts of men, and yet, forevermore, be man's undoing. 

To Vulcan, god of fire, whose province Prometheus had insulted, wasgiven the work of fashioning out of clay and water the creature bywhich the honour of the gods was to be avenged. "The lame Vulcan, "says Hesiod, poet of Greek mythology, "formed out of the earth animage resembling a chaste virgin. Pallas Athené, of the blue eyes, hastened to ornament her and to robe her in a white tunic. She dressedon the crown of her head a long veil, skilfully fashioned andadmirable to see; she crowned her forehead with graceful garlands ofnewly-opened flowers and a golden diadem that the lame Vulcan, theillustrious god, had made with his own hands to please the puissantJove. On this crown Vulcan had chiselled the innumerable animals thatthe continents and the sea nourish in their bosoms, all endowed with amarvellous grace and apparently alive. When he had finally completed, instead of some useful work, this illustrious masterpiece, he broughtinto the assembly this virgin, proud of the ornaments with which shehad been decked by the blue-eyed goddess, daughter of a powerfulsire. " To this beautiful creature, destined by the gods to be man'sdestroyer, each of them gave a gift. From Aphrodite she got beauty, from Apollo music, from Hermes the gift of a winning tongue. And whenall that great company in Olympus had bestowed their gifts, they namedthe woman Pandora--"Gifted by all the Gods. " Thus equipped forvictory, Pandora was led by Hermes to the world that was thenceforwardto be her home. As a gift from the gods she was presented toPrometheus. 

But Prometheus, gazing in wonder at the violet blue eyes bestowed byAphrodite, that looked wonderingly back into his own as if they wereindeed as innocent as two violets wet with the morning dew, hardenedhis great heart, and would have none of her. As a hero--a worthydescendant of Titans--said in later years, "Timeo Danaos et donaferentes, "--"I fear the Greeks, even when they bring gifts. " AndPrometheus, the greatly-daring, knowing that he merited the anger ofthe gods, saw treachery in a gift outwardly so perfect. Not only wouldhe not accept this exquisite creature for his own, but he hastened tocaution 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 peerlesswoman, sent from the gods, for him to love her and to believe in herutterly. She was the fairest thing on earth, worthy indeed of thedeathless gods who had created her. Perfect, too, was the happinessthat she brought with her to Epimethus. Before her coming, as he wellknew now, the fair world had been incomplete. Since she came thefragrant flowers had grown more sweet for him, the song of the birdsmore full of melody. He found new life in Pandora and marvelled howhis brother could ever have fancied that she could bring to the worldaught but peace and joyousness. 

Now when the gods had entrusted to the Titan brothers the endowment ofall living things upon the earth, they had been careful to withholdeverything that might bring into the world pain, sickness, anxiety, bitterness of heart, remorse, or soul-crushing sorrow. All thesehurtful things were imprisoned in a coffer which was given into thecare of the trusty Epimethus. 

To Pandora the world into which she came was all fresh, all new, quitefull of unexpected joys and delightful surprises. It was a world ofmystery, but mystery of which her great, adoring, simple Titan heldthe golden key. When she saw the coffer which never was opened, whatthen more natural than that she should ask Epimethus what itcontained? But the contents were known only to the gods. Epimethus wasunable to answer. Day by day, the curiosity of Pandora increased. Toher the gods had never given anything but good. Surely there must behere gifts more precious still. What if the Olympians had destined herto be the one to open the casket, and had sent her to earth in orderthat she might bestow on this dear world, on the men who lived on it, and on her own magnificent Titan, happiness and blessings which onlythe minds of gods could have conceived? Thus did there come a day whenPandora, 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 theold Egyptian tombs, the live plague can still rush forth and slay, thelong-imprisoned evils rushed forth upon the fair earth and on thehuman beings who lived on it--malignant, ruthless, fierce, treacherous, and cruel--poisoning, slaying, devouring. Plague andpestilence and murder, envy and malice and revenge and allviciousness--an ugly wolf-pack indeed was that one let loose byPandora. Terror, doubt, misery, had all rushed straightway to attackher heart, while the evils of which she had never dreamed stung mindand soul into dismay and horror, when, by hastily shutting the lid ofthe coffer, she tried to undo the evil she had done. 

And lo, she found that the gods had imprisoned one good gift only inthis Inferno of horrors and of ugliness. In the world there had neverbeen any need of Hope. What work was there for Hope to do where allwas perfect, and where each creature possessed the desire of body andof heart? Therefore Hope was thrust into the chest that held theevils, a star in a black night, a lily growing on a dung-heap. And asPandora, white-lipped and trembling, looked into the otherwise emptybox, courage came back to her heart, and Epimethus let fall to hisside the arm that would have slain the woman of his love because therecame to him, like a draught of wine to a warrior spent in battle, animperial vision of the sons of men through all the aeons to come, combatting all evils of body and of soul, going on conquering and toconquer. Thus, saved by Hope, the Titan and the woman faced thefuture, 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; andShakespeare 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 theirknowledge and mastery of the force of fire, Jupiter had had hisrevenge. For Prometheus he reserved another punishment. He, thegreatly-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 vulturetear out his liver, as though he were a piece of carrion lying on themountain side. All day, while the sun mercilessly smote him and theblue sky turned from red to black before his pain-racked eyes, thetorture went on. Each night, when the filthy bird of prey that workedthe 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 oncemore. But with daybreak there came again the silent shadow, the smellof the unclean thing, and again with fierce beak and talons thevulture greedily began its work. 

Thirty thousand years was the time of his sentence, and yet Prometheusknew that at any moment he could have brought his torment to an end. Asecret was his--a mighty secret, the revelation of which would havebrought him the mercy of Zeus and have reinstated him in the favour ofthe all-powerful god. Yet did he prefer to endure his agonies ratherthan to free himself by bowing to the desires of a tyrant who hadcaused Man to be made, yet denied to Man those gifts that made himnobler than the beasts and raised him almost to the heights of theOlympians. Thus for him the weary centuries dragged by--in sufferingthat 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 theearth, there reigned over the island of Cyprus a sculptor-king, andking of sculptors, named Pygmalion. In the language of our own day, weshould call him "wedded to his art. " In woman he only saw the bane ofman. Women, he believed, lured men from the paths to which theirdestiny called them. While man walked alone, he walked free--he hadgiven 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 theoak, 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 hebecame a very perfect sculptor. He had one passion, a passion for hisart, and that sufficed him. Out of great rough blocks of marble hewould hew the most perfect semblance of men and of women, and ofeverything that seemed to him most beautiful and the most worthpreserving. 

When we look now at the Venus of Milo, at the Diana of Versailles, andat the Apollo Belvidere in the Vatican, we can imagine what were thegreater things that the sculptor of Cyprus freed from the dead blocksof 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 purewhite stone there seemed to be imprisoned the exquisite image of awoman, a woman that he must set free. Slowly, gradually, the womancame. Soon he knew that she was the most beautiful thing that his arthad ever wrought. All that he had ever thought that a woman _should_be, this woman was. Her form and features were all most perfect, andso perfect were they, that he felt very sure that, had she been awoman indeed, most perfect would have been the soul within. For her heworked as he had never worked before. There came, at last, a day whenhe felt that another touch would be insult to the exquisite thing hehad created. He laid his chisel aside and sat down to gaze at thePerfect Woman. She seemed to gaze back at him. Her parted lips wereready to speak--to smile. Her hands were held out to hold his hands. Then Pygmalion covered his eyes. He, the hater of women, loved awoman--a woman of chilly marble. The women he had scorned wereavenged. 

[Illustration: THEN PYGMALION COVERED HIS EYES]

Day by day his passion for the woman of his own creation grew andgrew. His hands no longer wielded the chisel. They grew idle. He wouldstand under the great pines and gaze across the sapphire-blue sea, anddream strange dreams of a marble woman who walked across the waveswith arms outstretched, with smiling lips, and who became a woman ofwarm flesh and blood when her bare feet touched the yellow sand, andthe bright sun of Cyprus touched her marble hair and turned it intohair of living gold. Then he would hasten back to his studio to findthe miracle still unaccomplished, and would passionately kiss thelittle cold hands, and lay beside the little cold feet the presents heknew that young girls loved--bright shells and exquisite preciousstones, gorgeous-hued birds and fragrant flowers, shining amber, andbeads that sparkled and flashed with all the most lovely combinationsof colour that the mind of artist could devise. Yet more he did, forhe spent vast sums on priceless pearls and hung them in her ears andupon her cold white breast; and the merchants wondered who could bethe one upon whom Pygmalion lavished the money from his treasury. 

To his divinity he gave a name--"Galatea"; and always on still nightsthe myriad silver stars would seem to breathe to him "Galatea" . .. Andon those days when the tempests blew across the sandy wastes of Arabiaand churned up the fierce white surf on the rocks of Cyprus, the veryspirit of the storm seemed to moan through the crash of waves inlonging, hopeless and unutterable--"Galatea!. .. Galatea!. .. " For herhe decked a couch with Tyrian purple, and on the softest of pillows helaid the beautiful head of the marble woman that he loved. 

So the time wore on until the festival of Aphrodite drew near. Smokefrom many altars curled out to sea, the odour of incense mingled withthe fragrance of the great pine trees, and garlanded victims lowed andbleated as they were led to the sacrifice. As the leader of hispeople, Pygmalion faithfully and perfectly performed all his part inthe solemnities and at last he was left beside the altar to prayalone. Never before had his words faltered as he laid his petitionsbefore the gods, but on this day he spoke not as a sculptor-king, butas 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 thewords he would fain have uttered, and smiled to think how Pygmalion atlast was on his knees. In token that his prayer was answered, threetimes she made the flames on the altar shoot up in a fiery point, andPygmalion went home, scarcely daring to hope, not allowing hisgladness to conquer his fear. 

The shadows of evening were falling as he went into the room that hehad made sacred to Galatea. On the purple-covered couch she lay, andas 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 upto her and, kneeling by her side, he pressed his lips on those lips ofchilly marble. So many times he had done it before, and always it wasas though the icy lips that could never live sent their chill rightthrough his heart, but now it surely seemed to him that the lips werecold no longer. He felt one of the little hands, and no more did itremain 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 marblehair, and lo, it was the soft and wavy burnished golden hair of hisdesire. Again, reverently as he had laid his offerings that day onthe altar of Venus, Pygmalion kissed her lips. And then did Galatea, with warm and rosy cheeks, widely open her eyes, like pools in a darkmountain stream on which the sun is shining, and gaze with timidgladness into his own. 

There are no after tales of Pygmalion and Galatea. We only know thattheir lives were happy and that to them was born a son, Paphos, fromwhom the city sacred to Aphrodite received its name. Perhaps Aphroditemay have smiled sometimes to watch Pygmalion, once the scorner ofwomen, the adoring servant of the woman that his own hands had firstdesigned. 

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, therewas born in the pleasant land of Greece a child to whom was given thename of Phaeton, the Bright and Shining One. The rays of the sunseemed to live in the curls of the fearless little lad, and when atnoon other children would seek the cool shade of the cypress groves, Phaeton would hold his head aloft and gaze fearlessly up at the brazensky from whence fierce heat beat down upon his golden head. 

"Behold, my father drives his chariot across the heavens!" he proudlyproclaimed. "In a little while I, also, will drive the four snow-whitesteeds. "

His elders heard the childish boast with a smile, but when Epaphos, half-brother to Apollo, had listened to it many times and beheld thechild, Phaeton, grow into an arrogant lad who held himself as thoughhe were indeed one of the Immortals, anger grew in his heart. One dayhe turned upon Phaeton and spoke in fierce scorn:

"Dost say thou art son of a god? A shameless boaster and a liar artthou! Hast ever spoken to thy divine sire? Give us some proof of thysonship! No more child of the glorious Apollo art thou than are thevermin his children, that the sun breeds in the dust at my feet. "

For a moment, before the cruel taunt, the lad was stricken intosilence, and then, his pride aflame, his young voice shaking with rageand with bitter shame, he cried aloud: "Thou, Epaphos, art the liar. Ihave but to ask my father, and thou shalt see me drive his goldenchariot across the sky. "

To his mother he hastened, to get balm for his hurt pride, as many atime he had got it for the little bodily wounds of childhood, and withbursting heart he poured forth his story. 

"True it is, " he said, "that my father has never deigned to speak tome. Yet I know, because thou hast told me so, that he is my sire. Andnow my word is pledged. Apollo must let me drive his steeds, else I amfor evermore branded braggart and liar, and shamed amongst men. "

Clymene listened with grief to his complaint. He was so young, sogallant, so foolish. 

"Truly thou art the son of Apollo, " she said, "and oh, son of myheart, thy beauty is his, and thy pride the pride of a son of thegods. Yet only partly a god art thou, and though thy proud couragewould dare all things, it were mad folly to think of doing what a godalone 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 himhow he might find the place in the east where Apollo rested ere thelabours of the day began, and with eager gladness Phaeton set out uponhis journey. A long way he travelled, with never a stop, yet when theglittering dome and jewelled turrets and minarets of the Palace of theSun came into view, he forgot his weariness and hastened up the steepascent to the home of his father. 

Phœbus Apollo, clad in purple that glowed like the radiance of acloud in the sunset sky, sat upon his golden throne. The Day, theMonth, and the Year stood by him, and beside them were the Hours. Spring was there, her head wreathed with flowers; Summer, crowned withripened grain; Autumn, with his feet empurpled by the juice of thegrapes; and Winter, with hair all white and stiff with hoar-frost. Andwhen Phaeton walked up the golden steps that led to his father'sthrone, it seemed as though incarnate Youth had come to join the courtof the god of the Sun, and that Youth was so beautiful a thing that itmust surely live forever. Proudly did Apollo know him for his son, andwhen the boy looked in his eyes with the arrogant fearlessness ofboyhood, the god greeted him kindly and asked him to tell him why hecame, and what was his petition. 

As to Clymene, so also to Apollo, Phaeton told his tale, and hisfather listened, half in pride and amusement, half in puzzledvexation. When the boy stopped, and then breathlessly, with shiningeyes and flushed cheeks, ended up his story with: "And, O light of theboundless world, if I am indeed thy son, let it be as I have said, andfor one day only let me drive thy chariot across the heavens!" Apolloshook 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 thatthou dost name and that will give proof that thy father is theimmortal Apollo. But never to thee nor to any other, be he mortal orimmortal, 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 nothave 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, maydrive the flaming chariot of the sun, for the way is beset withdangers and none know it but I. "

"Only tell me the way, my father!" cried Phaeton. "So soon I couldlearn. "

Half in sadness, Apollo smiled. 

"The first part of the way is uphill, " he said. "So steep it is thatonly very slowly can my horses climb it. High in the heavens is themiddle, so high that even I grow dizzy when I look down upon the earthand the sea. And the last piece of the way is a precipice that rushesso steeply downward that my hands can scarce check the mad rush of mygalloping horses. And all the while, the heaven is spinning round, andthe stars with it. By the horns of the Bull I have to drive, past theArcher whose bow is taut and ready to slay, close to where theScorpion stretches out its arms and the great Crab's claws grope for aprey. .. . "

"I fear none of these things, oh my father!" cried Phaeton. "Grantthat for one day only I drive thy white-maned steeds!"

Very pitifully Apollo looked at him, and for a little space he wassilent. 

"The little human hands, " he said at length, "the little humanframe!--and with them the soul of a god. The pity of it, my son. Dostnot 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, andthey 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 ofchrysolites that gave dazzling reflection of the sun. Then Apolloanointed the face of Phaeton with a powerful essence that might keephim from being smitten by the flames, and upon his head he placed therays of the sun. And then the stars went away, even to the Daystarthat went last of all, and, at Apollo's signal, Aurora, therosy-fingered, threw open the purple gates of the east, and Phaetonsaw a path of pale rose-colour open before him. 

With a cry of exultation, the boy leapt into the chariot and laid holdof the golden reins. Barely did he hear Apollo's parting words: "Holdfast the reins, and spare the whip. All thy strength will be wanted tohold the horses in. Go not too high nor too low. The middle course issafest and best. Follow, if thou canst, in the old tracks of mychariot wheels!" His glad voice of thanks for the godlike boon rangback to where Apollo stood and watched him vanishing into the dawnthat 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 fromtheir nostrils tinged with flame-colour the dark clouds that hung overthe land and the sea. With rapture, Phaeton felt that truly he was theson of a god, and that at length he was enjoying his heritage. The dayfor which, through all his short life, he had longed, had come atlast. He was driving the chariot whose progress even now was awakingthe sleeping earth. The radiance from its wheels and from the rays hewore round his head was painting the clouds, and he laughed aloud inrapture as he saw, far down below, the sea and the rivers he hadbathed in as a human boy, mirroring the green and rose and purple, andgold and silver, and fierce crimson, that he, Phaeton, was placing inthe sky. The grey mist rolled from the mountain tops at his desire. The white fog rolled up from the valleys. All living things awoke; theflowers opened their petals; the grain grew golden; the fruit grewripe. Could but Epaphos see him now! Surely he must see him, andrealise that not Apollo but Phaeton was guiding the horses of hisfather, 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 knewthat these were not the hands of the god, their master, that held thegolden reins. Like an air-ship without its accustomed ballast, thechariot rolled unsteadily, and not only the boy's light weight but hislight 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 giantwaves of a furious sea, and their pace was swift as that of a boltthat 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 speedonwards, madly, blindly, with the headlong rush of a storm. There wasno hope for them to keep on the beaten track, and soon Phaeton had hisrapture checked by the terrible realisation that they had strayed farout of the course and that his hands were not strong enough to guidethem. Close to the Great Bear and the Little Bear they passed, andthese were scorched with heat. The Serpent which, torpid, chilly andharmless, lies coiled round the North Pole, felt a warmth that made itgrow fierce and harmful again. Downward, ever downward galloped themaddened horses, and soon Phaeton saw the sea as a shield of moltenbrass, and the earth so near that all things on it were visible. Whenthey passed the Scorpion and only just missed destruction from itsmenacing fangs, fear entered into the boy's heart. His mother hadspoken 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 scornfor the wrath of a mortal boy. With a great toss of their mighty headsthey had torn the guiding reins from his grasp, and as he stood, giddily swaying from side to side, Phaeton knew that the boon he hadcraved from his father must in truth be death for him. 

And, lo, it was a hideous death, for with eyes that were like flamesthat burned his brain, the boy beheld the terrible havoc that hispride had wrought. That blazing chariot of the Sun made the cloudssmoke, and dried up all the rivers and water-springs. Fire burst fromthe mountain tops, great cities were destroyed. The beauty of theearth was ravished, woods and meadows and all green and pleasantplaces were laid waste. The harvests perished, the flocks and they whohad herded them lay dead. Over Libya the horses took him, and thedesert of Libya remains a barren wilderness to this day, while thosesturdy Ethiopians who survived are black even now as a consequence ofthat cruel heat. The Nile changed its course in order to escape, andnymphs and nereids in terror sought for the sanctuary of some wateryplace that had escaped destruction. The face of the burned andblackened earth, where the bodies of thousands of human beings laycharred to ashes, cracked and sent dismay to Pluto by the lurid lightthat penetrated even to his throne. 

All this Phaeton saw, saw in impotent agony of soul. His boyish follyand pride had been great, but the excruciating anguish that made himshed tears of blood, was indeed a punishment even too heavy for anerring god. 

From the havoc around her, the Earth at last looked up, and withblackened face and blinded eyes, and in a voice that was harsh andvery, very weary, she called to Zeus to look down from Olympus andbehold the ruin that had been wrought by the chariot of the Sun. AndZeus, the cloud-gatherer, looked down and beheld. And at the sight ofthat piteous devastation his brow grew dark, and terrible was hiswrath against him who had held the reins of the chariot. Calling uponApollo and all the other gods to witness him, he seized a lightningbolt, and for a moment the deathless Zeus and all the dwellers inOlympus looked on the fiery chariot in which stood the swaying, slight, lithe figure of a young lad, blinded with horror, shaken withagony. Then, from his hand, Zeus cast the bolt, and the chariot wasdashed into fragments, and Phaeton, his golden hair ablaze, fell, likea bright shooting star, from the heavens above, into the riverEridanus. The steeds returned to their master, Apollo, and in rage andgrief Apollo lashed them. Angrily, too, and very rebelliously did hespeak of the punishment meted to his son by the ruler of theImmortals. Yet in truth the punishment was a merciful one. Phaeton wasonly half a god, and no human life were fit to live after the day ofdire anguish that had been his. 

Bitter was the mourning of Clymene over her beautiful only son, and soceaselessly did his three sisters, the Heliades, weep for theirbrother, that the gods turned them into poplar trees that grew by thebank of the river, and, when still they wept, their tears turned intoprecious amber as they fell. Yet another mourned for Phaeton--Phaeton"dead ere his prime. " Cycnus, King of Liguria, had dearly loved thegallant boy, and again and yet again he dived deep in the river andbrought forth the charred fragments of what had once been thebeautiful son of a god, and gave to them honourable burial. Yet hecould not rest satisfied that he had won all that remained of hisfriend from the river's bed, and so he continued to haunt the stream, ever diving, ever searching, until the gods grew weary of his restlesssorrow and changed him into a swan. 

And still we see the swan sailing mournfully along, like awhite-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 searchfor the boy who would fain have been a god were never to come to anend. 

To Phaeton the Italian Naiades reared a tomb, and inscribed on thestone 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 ofGreece--not even Venus herself--has more appeal than has the huntressgoddess, Diana. Those who know but little of ancient statuary canstill brighten to intelligent recognition of the huntress with herquiver and her little stag when they meet with them in picture galleryor in suburban garden. That unlettered sportsman in weather-worn pink, slowly riding over the fragrant dead leaves by the muddy roadside onthis chill, grey morning, may never have heard of Artemis, but he isquite ready to make intelligent reference to Diana to the handsomeyoung sportswoman whom he finds by the covert side; and Sir Walter'sDiana Vernon has helped the little-read public to realise that theoriginal Diana was a goddess worthy of being sponsor to one of thefinest heroines of fiction. 

But not to the sportsman alone, but also to the youth or maid wholoves the moon--they know not why--to those whom the shadows of thetrees 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 thetree-tops and is peeping, chaste and pale, through the branches of thefirs and giant pines, there is something arresting, enthralling, inthe thought of the goddess Diana who now has for hunting-ground theblue 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 thegoddess, sometimes under her best known name of Diana, sometimes underher older Greek name of Artemis, and now and again as Selene, themoon-goddess, the Luna of the Romans. Her twin brother was Apollo, godof the sun, and with him she shared the power of unerringly wielding abow and of sending grave plagues and pestilences, while both werepatrons of music and of poetry. 

When the sun-god's golden chariot had driven down into the west, thenwould his sister's noiseless-footed silver steeds be driven across thesky, while the huntress shot from her bow at will silent arrows thatwould slay without warning a joyous young mother with her newly-bornbabe, or would wantonly pierce, with a lifelong pain, the heart ofsome luckless mortal. 

Now one night as she passed Mount Latmos, there chanced to be ashepherd lad lying asleep beside his sleeping flock. Many times hadEndymion watched the goddess from afar, half afraid of one sobeautiful and yet so ruthless, but never before had Diana realised theyouth's wonderful beauty. She checked her hounds when they would haveswept on in their chase through the night, and stood beside Endymion. She judged him to be as perfect as her own brother, Apollo--yet moreperfect, perhaps, for on his upturned sleeping face was the silverglamour of her own dear moon. Fierce and burning passion could comewith the sun's burning rays, but love that came in the moon's palelight 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 wasno more gentle than was Diana's touch, yet it was sufficient to wakeEndymion. 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 happinessso perfect that one dares not wake lest, by waking, the wings of one'srealised ideal should slip between grasping fingers and so escapeforever, so did Endymion realise the kiss of the goddess. But beforehis sleepy eyes could be his senses' witnesses, Diana had hastenedaway. Endymion, springing to his feet, saw only his sleeping flock, nor did his dogs awake when he heard what seemed to him to be thebaying of hounds in full cry in a forest far up the mountain. Only tohis own heart did he dare to whisper what was this wonderful thingthat he believed had befallen him, and although he laid himselfdown, hoping that once again this miracle might be granted to him, nomiracle 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 hischariot of burnished gold through the land, Endymion, as he watchedhis flocks, tried to dream his dream once more, and longed for the dayto end and the cool, dark night to return. When night came he tried tolie awake and see what might befall, but when kind sleep had closedhis 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 seeanything more tangible than a shaft of silver moonlight on the movingbushes of the mountain side, never hear anything more real than thefar-away echo of the baying of pursuing hounds, and if, with eager, greatly-daring eyes, he looked skywards, a dark cloud, so it seemed tohim, would always hasten to hide the moon from his longing gaze. 

In this manner time passed on. The days of Endymion were filled bylonging day-dreams. His sleeping hours ever brought him ecstasy. Ever, too, to the goddess, the human being that she loved seemed to her togrow more precious. For her all the joy of day and of night wasconcentrated in the moments she spent by the side of the sleepingEndymion. The flocks of the shepherd flourished like those of no otherherd. No wild beast dared come near them; no storm nor diseaseassailed them. Yet for Endymion the things of earth no longer held anyvalue. He lived only for his dear dream's sake. Had he been permittedto grow old and worn and tired, and still a dreamer, who knows how hisstory might have ended? But to Diana there came the fear that with agehis beauty might wane, and from her father, Zeus, she obtained for theone 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 anight when the moon made for herself broad silver paths across thesea, from far horizon to the shore where the little waves lapped andcurled in a radiant, ever-moving silver fringe. Silver also were theleaves of the forest trees, and between the branches of the solemncypresses and of the stately dark pines, Diana shot her silver arrows. No baying of hounds came then to make Endymion's flocks move uneasilyin their sleep, but the silver stars seemed to sing in unisontogether. While still those gentle lips touched his, hands as gentlelifted up the sleeping Endymion and bore him to a secret cave in MountLatmos. And there, for evermore, she came to kiss the mouth of hersleeping lover. There, forever, slept Endymion, happy in the perfectbliss of dreams that have no ugly awaking, of an ideal love that knowsno 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 scholarlypeople to take hold of the old myths, to take them to pieces, and tofind some deep, hidden meaning in each part of the story. So you willfind that some will tell you that Orpheus is the personification ofthe winds which "tear up trees as they course along, chanting theirwild music, " and that Eurydice is the morning "with its short-livedbeauty. " Others say that Orpheus is "the mythological expression ofthe delight which music gives to the primitive races, " while yetothers accept without hesitation the idea that Orpheus is the sunthat, when day is done, plunges into the black abyss of night, in thevain hope of overtaking his lost bride, Eurydice, the rosy dawn. And, whether they be right or wrong, it would seem that the sadness thatcomes to us sometimes as the day dies and the last of the sun's raysvanish to leave the hills and valleys dark and cold, the sorrowfulfeeling that we cannot understand when, in country places, we hearmusic coming from far away, or listen to the plaintive song of thebird, are things that very specially belong to the story of Orpheus. 

In the country of Thrace, surrounded by all the best gifts of thegods, Orpheus was born. His father was Apollo, the god of music and ofsong, 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 thewild things in the woods of Thrace crept out from the green trees andthick undergrowth, and from the holes and caves in the rocks, tolisten to the music that the child's fingers made. The coo of the doveto his mate, the flute-clear trill of the blackbird, the song of thelark, the liquid carol of the nightingale--all ceased when the boymade music. The winds that whispered their secrets to the trees ownedhim for their lord, and the proudest trees of the forest bowed theirheads that they might not miss one exquisite sigh that his fingersdrew from the magical strings. Nor man nor beast lived in his day thathe could not sway by the power of his melody. He played a lullaby, andall things slept. He played a love-lilt, and the flowers sprang up infull bloom from the cold earth, and the dreaming red rosebud openedwide her velvet petals, and all the land seemed full of the lovingechoes of the lilt he played. He played a war-march, and, afar off, the sleeping tyrants of the forest sprang up, wide awake, and baredtheir angry teeth, and the untried youths of Thrace ran to beg theirfathers to let them taste battle, while the scarred warriors felt ontheir thumbs the sharpness of their sword blades, and smiled, wellcontent. While he played it would seem as though the very stones androcks gained hearts. Nay, the whole heart of the universe became onegreat, palpitating, beautiful thing, an instrument from whosetrembling strings was drawn out the music of Orpheus. 

He rose to great power, and became a mighty prince of Thrace. Not hislute alone, but he himself played on the heart of the fair Eurydiceand held it captive. It seemed as though, when they became man andwife, all happiness must be theirs. But although Hymen, the god ofmarriage, himself came to bless them on the day they wed, the omens onthat day were against them. The torch that Hymen carried had no goldenflame, but sent out pungent black smoke that made their eyes water. They feared they knew not what; but when, soon afterwards, as Eurydicewandered with the nymphs, her companions, through the blue-shadowedwoods of Thrace, the reason was discovered. A bold shepherd, who didnot know her for a princess, saw Eurydice, and no sooner saw her thanhe 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 herterror, too swiftly to watch whither she went, and a poisonous snakethat lurked amongst the fern bit the fair white foot that flitted, like a butterfly, across it. In agonised suffering Eurydice died. Herspirit went to the land of the Shades, and Orpheus was leftbroken-hearted. 

The sad winds that blow at night across the sea, the sobbing galesthat tell of wreck and death, the birds that wail in the darkness fortheir mates, the sad, soft whisper of the aspen leaves and the leavesof the heavy clad blue-black cypresses, all now were hushed, forgreater than all, more full of bitter sorrow than any, arose the musicof Orpheus, a long-drawn sob from a broken heart in the Valley of theShadow of Death. 

Grief came alike to gods and to men as they listened, but no comfortcame to him from the expression of his sorrow. At length, when to bearhis grief longer was impossible for him, Orpheus wandered to Olympus, and there besought Zeus to give him permission to seek his wife in thegloomy land of the Shades. Zeus, moved by his anguish, granted thepermission he sought, but solemnly warned him of the terrible perilsof his undertaking. 

But the love of Orpheus was too perfect to know any fear; thankfullyhe hastened to the dark cave on the side of the promontory ofTaenarus, and soon arrived at the entrance of Hades. Stark and grimwas the three-headed watchdog, Cerberus, which guarded the door, andwith the growls and the furious roaring of a wild beast athirst forits prey it greeted Orpheus. But Orpheus touched his lute, and thebrute, amazed, sank into silence. And still he played, and the dogwould gently have licked the player's feet, and looked up in his facewith its savage eyes full of the light that we see in the eyes of thedogs of this earth as they gaze with love at their masters. On, then, strode Orpheus, playing still, and the melody he drew from his lutepassed before him into the realms of Pluto. 

Surely never were heard such strains. They told of perfect, tenderlove, of unending longing, of pain too great to end with death. Of allthe beauties of the earth they sang--of the sorrow of the world--ofall 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 ofsilver that is woven in a black velvet pall, a limpid melody. It wasas though a bird sang in the mirk night, and it spoke of peace and ofhope, and of joy that knows no ending. 

Into the blackest depths of Hades the sounds sped on their way, andthe hands of Time stood still. From his bitter task of trying to quaffthe stream that ever receded from the parched and burning lips, Tantalus ceased for a moment. The ceaseless course of Ixion's wheelwas stayed, the vulture's relentless beak no longer tore at theTitan's liver; Sisyphus gave up his weary task of rolling the stoneand sat on the rock to listen, the Danaïdes rested from their labourof drawing water in a sieve. For the first time, the cheeks of theFuries were wet with tears, and the restless shades that came and wentin the darkness, like dead autumn leaves driven by a winter gale, stood still to gaze and listen. Before the throne where Pluto and hisqueen Proserpine were seated, sable-clad and stern, the relentlessFates at their feet, Orpheus still played on. And to Proserpine thencame the living remembrance of all the joys of her girlhood by theblue Ægean Sea in the fair island of Sicily. Again she knew thefragrance and the beauty of the flowers of spring. Even into Hades thescent of the violets seemed to come, and fresh in her heart was thesorrow that had been hers on the day on which the ruthless King ofDarkness tore her from her mother and from all that she held mostdear. Silent she sat beside her frowning, stern-faced lord, but hereyes grew dim. 

When, with a quivering sigh, the music stopped, Orpheus fearlesslypled his cause. To let him have Eurydice, to give him back his morethan life, to grant that he might lead her with him up to "the lightof Heaven"--that was his prayer. 

The eyes of Pluto and Proserpine did not dare to meet, yet with oneaccord was their answer given. Eurydice should be given back to him, but only on one condition. Not until he had reached the light of earthagain was he to turn round and look upon the face for a sight of whichhis eyes were tired with longing. Eagerly Orpheus complied, and with aheart almost breaking with gladness he heard the call for Eurydice andturned to retrace his way, with the light footfall of the little feetthat he adored making music behind him. Too good a thing itseemed--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 thatlove while yet she was on earth he would tell her now. All that he hadfailed in before, he would make perfect now. The little limpingfoot--how it made his soul overflow with adoring tenderness. So nearshe 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 playedhim false? What if there followed him not Eurydice, but a mockingshade? As he climbed the steep ascent that led upwards to the light, his fear grew more cruelly real. Almost he could imagine that herfootsteps had stopped, that when he reached the light he would findhimself left once more to his cruel loneliness. Too overwhelming forhim was the doubt. So nearly there they were that the darkness was nolonger that of night, but as that of evening when the long shadowsfall upon the land, and there seemed no reason for Orpheus to wait. 

Swiftly he turned, and found his wife behind him, but only for amoment she stayed. Her arms were thrown open and Orpheus would fainhave grasped her in his own, but before they could touch each otherEurydice was borne from him, back into the darkness. 

"Farewell!" she said--"Farewell!" and her voice was a sigh of hopelessgrief. In mad desperation Orpheus sought to follow her, but hisattempt was vain. At the brink of the dark, fierce-flooded Acheron theboat with its boatman, old Charon, lay ready to ferry across to thefurther shore those whose future lay in the land of Shades. To him ranOrpheus, in clamorous anxiety to undo the evil he had wrought. ButCharon angrily repulsed him. There was no place for such as Orpheus inhis ferry-boat. Those only who went, never to return, could find apassage there. For seven long days and seven longer nights Orpheuswaited beside the river, hoping that Charon would relent, but at lasthope died, and he sought the depths of the forests of Thrace, wheretrees 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 sorrowof his heart expressing itself in the song of his lute. The fiercestbeasts of the forest crawled to his feet and looked up at him witheyes full of pity. The song of the birds ceased, and when the windmoaned 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 thewoods. And when evening came and all things rested, and the nightcalled out the mystery of the forest, again he would see her. In thelong blue shadows of the trees she would stand--up the woodland pathsshe walked, where her little feet fluttered the dry leaves as shepassed. Her face was white as a lily in the moonlight, and ever sheheld 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 thequest 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 goddessmother gave me; in vain have I sung and laboured; in vain I went downto 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 heartsof men, and the savage forest beasts, and the trees, and the lifelessstones, with my magic harp and song, giving rest, but findingnone. "[3]

But in the good ship _Argo_, Orpheus took his place with the othersand sailed the watery ways, and the songs that Orpheus sang to hisshipmates and that tell of all their great adventures are called theSongs of Orpheus, or the Orphics, to this day. 

Many were the mishaps and disasters that his music warded off. With ithe lulled monsters to sleep; more powerful to work magic on the heartsof men were his melodies than were the songs of the sirens when theytried 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 ownland of Thrace. As a hero he had fought and endured hardship, but hiswounded soul remained unhealed. Again the trees listened to the songsof longing. Again they echoed, "Eurydice! Eurydice!"

As he sat one day near a river in the stillness of the forest, therecame from afar an ugly clamour of sound. It struck against the musicof Orpheus' lute and slew it, as the coarse cries of the screaminggulls that fight for carrion slay the song of a soaring lark. It wasthe day of the feast of Bacchus, and through the woods poured Bacchusand his Bacchantes, a shameless rout, satyrs capering around them, centaurs neighing aloud. Long had the Bacchantes hated the loyalpoet-lover of one fair woman whose dwelling was with the Shades. Hisears were ever deaf to their passionate voices, his eyes blind totheir passionate loveliness as they danced through the green trees, ariot of colour, of fierce beauty, of laughter and of mad song. Madthey were indeed this day, and in their madness the very existence ofOrpheus was a thing not to be borne. At first they stoned him, but hismusic made the stones fall harmless at his feet. Then in a frenzy ofcruelty, with the maniac lust to cause blood to flow, to know the joyof taking life, they threw themselves upon Orpheus and did him todeath. From limb to limb they tore him, casting at last his head andhis blood-stained lyre into the river. And still, as the water borethem on, the lyre murmured its last music and the white lips ofOrpheus still breathed of her whom at last he had gone to join in theshadowy land, "Eurydice! Eurydice!"

"Combien d'autres sont morts de même! C'est la lutte éternelle de laforce 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, thegods placed his lute, and to the place of his martyrdom came theMuses, and with loving care carried the fragments of the massacredbody to Libetlera, at the foot of Mount Olympus, and there buriedthem. And there, unto this day, more sweetly than at any other spot inany other land, the nightingale sings. For it sings of a love thatknows no ending, of life after death, of a love so strong that it canconquer even Death, the all-powerful. 

FOOTNOTE:

[3] Kingsley. 

APOLLO AND DAPHNE

Conqueror of all conquerable earth, yet not always victorious over theheart of a maid was the golden-locked Apollo. 

As mischievous Eros played one day with his bow and arrows, Apollobeheld 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 wieldthem. Content thyself with thy torch, and kindle flames, if indeedthou canst, but such bolts as thy white young arms can drive willsurely not bring scathe to god nor to man. "

Then did the son of Aphrodite answer, and as he made answer he laughedaloud in his glee. "With thine arrows thou mayst strike all thingselse, 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 backthe string until it was taut, and then let fly the arrow, that did notmiss its mark, but flew straight to the heart of the sun-god. With theother arrow, blunt, and tipped with lead, he smote the beautifulDaphne, daughter of Peneus, the river-god. And then, full joyously didthe boy-god laugh, for his roguish heart knew well that to him whowas struck by the golden shaft must come the last pangs that haveproved many a man's and many a god's undoing, while that leaden-tippedarrow meant to whomsoever it struck, a hatred of Love and an immunityfrom all the heart weakness that Love can bring. Those were the dayswhen Apollo was young. Never before had he loved. 

But as the first fierce storm that assails it bends the young, suppletree with its green budding leaves before its furious blast, so didthe first love of Apollo bend low his adoring heart. All day as heheld the golden reins of his chariot, until evening when its fierywheels were cooled in the waters of the western seas, he thought ofDaphne. All night he dreamed of her. But never did there come toDaphne a time when she loved Love for Love's sake. Never did she lookwith gentle eye on the golden-haired god whose face was as the face ofall the exquisite things that the sunlight shows, remembered in adream. Her only passion was a passion for the chase. One of Diana'snymphs was she, cold and pure and white in soul as the virgin goddessherself. 

There came a day when Apollo could no longer put curbing hands on hisfierce longing. The flames from his chariot still lingered inreflected glories on sea and hill and sky. The very leaves of thebudding trees of spring were outlined in gold. And through the dimwood walked Daphne, erect and lithe and living as a sapling in theearly spring. 

With beseeching hands, Apollo followed her. A god was he, yet to himhad come the vast humility of passionate intercession for the gift oflove to a little nymph. She heard his steps behind her and turnedround, proud and angry that one should follow her when she had notwilled it. 

"Stay!" he said, "daughter of Peneus. No foe am I, but thine ownhumble lover. To thee alone do I bow my head. To all others on eartham I conqueror and king. "

But Daphne, hating his words of passionate love, sped on. And when hispassion lent wings to his feet and she heard him gaining on her as shefled, not as a lover did Daphne look on deathless Apollo, but as ahateful foe. More swiftly than she had ever run beside her mistressDiana, leaving the flying winds behind her as she sped, ran Daphnenow. But ever did Apollo gain upon her, and almost had he grasped herwhen 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 whoselove I fear!"

As she spoke the arms of Apollo seized her, yet, even as his arms metaround her waist, lissome and slight as a young willow, Daphne thenymph was Daphne the nymph no longer. Her fragrant hair, her softwhite 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 armssprouted into woody branches and green leaves. Her face vanished, andthe bark of a big tree enclosed her snow-white body. Yet Apollo didnot 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 hesaid, "Since thou canst not be my bride, at least thou shalt be mytree; my hair, my lyre, my quiver shall have thee always, oh laureltree of the Immortals!"

So do we still speak of laurels won, and worn by those of deathlessfame, and still does the first love of Apollo crown the heads of thosewhose 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 bestruck by its kinship to the fairy tales of childhood. Here we havethe three sisters, the two elder jealous and spiteful, the youngestbeautiful and gentle and quite unable to defend herself against hersisters' wicked arts. Here, too, is the mysterious bridegroom who isnever 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 oflove that is not strong enough to believe and to wait, and so to "winthrough" in the end--the story of seeds of suspicion sown by one fullof malice in an innocent heart, and which bring to the hapless reapera cruel harvest. 

Once upon a time, so goes the tale, a king and queen had threebeautiful daughters. The first and the second were fair indeed, butthe beauty of the youngest was such that all the people of the landworshipped it as a thing sent straight from Olympus. They awaited heroutside the royal palace, and when she came, they threw chaplets ofroses and violets for her little feet to tread upon, and sang hymns ofpraise as though she were no mortal maiden but a daughter of thedeathless gods. 

There were many who said that the beauty of Aphrodite herself was lessperfect than the beauty of Psyche, and when the goddess found that menwere forsaking her altars in order to worship a mortal maiden, greatwas her wrath against them and against the princess who, allunwittingly, had wrought her this shameful harm. 

In her garden, sitting amongst the flowers and idly watching hismother's fair white doves as they preened their snowy feathers in thesun, Aphrodite found her son Eros, and angrily poured forth to him thestory 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 ofthine arrows the heart of this presumptuous maiden, and shame herbefore all other mortals by making her love a monster from which allothers shrink and which all despise. " With wicked glee Eros heard hismother's commands. His beautiful face, still the face of a mischievousboy, lit up with merriment. This was, in truth, a game after his ownheart. In the garden of Aphrodite is a fountain of sweet, another ofbitter 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 aglance 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 werebluer than the violets in spring and gazed at Eros. He knew that hewas invisible, and yet her gaze made him tremble. 

"They spoke truth!" said the lad to himself. "Not even my mother is asfair as this princess. "

For a moment her eyelids quivered, and then dropped. Her long darklashes fell on her cheeks that were pink as the hearts of the fragileshells 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 uponher perfect loveliness. With gentle, pitying finger he wiped away thered drop where his arrow had wounded her, and then stooped and touchedher lips with his own, so lightly that Psyche in her dreams thoughtthat they had been brushed by a butterfly's wings. Yet in her sleepshe moved, and Eros, starting back, pricked himself with one of hisarrows. And with that prick, for Eros there passed away all thecareless ease of the heart of a boy, and he knew that he loved Psychewith the unquenchable love of a deathless god. Now, with bitterregret, all his desire was to undo the wrong he had done to the onethat he loved. Speedily he sprinkled her with the sweet water thatbrings joy, and when Psyche rose from her couch she was radiant withthe 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 towhich the fame of the fair Psyche had spread, that the mighty goddessAphrodite had declared herself the enemy of the princess. Thereforenone dared seek her in marriage, and although many a noble youthsighed away his heart for love of her, she remained in her father'spalace like an exquisite rose whose thorns make those who fain wouldhave it for their own, fear to pluck it from the parent stem. Hersisters married, and her father marvelled why so strange a thingshould come about and why the most beautiful by far of his threedaughters should remain unwed. 

At length, laden with royal gifts, an embassy was sent by the king tothe oracle of Apollo to inquire what might be the will of the dwellerson Olympus concerning his fairest daughter. In a horror of anxiety theking and his queen and Psyche awaited the return of the ambassadors. And when they returned, before ever a word was spoken, they knew thatthe oracle had spoken Psyche's doom. 

"No mortal lover shall fair Psyche know, " said the oracle. "Forbridegroom she shall have a monster that neither man nor god canresist. On the mountain top he awaits her coming. Woe unutterableshall come to the king and to all the dwellers in his land if he daresto 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 thedecrees of fate. And in her own chamber, where so short a time before thelittle princess had known the joy of something inexpressible--somethingmost exquisite--intangible--unknown--she sat, like a flower broken by theruthless storm, sobbing pitifully, dry-eyed, with sobs that strained hersoul, for the shameful, hideous fate that the gods had dealt her. 

All night, until her worn-out body could no longer feel, her worn-outmind think, and kind sleep came to bring her oblivion, Psyche facedthe horror for the sake of her father and of his people, that she knewshe could not avoid. When morning came, her handmaids, white-faced andred-eyed, came to deck her in all the bridal magnificence thatbefitted the most beautiful daughter of a king, and when she wasdressed right royally, and as became a bride, there started up themountain a procession at sight of which the gods themselves must havewept. With bowed heads the king and queen walked before the litterupon which lay their daughter in her marriage veil of saffron colour, with rose wreath on her golden hair. White, white were the faces ofthe maidens who bore the torches, and yet rose red were they by theside of Psyche. Minstrels played wedding hymns as they marchedonwards, and it seemed as though the souls of unhappy shades sobbedthrough the reeds and moaned through the strings as they played. 

At length they reached the rocky place where they knew they must leavethe victim bride, and her father dared not meet her eyes as he turnedhis head to go. Yet Psyche watched the procession wending its waydownhill. No more tears had she to shed, and it seemed to her thatwhat she saw was not a wedding throng, but an assembly ofbroken-hearted people who went back to their homes with heavy feetafter burying one that they loved. She saw no sign of the monster whowas to be her bridegroom, yet at every little sound her heart grewsick with horror, and when the night wind swept through the craggypeaks and its moans were echoed in loneliness, she fell on her face indeadly fear and lay on the cold rock in a swoon. 

Yet, had Psyche known it, the wind was her friend. For Eros had usedZephyrus as his trusty messenger and sent him to the mountain top tofind 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 landwhere Eros had his home. So, with all the gentleness of a loving nurseto a tired little child Zephyrus lifted Psyche, and sped with her inhis strong arms to the flowery meadows behind which towered the goldenpalace of Eros, like the sun behind a sky of green and amber and blueand rose. Deeply, in the weariness of her grief, Psyche slept, andwhen she awoke it was to start up with the chill hands of therealisation of terrible actualities on her heart. But when her eyeslooked round to find the barren rocks, the utter forsakenness, thecoming of an unnameable horror, before her she saw only fair groveswith trees bedecked with fruit and blossom, fragrant meadows, flowerswhose beauty made her eyes grow glad. And from the trees sang birdswith song more sweet than any that Psyche had ever known, and withbrilliant plumage which they preened caressingly when they had dippedtheir wings in crystal-sparkling fountains. There, too, stood a noblepalace, golden fronted, and with arcades of stainless marble thatshone like snow in the sun. At first all seemed like part of a dreamfrom which she dreaded to awake, but soon there came to her the joy ofknowing that all the exquisite things that made appeal to her senseswere indeed realities. Almost holding her breath, she walked forwardto the open golden doors. "It is a trap, " she thought. "By this meansdoes the monster subtly mean to lure me into his golden cage. " Yet, even as she thought, there seemed to be hovering round her wingedwords, like little golden birds with souls. And in her ears theywhispered, "Fear not. Doubt not. Recall the half-formed dreams that soshort a time ago brought to thy heart such unutterable joy. No evilshall come to thee--only the bliss of loving and of being loved. "

[Illustration: THUS DID PSYCHE LOSE HER FEAR, AND ENTER THE GOLDENDOORS]

Thus did Psyche lose her fear, and enter the golden doors. Andinside the palace she found that all the beautiful things of which shehad ever dreamed, all the perfect things for which she had everlonged, were there to greet her. From one to another she flitted, likea humming-bird that sucks honey from one and then from anothergorgeous flower. And then, when she was tired with so much wearing outof her thankful mind, she found a banquet ready spread for her, withall the dainties that her dainty soul liked best; and, as she ate, music so perfect rejoiced her ears that all her soul was soothed andjoyous and at peace. When she had refreshed herself, a soft couchstood before her, ready for her there to repose, and when that strangeday had come to an end, Psyche knew that, monster or not, she wasbeloved by one who had thought for her every thought, and who desiredonly her desire. 

Night came at last, and when all was dark and still, and Psyche, wideawake, was full of forebodings and fears lest her happy dreams mightonly be misleading fancies, and Horror incarnate might come to crownher 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 foundPsyche lying with violet eyes that stared into the velvety darkness, seeking something that she hoped for, trembling before something thatbrought her dread. 

His voice was as the voice of spring when it breathes on the sleepingearth; he knew each note in Love's music, every word in the greatthing that is Love's vocabulary. Love loved, and Psyche listened, andsoon she knew that her lover was Love himself. 

Thus, for Psyche, did a time of perfect happiness begin. All throughthe day she roamed in her Love's dominion, and saw on every side thesigns of his passion and of his tenderness. All through the night hestayed 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 onlymade 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 withLove; always did her happiness become more complete. Yet, ever andagain, there returned to her the remembrance of those sorrowful dayswhen her father and mother had broken their hearts over her martyrdom, and her sisters had looked askance at her as at one whose punishmentmust assuredly have come from her own misdoing. Thus at length sheasked Eros to grant her, for love's sake, a boon--to permit her tohave her sisters come to see for themselves the happiness that washers. Most unwillingly was her request granted, for the heart of Erostold him that from their visit no good could come. Yet he was unableto deny anything to Psyche, and on the following day Zephyrus was sentto bring the two sisters to the pleasant valley where Psyche had herhome. Eagerly, as she awaited them, Psyche thought she might make theprincely palace wherein she dwelt yet fairer than it was. And almostere she could think, her thoughts became realities. When the twosisters came, they were bewildered with the beauty and themagnificence of it all. Beside this, their own possessions were paltrytrifles indeed. Quickly, in their little hearts, black envy grew. Theyhad always been jealous of their younger sister, and now that theyfound her, whom all the world believed to have been slain by ahorrible 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 wreaktheir malice upon the joyous creature who loaded them with pricelessgifts. 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 awaywhen her sisters came to be presented to him? What manner of man washe? Was he fair or dark? Young or old? And as they questioned her, Psyche grew like a bewildered child and answered in frightened wordsthat contradicted one another. And well the wicked sisters, whobrooded evil in their hearts, knew that this husband whom Psyche hadnever seen must indeed be one of the deathless gods. Wily words theyspoke to her then. 

"Alas! unhappy one, " they said, "dost think to escape the evil fatethe gods meted out for thee? Thy husband is none other than themonster of which the oracle spake! Oh, foolish Psyche! canst notunderstand that the monster fears the light? Too great horror wouldit mean for thee to see the loathsome thing that comes in theblackness of night and speaks to thee words of love. "

White-lipped and trembling, Psyche listened. Drop by drop thepoisonous words passed into her soul. She had thought him king of allliving things--worthy to rule over gods as well as men. She was sosure that his body was worthy sheath for the heart she knew sowell. .. . She had pictured him beautiful as Eros, son ofAphrodite--young and fair, with crisp, golden locks--a husband toglory 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 athing to shame her, a monster to be shunned of men. 

"What, then, shall I do?" piteously she asked of her sisters. And thewomen, pitilessly, and well content, answered:

"Provide thyself with a lamp and a knife sharp enough to slay the manor monster. And when this creature to whom, to thy undying shame, thoubelongest, sleeps sound, slip from thy couch and in the rays of thelamp have courage to look upon him in all his horror. Then, when thouhast seen for thyself that what we say is truth, with thy knifeswiftly slay him. Thus shalt thou free thyself from the pitiless doommeted 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-simulatedwrath. 

"Shameless one!" they cried; "and does our father's daughter confessto a thing so unutterable! Only by slaying the monster canst thou hopeto 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 withknife and lamp, crouched with her head in her hands, a lily broken bya cruel storm. So glad was Eros to come back to her, to find hersafely there--for greatly had he feared the coming of that treacherouspair--that he did not note her silence. Nor did the dark night showhim that her eyes in her sad face looked like violets in a snowwreath. He wanted only to hold her safely in his arms, and there shelay, passive and still, until sleep came to lay upon him an omnipotenthand. Then, very gently, she withdrew herself from his embrace, andstole to the place where her lamp was hidden. Her limbs shook underher as she brought it to the couch where he lay asleep; her armtrembled as she held it aloft. 

As a martyr walks to death, so did she walk. And when the yellow lightfell 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 theideal of her dreams. Love himself, incarnate Love, perfect in beautyand in all else was he whom her sisters had told her was amonster--he, of whom the oracle had said that neither gods nor mencould resist him. For a moment of perfect happiness she gazed upon hisbeauty. Then he turned in his sleep, and smiled, and stretched outhis 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 onthe white shoulder of Eros. At once he awoke, and with piteous, pitying eyes looked in those of Psyche. And when he spoke, his wordswere like daggers that pierced deep into her soul. He told her allthat had been, all that might have been. Had she only had faith andpatience 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 hoursdragged by, Psyche, as she awaited the dawn, felt that in her heart nosun could ever rise again. When day came at last, she felt she couldno longer endure to stay in the palace where everything spoke to herof the infinite tenderness of a lost love. Through the night a stormhad raged, and even with the day there came no calm. And Psyche, wearyand chill, wandered away from the place of her happiness, onward andever on, until she stood on the bank of a swift-flowing river. For alittle she stayed her steps and listened to the sound of its washagainst the rocks and tree roots as it hurried past, and to her as shewaited came the thought that here had she found a means by which toend 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 itmight bear her grief-worn soul down to the shades. But the river boreher up and carried her to its shallows in a fair meadow where Panhimself sat on the bank and merrily dabbled his feet in the flowingwater. 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 tooyoung and much too fair to try to end her life so rudely, he said. Theriver gods would never be so unkind as to drive so beautiful a maidenin rough haste down to the Cocytus valley. 

"Thou must dree thy weird like all other daughters of men, fairPsyche, " he said. "He or she who fain would lose their lives, are everheld longest in life. Only when the gods will it shall thy days onearth be done. "

And Psyche, knowing that in truth the gods had spared her to enduremore sorrow, looked in his face with a very piteous gaze, and wanderedon. As she wandered, she found that her feet had led her near theplace 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 theystole 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 herface, all marred by grief. Well, indeed, had their plot succeeded;their malice had drunk deep, yet deeper still they drank, for withscornful laughter they drove her from their palace doors. Veryquickly, when she had gone, the elder sought the place where she hadstood when Zephyrus bore her in safety to that palace of pleasurewhere 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 hersuccessor the beautiful woman who was now much more fair than thewhite-faced girl with eyes all red with weeping. And such certaintydid the vengeful gods put in her heart that she held out her arms, andcalling aloud:

"Bear me to him in thine arms, Zephyrus! Behold I come, my lord!" shesprang from the high cliff on which she stood, into space. And theravens that night feasted on her shattered body. So also did it befallthe 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 findher Love, ever longing to do something by which to atone for the deedthat had been her undoing. From temple to temple she went, but nowheredid she come near him, until at length in Cyprus she came to the placewhere Aphrodite herself had her dwelling. And inasmuch as her love hadmade her very bold, and because she no longer feared death, nor couldthink of pangs more cruel than those that she already knew, Psychesought the presence of the goddess who was her enemy, and humblybegged 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 onlythose could speak who have knowledge of the merciless stripes withwhich the goddess can scourge the hearts of her slaves. With cruelingenuity, Aphrodite invented labours for her. 

In uncountable quantity, and mingled in inextricable and bewilderingconfusion, there lay in the granary of the goddess grains of barleyand of wheat, peas and millet, poppy and coriander seed. To sort outeach kind and lay them in heaps was the task allotted for one day, andwoe be to her did she fail. In despair, Psyche began her hopelesslabour. While the sun shone, through a day that was for her too short, she strove to separate the grains, but when the shadows of eveningmade it hard for her to distinguish one sort from another, only a fewvery tiny piles were the result of her weary toil. Very soon thegoddess would return, and Psyche dared not think what would be thepunishment meted out to her. Rapidly the darkness fell, but while thedying light still lingered in some parts of the granary, it seemed toPsyche as though little dark trickles of water began to pour fromunderneath the doors and through the cracks in the wall. Trembling shewatched the ceaseless motion of those long, dark lines, and then, inamazement, realised that what she saw were unending processions ofants. And as though one who loved her directed their labours, themillions of busy little toilers swiftly did for Psyche what sheherself had failed to do. When at length they went away, in those longdark lines that looked like the flow of a thread-like stream, thegrains were all piled up in high heaps, and the sad heart of Psycheknew not only thankful relief, but had a thrill of gladness. 

"Eros sent them to me:" she thought. "Even yet his love for me is notdead. "

And what she thought was true. 

Amazed and angry, Aphrodite looked at the task she had deemedimpossible, well and swiftly performed. That Psyche should possesssuch magic skill only incensed her more, and next day she said to hernew slave:

"Behold, on the other side of that glittering stream, mygolden-fleeced sheep crop the sweet flowers of the meadow. To-day mustthou cross the river and bring me back by evening a sample of woolpulled from each one of their shining fleeces. "

Then did Psyche go down to the brink of the river, and even as herwhite feet splashed into the water, she heard a whisper of warningfrom the reeds that bowed their heads by the stream. 

"Beware! O Psyche, " they said. "Stay on the shore and rest until thegolden-fleeced sheep lie under the shade of the trees in the eveningand the murmur of the river has lulled them to sleep. "

But Psyche said, "Alas, I must do the bidding of the goddess. It willtake 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 ofmortals, and will slay thee even as thy feet reach the other bank. Only when the sun goes down does their vice depart from them, andwhile they sleep thou canst gather of their wool from the bushes andfrom the trunks of the trees. "

And again the heart of Psyche felt a thrill of happiness, because sheknew that she was loved and cared for still. All day she rested in thewood by the river and dreamt pleasant day-dreams, and when the sun hadset she waded to the further shore and gathered the golden wool in theway that the reeds had told her. When in the evening she came to thegoddess, bearing her shining load, the brow of Aphrodite grew dark. 

"If thou art so skilled in magic that no danger is danger to thee, yetanother 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 streamout of which Aphrodite had commanded her to fill a ewer. Part of itswaters flowed into the Styx, part into the Cocytus, and well didPsyche know that a hideous death from the loathly creatures thatprotected the fountain must be the fate of those who risked so proudan attempt. Yet because she knew that she must "dree her weird, " asPan had said, she plodded onward, towards that dark mountain fromwhose side gushed the black water that she sought. And then, onceagain, there came to her a message of love. A whirring of wings sheheard, 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, andwhen at nightfall she came with her ewer full of water from the dreadstream and gave it to Aphrodite, although she knew that a yet morearduous task was sure to follow, her fear had all passed away. 

With beautiful, sullen eyes, Aphrodite received her when she broughtthe water. And, with black brow, she said: "If thou art so skilled inmagic that no danger is known to thee, I shall now give thee a taskall worthy of thy skill. "

Thereon she told her that she must seek that dark valley where nosilver nor golden light ever strikes on the black waters of Cocytusand of the Styx; and where Pluto reigns in gloomy majesty over therestless shades. From Proserpine she was to crave for Aphrodite thegift of a box of magical ointment, the secret of which was known tothe Queen of Darkness alone, and which was able to bring to those whoused it, beauty more exquisite than any that the eyes of gods or ofmen had as yet looked upon. 

"I grow weary and careworn, " said Aphrodite, and she looked like arose that has budded in Paradise as she spoke. "My son was wounded bya faithless slave in whom, most weakly, he put his trust, and intending 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 shethought, "I shall atone. " And so, when day was come, she took her wayalong the weary road that leads to that dark place from whence notraveller can ever hope to return, and still with gladness in herheart. 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, " shethought. 

And when she came to an old grey tower, that seemed like an old manthat Death has forgotten, she resolved to throw herself down from it, and thus swiftly to find herself at her journey's end. But as shestood on the top of the tower, her arms outstretched, like a whitebutterfly that poises its wings for flight, a voice spoke in her ear. 

"Oh, foolish one, " it said, "why dost thou strive to stay the hopethat is not dead?" And while she held her breath, her great eyes wideopen, the voice spoke on, and told her by what means she mightspeedily reach Hades and there find means to face with courage theKing of Darkness himself and his fair wife, Proserpine. 

All that she was bidden to do, Psyche did, and so at last did shecome before the throne of Proserpine, and all that Psyche endured, allthat she saw, all that through which she came with bleeding heart andyet with unscathed soul, cannot here be written. 

To her Proserpine gave the box of precious ointment that Aphroditedescribed, and gladly she hastened homeward. Good, indeed, it was toher when again she reached the fair light of day. Yet, when she hadwon there, there came to Psyche a winged thought, that beat againstthe stern barriers of her mind like a little moth against a window. 

"This ointment that I carry with me, " said Psyche to herself, "is anointment that will bring back to those all faded by time, or worn bysuffering, a beauty greater than any beauty that has joyed theImmortals!" And then she thought:

"For my beauty, Eros--_Love_--loved me; and now my beauty is worn andwasted and well-nigh gone. Were I to open this box and make use of theointment of Proserpine, then indeed I should be fair enough to be thebride of him who, even now, believes that he loves me--of Eros whoselove is my life!"

So it came to pass that she opened the fateful box. And out of itthere came not Beauty, but Sleep, that put his gyves upon her limbs, and on her eyelids laid heavy fingers. And Psyche sank down by thewayside, the prisoner of Sleep. 

But Eros, who had loved her ever, with a love that knew the ebb andflow of no tides, rose from his bed and went in search of her who hadbraved even the horrors of Hades for his dear sake. And by the waysidehe found her, fettered by sleep. Her little oval face was white as asnowdrop. Like violets were her heavy eyelids, and underneath hersleeping eyes a violet shadow lay. Once had her mouth been as the bowof Eros, painted in carmine. Now either end of the bow was turneddownwards, and its colour was that of a faded rose-leaf. 

And as Eros looked at her that he loved, pity stirred his heart, asthe wind sweeps through the sighing, grey leaves of the willow, orsings through the bowing reeds. 

"My _Belovèd_!" he said, and he knew that Psyche was indeed hisbeloved. It was her fair soul that he loved, nor did it matter to himwhether her body was like a rose in June or as a wind-scourged tree inDecember. And as his lips met hers, Psyche awoke, and heard his softwhisper:

 "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, wingsof silver and of gold, and, hand in hand with Eros, she winged her wayto Olympus. 

And there all the deathless gods were assembled, and Aphrodite nolonger looked upon her who had once been her slave with darkenedbrows, 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, thevoice 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 tothe perfect happiness of purified love. 

And still do we watch the butterfly, which is her emblem, burstingfrom its ugly tomb in the dark soil, and spreading joyous white andgold-powdered wings in the caressing sunshine, amidst the radiance andthe fragrance of the summer flowers. Still, too, do we sadly watch hersister, 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 wasborn 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 dreamthat the child that she bore was a burning firebrand. But when thebaby came he was a royal child indeed, a little fearless king from thefirst moment that his eyes, like unseeing violets, gazed steadily upat his mother. To the chamber where he lay by his mother's side camethe three Fates, spinning, ceaselessly spinning. 

"He shall be strong, " said one, as she span her thread. "He shall befortunate and brave, " said the second. But the third laid a billet ofwood on the flames, and while her withered fingers held the fatalthreads, 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 wegive the same span of days to live. "

From her bed sprang Althæa, and, heedless of the flames, she seizedthe burning wood, trod on it with her fair white feet, and poured onit water that swiftly quenched its red glow. "Thou shalt live forever, O Beloved, " she said, "for never again shall fire char the brand thatI 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, Meleagergrew into gallant boyhood, and then into magnificent youth. When Jasonand his heroes sailed away into a distant land to win the GoldenFleece, Meleager was one of the noble band. From all men living he wongreat praise for his brave deeds, and when the tribes of the north andwest made war upon Ætolia, he fought against their army and scatteredit as a wind in autumn drives the fallen leaves before it. 

But his victory brought evil upon him. When his father Œneus, atthe end of a fruitful year, offered sacrifices to the gods, he omittedto honour the goddess Diana by sacrificing to her, and to punish hisneglect, she had sent this destroying army. When Meleager was victor, her wrath against his father grew yet more hot, and she sent a wildboar, large as the bulls of Epirus, and fierce and savage to kill andto devour, that it might ravage and lay waste the land of Calydon. Thefields of corn were trampled under foot, the vineyards laid waste, andthe olive groves wrecked as by a winter hurricane. Flocks and herdswere 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 tofind a hideous death. Then did Meleager resolve that he would rid theland of this monster, and called on all his friends, the heroes ofGreece, to come to his aid. Theseus and his friend Pirithous came;Jason; Peleus, afterwards father of Achilles; Telamon, the father ofAjax; Nestor, then but a youth; Castor and Pollux, and Toxeus andPlexippus, the brothers of Althæa, the fair queen-mother. But therecame none more fearless nor more ready to fight the monster boar ofCalydon than Atalanta, the daughter of the king of Arcadia. WhenAtalanta was born, her father heard of her birth with anger. Hedesired no daughter, but only sturdy sons who might fight for him, andin the furious rage of bitter disappointment he had the baby princessleft on the Parthenian Hill that she might perish there. A she-bearheard the baby's piteous cries, and carried it off to its lair, whereshe suckled it along with her young, and there the little Atalantatumbled about and played with her furry companions and grew strong andvigorous 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 cheeksand brave eyes, who fought for her life and bit them as did her fiercefoster-brothers, and then cried human tears of rage and sorrow whenshe saw the bear who had been her mother lying bloody and dead. Underthe care of the hunters Atalanta grew into a maiden, with all thebeauty of a maid and all the strength and the courage of a man. Sheran as swiftly as Zephyrus runs when he rushes up from the west anddrives the white clouds before him like a flock of timid fawns that ahound is pursuing. The shafts that her strong arm sped from her bowsmote straight to the heart of the beast that she chased, and almostas swift as her arrow was she there to drive her spear into herquarry. When at length her father the king learned that the beautifulhuntress, of whom all men spoke as of one only a little lower thanDiana, was none other than his daughter, he was not slow to own her ashis child. So proud was he of her beauty and grace, and of hermarvellous swiftness of foot and skill in the chase, that he wouldfain have married her to one of the great ones of Greece, but Atalantahad consulted an oracle. "Marry not, " said the oracle. "To theemarriage must bring woe. "

So, with untouched heart, and with the daring and the courage of ayoung lad, Atalanta came along with the heroes to the Calydonian Hunt. She was so radiantly lovely, so young, so strong, so courageous, thatstraightway Meleager loved her, and all the heroes gazed at her witheyes that adored her beauty. And Diana, looking down at her, alsoloved the maiden whom from childhood she had held in her protection--agallant, fearless virgin dear to her heart. 

The grey mist rose from the marshes as the hunt began, and the huntersof the boar had gone but a little way when they came upon traces ofthe hated boar. Disembowelled beasts marked its track. Here, in aflowery meadow, had it wallowed. There, in rich wheat land, had itrouted, and the marks of its bestial tusks were on the gashed greytrunks of the trees that had once lived in the peace of a fruitfulolive grove. 

In a marsh they found their enemy, and all the reeds quivered as itheaved its vast bulk and hove aside the weed in which it had wallowed, and rooted with its tusks amongst the wounded water-lilies before itleapt with a snort to meet and to slay the men who had come againstit. A filthy thing it was, as its pink snout rose above the green oozeof the marshes, and it looked up lustingly, defying the purity of theblue 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 onlytouched it, and unwounded, the boar rushed on, its gross, bristly headdown, to disembowel, if it could, the gallant Nestor. In the branchesof a tree Nestor found safety, and Telamon rushed on to destroy thefilthy thing that would have made carrion of the sons of the gods. Astraggling cypress root caught his fleeting foot and laid him prone, ahelpless prey for the rooting brute. His hounds fell before it, butere it could reach him, Atalanta, full of vengeful rage--the pureangered against the filthy and cruel--let draw her bow, with a prayerto Diana to guide her shaft aright. Into the boar's smoking flank spedthe 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. Oneafter the other the hunters fell before its mad rage, and were sent tothe shades by a bloody and merciless death. 

Before its furious charge even the heart of a hero might have beenstricken. Yet Meleager, like a mighty oak of the forest that will notsway even a little before the rush of a storm, stood full in its wayand 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 thatgrim hunt thus came to an end. And when, with his keen blade, Meleagerstruck off the head, even as the quivering throat drew its lastagonised breath, louder still shouted the men of Greece. But not forhimself did Meleager despoil the body of his foe. He laid the uglything at the feet of Atalanta. 

"This is thy spoil, not mine, " he said. "The wounding shaft was spedby thee. To thee belongs the praise. "

And Atalanta blushed rosily, and laughed low and gladly, not onlybecause Diana had heard her prayer and helped her slay the beast, butfor 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 beengiven, and smote her as though she were but a shameless wanton and notthe noble daughter of a king. 

And because the heart of Meleager was given very wholly to the fairhuntress, and because those whom he deemed his friends had not onlydishonoured her, but had done him a very grievous wrong, a great rageseized him. Right and left he smote, and they who had been most bitterin 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 swiftmessengers, and she was on her way to the temples bearing gifts to thegods for the victory of her son, when she beheld the slow-footedprocession of those who bore the bodies of the dead. And when she sawthe still faces of her two dear brothers, quickly was her joy turnedinto mourning. Terrible was her grief and anger when she learned bywhose hand they were slain, and her mother's love and pride dried upin her heart like the clear water of a fountain before the scorchingof a devouring fire. No sacrifices to the gods would she offer, buther dead brothers should have the greatest sacrifice that mother couldmake 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 rescuedfrom the flames when Meleager the hero was but a babe that made hismother's heart sing for joy. She commanded a fire to be prepared, andfour times, as its flames blazed aloft, she tried to lay the brandupon the pile. Yet four times she drew back, and then at last shethrew into the reddest of the ashes the charred brand that for alittle she held so close to her breast that it seemed as though shefondled her child. 

A wreath of leaves as sign of victory was being placed on Atalanta'sbeautiful head by the adoring hands of Meleager when his mother gavehim 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 asa hand of molten lead. In torture his gallant spirit passed away, uncomplaining, loving through his pain the maid for whose dear sake hehad brought woe upon himself. As the last white ashes in the firecrumbled and fell away into nothingness, the soul of Meleagerdeparted. Swiftly through the dark valley his mother's shade followedhim, for she fell upon a sword and so perished. And Diana, lookingdown on the grief-stricken sisters of Meleager and on the bittersorrow of his father, had compassion on them and turned them intobirds. 

So ended the Calydonian Hunt, and Atalanta returned to Arcadia, heavyat heart for the evil she had wrought unwittingly. And still the ThreeFates span on, and the winds caught up the cold wood ashes and blewthem across the ravaged land that Meleager had saved and that quicklygrew fertile again. 

ATALANTA

Atalanta, daughter of the king of Arcadia, returned sad at heart toher own land. Only as comrades, as those against whose skill in thechase she was wont to pit her own skill, had she looked upon men. ButMeleager, the hero who loved her and her fair honour more than lifeitself, and whose love had made him haste in all his gallant strengthand youthful beauty to the land of the Shades, was one to touch her asnever before had she been touched. Her father, proud of her triumph inCalydon, 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 dearlife itself. I shall be the prize of him who outruns me in afoot-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 whoseface had bewitched them, though truly the race was no more fair to himwho ran than would be a race with Death. No mortal man was as fleet asAtalanta, who had first raced with the wild things of the mountainsand the forests, and who had dared at last to race with the winds andleave even them behind. To her it was all a glorious game. Herconquest was always sure, and if the youths who entered in the contestcared to risk their lives, why should they blame her? So each day theystarted, throbbing hope and fierce determination to win her in theheart of him who ran--fading hope and despairing anger as he saw herskimming ahead of him like a gay-hued butterfly that a tired childpursues in vain. And each day, as the race ended, another man paid theprice of his defeat. 

Daily, amongst those who looked on, stood her cousin Milanion. Hewould fain have hated Atalanta for her ruthlessness and her joyousnessas he saw his friends die for her sake, yet daily her beauty, herpurity, and her gallant unconsciousness took a firmer hold upon hisheart. To himself he vowed that he would win Atalanta, but not withouthelp from the gods was this possible. Therefore he sought Aphroditeherself and asked her aid. 

Milanion was a beautiful youth, and to Aphrodite, who loved beauty, hepled his cause as he told her how Atalanta had become to him more thanlife, so that he had ceased to pity the youths, his friends, who haddied for love of her. The goddess smiled upon him with gentlesympathy. 

In the garden of her temple grew a tree with branches and twigs ofgold, and leaves as yellow as the little leaves of the silver birchwhen the autumn sun kisses them as it sets. On this tree grew goldenapples, and Aphrodite plucked three of them and gave them to the youthwho 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 sofar have thy little winged white feet had only the heavy-footedlaggards to outrun. Wilt have me run a race with thee? for assuredly Ishall win thee for my own. "

And Milanion looked into the eyes of Atalanta with a smile as gay andfearless as that with which a hero is wont to look in the eyes of hisfellow. 

Look for look did the virgin huntress give him. 

Then her cheeks grew red, as though the rosy-fingered dawn had touchedthem, and the dawning of love came into her heart. 

Even Meleager was not quite so goodly a youth as this. Not evenMeleager had been so wholly fearless. 

"Thou art tempted by the deathless gods, " she said, but her longlashes drooped on her cheek as she spoke. "I pity you, Milanion, forwhen thou dost race with me, the goal is assuredly the meadows ofasphodel near where sit Pluto and Persephone on their gloomy thrones. "

But Milanion said, "I am ready, Atalanta. Wilt race with me now?" Andsteadily he looked in her eyes until again they fell as though at lastthey had found a conqueror. 

Like two swallows that skim across a sunny sea, filled with thejoyousness of the coming of spring, Atalanta and Milanion started. Scarcely did their feet seem to touch the solid earth, and allthose who stood by vowed that now, at length, was a race indeed, arace 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 thegainer, Milanion obeyed the bidding of Aphrodite and let fall one ofthe golden apples. Never before had Atalanta dreamed of such athing--an apple of glistening gold! She stopped, poised on one foot asa flying bird poises for a moment on the wing, and picked up thetreasure. But Milanion had sped several paces ahead ere she was againabreast of him, and even as she gained on him, he dropped the secondapple. Again Atalanta was tempted. Again she stopped, and againMilanion shot ahead of her. Her breath came short and fast, as oncemore 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 notonly had Milanion won the race, but he had won the heart of the virginhuntress, a heart once as cold and remote as the winter snow on thepeak of Mount Olympus. 

ARACHNE

The hay that so short a time ago was long, lush grass, with fragrantmeadow-sweet and gold-eyed marguerites growing amongst it in the greenmeadow-land by the river, is now dry hay--fragrant still, though dead, and hidden from the sun's warm rays underneath the dark wooden raftersof the barn. Occasionally a cat on a hunting foray comes into the barnto look for mice, or to nestle cosily down into purring slumber. Nowand then a hen comes furtively tip-toeing through the open door andmakes for itself a secret nest in which to lay the eggs which itsubsequently heralds with such loud clucks of proud rejoicing as tocompletely undo all its previous precautions. Sometimes children comein, pursuing cat or hen, or merely to tumble each other over amongstthe soft hay which they leave in chaotic confusion, and when they havegone away, a little more of the sky can be seen through the littlewindow in the roof, and through the wooden bars of the window lowerdown. Yet, whatever other living creatures may come or go, by thosewindows of the barn, and high up on its dark rafters, there is alwaysa living creature working, ceaselessly working. When, through theskylight, the sun-god drives a golden sunbeam, and a long shaft ofdancing dust-atoms passes from the window to what was once a part ofthe early summer's glory, the work of the unresting toiler is also tobe seen, for the window is hung with shimmering grey tapestries madeby Arachne, the spider, and from rafter to rafter her threads aresuspended with inimitable skill. 

She was a nymph once, they say--the daughter of Idmon the dyer, ofColophon, a city of Lydia. In all Lydia there was none who could weaveas wove the beautiful Arachne. To watch her card the wool of thewhite-fleeced sheep until in her fingers it grew like the soft cloudsthat hang round the hill tops, was pleasure enough to draw nymphs fromthe golden river Pactolus and from the vineyards of Tymolus. And whenshe drove her swift shuttle hither and thither, still it was joy towatch her wondrous skill. Magical was the growth of the web, fine ofwoof, that her darting fingers span, and yet more magical theexquisite devices that she then wrought upon it. For birds and flowersand butterflies and pictures of all the beautiful things on earth werelimned by Arachne, and old tales grew alive again under her creativeneedle. 

To Pallas Athené, goddess of craftsmen, came tidings that at Colophonin Lydia lived a nymph whose skill rivalled that of the goddessherself, and she, ever jealous for her own honour, took on herself theform of a woman bent with age, and, leaning on her staff, joined thelittle crowd that hung round Arachne as she plied her busy needle. With white arms twined round each other the eager nymphs watched theflowers spring up under her fingers, even as flowers spring from theground on the coming of Demeter, and Athené was fain to admire, whileshe marvelled at the magic skill of the fair Arachne. 

Gently she spoke to Arachne, and, with the persuasive words of a wiseold woman, warned her that she must not let her ambition soar toohigh. Greater than all skilled craftswomen was the great goddessAthené, and were Arachne, in impious vanity, to dream that one day shemight equal her, that were indeed a crime for any god to punish. 

Glancing up for a moment from the picture whose perfect colours grewfast under her slim fingers, Arachne fixed scornful eyes on the oldwoman and gave a merry laugh. 

"Didst say _equal_ Athené? old mother, " she said. "In good sooth thydwelling must be with the goat-herds in the far-off hills and thou artnot 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 higherthan the gods must ever come woe unutterable. Take heed what thousayest, for punishment will assuredly be thine. "

Laughing still, Arachne made reply:

"I fear not, Athené, nor does my heart shake at the gloomy warning ofa foolish old crone. " And turning to the nymphs who, half afraid, listened to her daring words, she said: "Fair nymphs who watch me dayby day, well do ye know that I make no idle boast. My skill is asgreat as that of Athené, and greater still it shall be. Let Athené trya 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 nymphsand the bold Arachne stood the radiant goddess with eyes that blazedwith anger and insulted pride. 

"Lo, Athené is come!" she said, and nymphs and women fell on theirknees before her, humbly adoring. Arachne alone was unabashed. Hercheeks showed how fast her heart was beating. From rosy red to whitewent the colour in them, yet, in firm, low voice she spoke. 

"I have spoken truth, " she said. "Not woman, nor goddess, can do worksuch as mine. Ready am I to abide by what I have said, and if I didboast, by my boast I stand. If thou wilt deign, great goddess, to trythy skill against the skill of the dyer's daughter and dost prove thevictor, behold me gladly willing to pay the penalty. "

The eyes of Athené, the grey-eyed goddess, grew dark as the sea when athunder-cloud hangs over it and a mighty storm is coming. Not for onemoment did she delay, but took her place by the side of Arachne. Onthe loom they stretched out two webs with a fine warp, and made themfast 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 coverthem with pictures such as no skilled worker of tapestry has eversince dreamed of accomplishing. Under the fingers of Athené grew uppictures so real and so perfect that the watchers knew not whether thegoddess was indeed creating life. And each picture was one that toldof the omnipotence of the gods and of the doom that came upon thosemortals who had dared in their blasphemous presumption to struggle asequals with the immortal dwellers in Olympus. Arachne glanced up fromher web and looked with eyes that glowed with the love of beautifulthings at the creations of Athené. Yet, undaunted, her fingers stillsped on, and the goddess saw, with brow that grew yet more clouded, how the daughter of Idmon the dyer had chosen for subjects the talesthat showed the weaknesses of the gods. One after another the livingpictures grew beneath her hand, and the nymphs held their breath inmingled fear and ecstasy at Arachne's godlike skill and most arrogantdaring. Between goddess and mortal none could have chosen, for thecolour and form and exquisite fancy of the pictures of the daughter ofZeus were equalled, though not excelled, by those of the daughter ofthe dyer of Colophon. 

Darker and yet more dark grew the eyes of Athené as they looked onthe magical beauty of the pictures, each one of which was an insult tothe gods. What picture had skilful hand ever drawn to compare withthat 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 enragedgoddess smote the web of Arachne, and the fair pictures were rent intomotley rags and ribbons. Furiously, too, with her shuttle of boxwoodshe smote Arachne. Before her rage, the nymphs fled back to theirgolden river and to the vineyards of Tymolus, and the women ofColophon in blind terror rushed away. And Arachne, shamed to the dust, knew that life for her was no longer worth possessing. She hadaspired, 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 fromthe weaver's beam, and swiftly she seized it, knotted it round herwhite neck, and would have hanged herself. But ere the life had passedout of her, Athené grasped the cord, loosened it, and spoke Arachne'sdoom:

"Live!" she said, "O guilty and shameless one! For evermore shalt thoulive and hang as now, thou and thy descendants, that men may neverforget the punishment of the blasphemous one who dared to rival agod. "

Even as she spoke, Arachne's fair form dried up and withered. Herstraight limbs grew grey and crooked and wiry, and her white arms wereno more. And from the beam where the beautiful weaver of Lydia hadbeen suspended, there hung from a fine grey thread the creature fromwhich, 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 thatfollowed long after the twilight of the gods, did she not gain eternalhonour in the heart of every Scot by the tale of how she saved anational hero? Kindly, too, are her labours for men as she slays theirmortal enemies, the household flies, and when the peasant--practical, if not favoured by Æsculapius and Hygeia--runs to raid the loom ofArachne in order to staunch the quick-flowing blood from the cut handof her little child, much more dear to her heart is Arachne the spiderthan 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 thegarden, and behold on the little clipped tree of boxwood, a greatmarvel! For in and out, and all over its twigs and leaves, Arachne haswoven her web, and on the web the dew has dropped a million diamonddrops. And, suddenly, all the colours in the sky are mirroreddazzlingly on the grey tapestry of her making. Arachne has come to herown again. 

IDAS AND MARPESSA

By day, while the sun-god drove his chariot in the high heavens andturned the blue-green Ægean Sea into the semblance of a blazing shieldof brass, Idas and Marpessa sat together in the trees' soft shades, orwalked in shadowy valleys where violets and wild parsley grew, andwhere Apollo rarely deigned to come. At eventide, when, in royalsplendour of purple and crimson and gold, Apollo sought his rest inthe western sky, Idas and Marpessa wandered by the seashore watchingthe little wavelets softly kissing the pebbles on the beach, orclimbed to the mountain side from whence they could see the firstglimpse of Diana's silver crescent and the twinkling lights of thePleiades breaking through the blue canopy of the sky. While Apollosought in heaven and on earth the best means to gratify his imperialwhims, Idas, for whom all joys had come to mean but one, sought everto be by the side of Marpessa. Shadowy valley, murmuring sea, lonelymountain side, or garden where grew the purple amaranth and whereroses of pink and amber-yellow and deepest crimson dropped theirradiant petals on the snowy marble paths, all were the same toIdas--Paradise for him, were Marpessa by his side; without her, drearydesert. 

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 ofIdas as her dear voice. Its music was ever new to him--a melody tomake his heart more quickly throb. New, too, ever was her beauty. Forhim it was always the first time that they met, always the same freshravishment to look in her eyes. And when to Idas came the knowledgethat Marpessa gave him love for love, he had indeed won happiness sogreat as to draw upon him the envy of the gods. 

"The course of true love never did run smooth, " and, like many andmany another father since his day, Evenos, the father of Marpessa, wasbitterly opposed to a match where the bridegroom was rich only inyouth, in health, and in love. His beautiful daughter naturally seemedto him worthy of something much more high. Thus it was an unhappy dayfor Marpessa when, as she sat alone by the fountain which drippedslowly down on the marble basin, and dreamed of her lover, Idas, Apollo himself, led by caprice, noiselessly walked through the rosebushes, whose warm petals dropped at his feet as he passed, and behelda 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 andsoothed her day-dreams, and Marpessa's red lips, curved like the bowof Eros, smiled as she thought of Idas, the man she loved. SilentlyApollo watched her. This queen of all the roses was not fit to be thebride of mortal man--Marpessa must be his. 

To Evenos Apollo quickly imparted his desire. He was not used tohaving 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 Apollowished, and Marpessa shyly looked at her reflection in the pool of thefountain, and wondered if she were indeed beautiful enough to win thelove 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 bebeautiful for my Idas' sake!"

An angry man was her father. There was to be no more pleasant dallyingwith Idas in the shadowy wood or by the seashore. In the rose gardenApollo 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 nodoubts or fears. Only a little time he would give her, for a verylittle only would he wait, and then undoubtedly this mortal maidenwould be his, her heart conquered as assuredly as the rays from hischariot conquered the roses, whose warm crimson petals they strewed athis feet. Yet as Marpessa looked and listened, her thoughts were oftenfar away and always her heart was with Idas. When Apollo played mostexquisitely 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 Idasspeak, " and a sudden memory of the human lad's halting words broughtto her heart a little gush of tenderness, and made her eyes sparkleso 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 whichhe could save his dear one from her obdurate father, and from thepassion of a god. He went to Neptune, told his tale, and begged him tolend him a winged chariot in which he could fly away with Marpessa. Neptune good-naturedly consented, and when Idas flew up from theseashore one day, like a great bird that the tempests have blowninland, Marpessa joyously sprang up beside her lover, and swiftly theytook flight for a land where in peace they might live and lovetogether. No sooner did Evenos realise that his daughter was gone, than, in furious anger against her and her lover, he gave chase. Onehas watched a hawk in pursuit of a pigeon or a bird of the moors andseen it, a little dark speck at first, gradually growing larger andmore large until at length it dominated and conquered its prey, swooping down from above, like an arrow from a bow, to bring with itsudden death. 

So at first it seemed that Evenos must conquer Idas and Marpessa inthe winged chariot of Neptune's lending. But onwards Idas drove thechariot, ever faster and faster, until before the eyes of Marpessa thetrees of the forest grew into blurs of blue and brown, and the streamsand rivers as they flew past them were streaks of silver. Not until hehad reached the river Lycormas did the angry father own that hispursuit had been in vain. Over the swift-flowing stream flew thechariot driven by Idas, but Evenos knew that his horses, flecked withwhite foam, pumping each breath from hearts that were strained tobreaking-point, no longer could go on with the chase. The passage ofthat deep stream would destroy them. The fierce water would sweep thewearied beasts down in its impelling current, and he with them. Ashamed man would he be forever. Not for a moment did he hesitate, butdrew his sharp sword from his belt and plunged it into the breast ofone steed and then of the other who had been so willing and who yethad 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 closedthe eddies of the peat-brown water. Once only did he throw up his armsto ask the gods for mercy; then did his body drift down with thestream, and his soul hastened downwards to the Shades. And from thatday the river Lycormas no more was known by that name, but was calledthe river _Evenos_ forever. 

Onwards, triumphantly, drove Idas, but soon he knew that a greaterthan Evenos had entered in the chase, and that the jealous sun-god'schariot was in pursuit of the winged car of Neptune. Quickly it gainedon him--soon it would have swept down on him--a hawk indeed, thistime, striking surely its helpless prey--but even as Apollo saw thewhite face of Marpessa and knew that he was the victor, a mightythunderbolt that made the mountains shake, and rolled its echoesthrough the lonely fastnesses of a thousand hills, was sent to earthby Jupiter. While the echoes still re-echoed, there came from Olympusthe voice of Zeus himself. 

"_Let her decide!_" he said. 

Apollo, like a white flame blown backward by the wind, withheld hishands that would have seized from Idas the woman who was his heart'sdesire. 

And then he spoke, and while his burning gaze was fixed upon her, andhis face, in beautiful fury, was more perfect than any exquisitepicture of her dreams, his voice was as the voice of the sea as itcalls to the shore in the moonlit hours, as the bird that sings in thedarkness of a tropic night to its longing mate. 

"Marpessa!" he cried, "Marpessa! wilt thou not come to me? No woe nortrouble, never any pain can touch me. Yet woe indeed was mine whenfirst I saw thy fairest face. For even now dost thou hasten to sorrow, to darkness, to the dark-shadowed tomb. Thou art but mortal! thybeauty is short-lived. Thy love for mortal man shall quickly fade anddie. Come to me, Marpessa, and my kisses on your lips shall make theeimmortal! 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 treesof autumn in our liveries of red and gold. I love thee, Marpessa--notas mere mortal loves do I love thee. Come to me, Marpessa--my Love--myDesire!"

When his voice was silent, it seemed as if the very earth itself withall its thousand echoes still breathed his words: "Marpessa--myLove--my Desire. "

Abashed before the god's entreaties stood Idas. And the heart ofMarpessa was torn as she heard the burning words of the beautifulApollo still ringing through her head, and saw her mortal lover, silent, white-lipped, gazing first at the god and then into her ownpale 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 lowhis head, and was silent. In silence for a minute stood the three--agod, a man, and a woman. And from on high the watching stars lookeddown and marvelled, and Diana stayed for a moment the course of hersilver car to watch, as she thought, the triumph of her own invinciblebrother. 

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 pawedthe blue floor of the sky, impatient at the firm hand of the mistresson the reins that checked their eager course. 

Marpessa spoke at last, in low words that seemed to come "rememberedfrom other worlds. "

For all the joys he offered her she thanked Apollo. What grander fatefor mortal woman than to rule the sunbeams--to bring bliss to theearth and to the sons of men? What more could mortal woman crave thanthe gift of immortality shared with one whose power ruled the vastuniverse, and who still had stooped to lay the red roses of hispassionate love at her little, human feet? And yet--and yet--in thatsorrow-free existence that he promised, might there not still besomething 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 valuewere life to one whose beauty had withered as the leaves in autumn, whose heart was tired and dead? What uglier fate than this, to endurean endless existence in which no life was, yoked to one whose youthwas immortal, whose beauty was everlasting?

Then did she turn to Idas, who stood as one who awaits the judgment ofthe 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 shelooked at him, he held out his arms. Surely she only played with thispoor mortal youth. To him she must come, this rose who could own nolesser 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 toApollo had come the shame of love rejected, and there were those whosaid that to the earth that night there came no sunset, only thesullen darkness that told of the flight of an angry god. Yet, later, the silver moonbeams of Diana seemed to greet the dark earth with asmile, and, in the winged car of Neptune, Idas and Marpessa sped on, greater than the gods, in a perfect harmony of human love that fearednor 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 havevictory. We shall sail with the first breeze; and be assured I willreturn either crowned with laurel or covered with cypress. " Three dayslater, he won the Battle of the Nile, one of the greatest sea-fightsof 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 storiesseems to have faded. But in Sicily they grow vivid at once. Almost, aswe stand above Syracuse, that long yellow town by the sea--ablue-green sea, with deep purple shadows where the clouds above itgrow dark, and little white-sailed boats, like white butterflies, wingtheir 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 tothe scientific modern mind lives on, and Arethusa is not yet forgotten. "In Ortygia, " says Cicero, "is a fountain of sweet water, the name ofwhich is Arethusa, of incredible flow, very full of fish, which wouldbe entirely overwhelmed by the sea, were its waters not protected fromthe waves by a rampart and a wall of stone. " White marble walls havetaken the place of the protecting barrier, but the spring bubbles up tothis day, and Ortygia (Quail Island) is the name still given to thatpart of Syracuse. Fluffy-headed, long, green stalks of papyrus grow inthe fountain, and red and golden fish dart through its clear water. Beyond lie the low shores of Plemmgrium, the fens of Lysimeleia, thehills above the Anapus, and above all towers Etna, in snowy andmagnificent serenity and indifference to the changes wrought by thecenturies to gods and to men. Yet here the present is completelyovershadowed by the past, and even the story of Arethusa knocks loudlyat the well-barricaded doors of twentieth-century incredulity. 

The beautiful Arethusa was a nymph in Diana's train, and many a timein the chase did she thread her way through the dim woodland, as astream 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 thehuntress but the hunted. 

The flaming wheels of the chariot of Apollo had made the whole landscintillate with heat, and the nymph sought the kind shelter of a woodwhere she might bathe in the exquisite coolness of the river thatstill was chilled by the snows of the mountain. On the branch of atree that bent over the stream she hung her garments, and joyouslystepped into the limpid water. A ray of the sun glanced through theleaves above her and made the soft sand in the river's bed gleam likegold and the beautiful limbs of the nymph seem as though carved frompure white marble by the hand of Pygmalion himself. There was no soundthere but the gentle sound of the stream that murmured caressingly toher as it slowly moved on through the solitude, and so gently itflowed that almost it seemed to stand still, as though regretful toleave 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 thenewly-born brothers of the billows of the sea, swept both down-streamand up-stream upon her, and the river no longer murmured gently, butspoke to her in a voice that thrilled with passionate longing. Alpheus, god of the river, had beheld her, and, beholding her, hadloved 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 hecome to her, but as one who demanded fiercely love for love. Terrorcame upon Arethusa as she listened, and hastily she sprang from thewater that had brought fear upon her, and hastened to find shelter inthe woodlands. Then the murmur, as of the murmur of a river before amighty flood comes to seize it and hold it for its own, took form in avoice 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 nowthou hast made sacred. I am the god of the rushing streams--the god ofthe thundering cataracts. Where the mountain streams crash over therocks and echo through the shadowy hollows of the hills, I hold mykingship. 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 thineforever. "

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 gainedupon her, until at length she felt that the chase was ended, and criedto Diana to save her. Then a cloud, grey and thick and blinding as themist that wraps the mountain tops, suddenly descended and enfoldedher, and Alpheus groped for her in vain. 

"Arethusa!" she heard him cry, in a voice of piteouslonging--"Arethusa!--my belovèd!"

Patiently he waited, with the love that makes uncouth thingsbeautiful, until at length a little breath from Zephyrus blew asidethe soft grey veil that hid his beloved from his sight, and he sawthat the nymph had been transformed into a fountain. Not for a momentdid Alpheus delay, but, turning himself into a torrent in flood, herushed 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 realmof Pluto himself, and the nymph rushed onward, onward still, and thenupward, until at length she emerged again to the freedom of the bluesky and green trees, and beheld the golden orange groves and the greyolives, the burning red geranium flowers and the great snow-cappedmountain of Sicily. 

But Alpheus had a love for her that cast out all fear. Through theterrible blackness of the Cocytus valley he followed Arethusa, andfound a means of bursting through the encumbering earth and joiningher again. And in a spring that rises out of the sea near the shore hewas able at last to mingle his waters with those of the one for whomhe 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 ofone fair daughter. Danaë was her name, and she was very dear to theking until a day when he longed to know what lay hid for him in thelap of the gods, and consulted an oracle. With hanging head hereturned from the temple, for the oracle had told him that when hisdaughter Danaë had borne a son, by the hand of that son death mustsurely come upon him. And because the fear of death was in him morestrong than the love of his daughter, Acrisius resolved that bysacrificing her he would baffle the gods and frustrate Death itself. Agreat tower of brass was speedily built at his command, and in thisprison Danaë was placed, to drag out her weary days. 

But who can escape the designs of the gods? From Olympus great Zeushimself looked down and saw the air princess sighing away her youth. And, full of pity and of love, he himself entered the brazen tower ina golden shower, and Danaë became the bride of Zeus and happily passedwith him the time of her imprisonment. 

To her at length was born a son, a beautiful and kingly child, andgreat 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 beon his side. Down to the seashore he hurried Danaë and her newly-bornbabe, the little Perseus, put them in a great chest, and set themadrift to be a plaything for winds and waves and a prey for the crueland 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 onthe rocky beach of Seriphos, an island in the Ægean Sea. Here afisherman came on this strange flotsam and jetsam of the waves andtook the mother and child to Polydectes, the king, and the years thatfollowed were peaceful years for Danaë and for Perseus. But as Perseusgrew up, growing each day more goodly to look upon, more fearless, more ready to gaze with serene courage into the eyes of gods and ofmen, an evil thing befell his mother. She was but a girl when he wasborn, and as the years passed she grew ever more fair. And the craftyeyes of old Polydectes, the king, ever watched her more eagerly, always more hotly desired her for his wife. But Danaë, the beloved ofZeus himself, had no wish to wed the old king of the Cyclades, andproudly she scorned his suit. Behind her, as she knew well, was thestout arm of her son Perseus, and while Perseus was there, the kingcould do her no harm. But Perseus, unwitting of the danger his motherdaily had to face, sailed the seas unfearingly, and felt that peaceand safety surrounded him on every side. At Samos one day, while hisship was lading, Perseus lay down under the shade of a great tree, andsoon his eyelids grew heavy with sleep, and there came to him, likebutterflies that flit over the flowers in a sunlit garden, pleasant, light-winged dreams. But yet another dream followed close on the merryheels of those that went before. And before Perseus there stood onewhose grey eyes were as the fathomless sea on the dawn of a summerday. Her long robes were blue as the hyacinths in spring, and thespear that she held in her hand was of a polished brightness, as thedart with which the gods smite the heart of a man, with joyinexpressible, with sorrow that is scarcely to be borne. To Perseusshe 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 Iknow. They live at ease. No bitter sorrow is theirs, nor any fiercejoy that lifts their feet free from the cumbering clay. But dear to myheart are the souls of those whose tears are tears of blood, whose joyis as the joy of the Immortals. Pain is theirs, and sorrow. Disappointment is theirs, and grief. Yet their love is as the love ofthose who dwell on Olympus. Patient they are and long-suffering, andever they hope, ever do they trust. Ever they fight, fearless andunashamed, and when the sum of their days on earth is accomplished, wings, of whose existence they have never had knowledge, bear themupwards, out of the mist and din and strife of life, to the life thathas 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, orwouldst 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, fightingever, suffering ever, " he said, "than live at ease like a beast thatfeeds on flowery pastures and knows no fiery gladness, noheart-bleeding pain. "

Then Pallas Athené, laughing for joy, because she loved so well ahero's soul, showed him a picture that made even his brave heart sickfor dread, and told him a terrible story. 

In the dim, cold, far west, she said, there lived three sisters. Oneof them, Medusa, had been one of her priestesses, golden-haired andmost beautiful, but when Athené found that she was as wicked as shewas lovely, swiftly had she meted out a punishment. Every lock of hergolden hair had been changed into a venomous snake. Her eyes, that hadonce 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, whichdrew the hearts of lovers from their bosoms, had become a hideousthing. A grinning mask looked on the world, and to the world hergaping mouth and protruding tongue meant a horror before which theworld stood terrified, dumb. There are some sadnesses too terrible forhuman hearts to bear, so it came to pass that in the dark cavern inwhich she dwelt, and in the shadowy woods around it, all living thingsthat had met the awful gaze of her hopeless eyes were turned intostone. Then Pallas Athené showed Perseus, mirrored in a brazen shield, the face of one of the tragic things of the world. And as Perseuslooked, 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?" heanswered, "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 butdreamed, yet held his dream as a holy thing in the secrettreasure-house of his heart. 

Back to Seriphos he sailed, and found that his mother walked in fearof Polydectes the king. She told her son--a strong man now, thoughyoung in years--the story of his cruel persecution. Perseus saw redblood, and gladly would he have driven his keen blade far home in theheart 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 broughtofferings of their best and most costly to do him honour. Perseusalone came empty-handed, and as he stood in the king's court as thoughhe were a beggar, the other youths mocked at him of whom they had everbeen jealous. 

"Thou sayest that thy father is one of the gods!" they said. "Where isthy godlike gift, O Perseus!"

And Polydectes, glad to humble the lad who was keeper of his mother'shonour, echoed their foolish taunt. 

"Where is the gift of the gods that the noble son of the gods hasbrought me?" he asked, and his fat cheeks and loose mouth quiveredwith ugly merriment. 

Then Perseus, his head thrown back, gazed in the bold eyes ofPolydectes. 

Son of Zeus he was indeed, as he looked with royal scorn at those whomhe despised. 

"A godlike gift thou shalt have, in truth, O king, " he said, and hisvoice rang out as a trumpet-call before the battle. "The gift of thegods shall be thine. The gods helping me, thou shalt have the head ofMedusa. "

A laugh, half-born, died in the throats of Polydectes and of those wholistened, 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 himnow, and that though he should shed the last drop of his life's bloodto win what he sought, right would triumph, and wrong must be worsted. 

Still quivering with anger, Perseus went down to the blue sea thatgently whispered its secrets to the shore on which he stood. 

"If Pallas Athené would but come, " he thought--"if only my dreamsmight 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 heroof a great adventure. 

So he prayed, "Come to me! I pray you, Pallas Athené, come! and let medream true. "

His prayer was answered. 

Into the sky there came a little silver cloud that grew and grew, andever it grew nearer, and then, as in his dream, Pallas Athené came tohim and smiled on him as the sun smiles on the water in spring. Norwas she alone. Beside her stood Hermes of the winged shoes, andPerseus knelt before the two in worship. Then, very gently, PallasAthené gave him counsel, and more than counsel she gave. 

In his hand she placed a polished shield, than which no mirror shonemore brightly. 

"Do not look at Medusa herself; look only on her image herereflected--then strike home hard and swiftly. And when her head issevered, wrap it in the goatskin on which the shield hangs. So wiltthou return in safety and in honour. "

"But how, then, shall I cross the wet grey fields of this wateryway?" asked Perseus. "Would that I were a white-winged bird that skimsacross the waves. "

And, with the smile of a loving comrade, Hermes laid his hand on theshoulder of Perseus. 

"My winged shoes shall be thine, " he said, "and the white-wingedsea-birds shalt thou leave far, far behind. "

"Yet another gift is thine, " said Athené. "Gird on, as gift from thegods, 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, andto 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 northernlands whither Athené had directed him. 

Each day his shoes took him a seven days' journey, and ever the airthrough which he passed grew more chill, till at length he reached theland of everlasting snow, where the black ice never knows theconquering warmth of spring, and where the white surf of the moaningwaves freezes solid even as it touches the shore. 

It was a dark grim place to which he came, and in a gloomy cavern bythe sea lived the Graeæ, the three grey sisters that Athené had toldhim he must seek. Old and grey and horrible they were, with but onetooth amongst them, and but one eye. From hand to hand they passedthe 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 placewhere Medusa and her sisters the Gorgons dwelt. 

"No others know where they dwell, " he said. "Tell me, I pray thee, theway that I may find them. "

But the Grey Women were kin to the Gorgons, and hated all the childrenof men, and ugly was their evil mirth as they mocked at Perseus andrefused to tell him where Medusa might be found. 

But Perseus grew wily in his desire not to fail, and as the eye passedfrom one withered, clutching hand to another, he held out his ownstrong young palm, and in her blindness one of the three placed theeye within it. 

Then the Grey Women gave a piteous cry, fierce and angry as the cry ofold grey wolves that have been robbed of their prey, and gnashed uponhim with their toothless jaws. 

And Perseus said: "Wicked ye are and cruel at heart, and blind shallye remain forever unless ye tell me where I may find the Gorgons. Buttell me that, and I give back the eye. "

Then they whimpered and begged of him, and when they found that alltheir beseeching was in vain, at length they told him. 

"Go south, " they said, "so far south that at length thou comest to theuttermost limits of the sea, to the place where the day and nightmeet. There is the Garden of the Hesperides, and of them must thouask the way. " And "Give us back our eye!" they wailed again mostpiteously, and Perseus gave back the eye into a greedy trembling oldhand, and flew south like a swallow that is glad to leave the gloomyfrozen lands behind. 

To the garden of the Hesperides he came at last, and amongst themyrtles and roses and sunny fountains he came on the nymphs who thereguard the golden fruit, and begged them to tell him whither he mustwing his way in order to find the Gorgons. But the nymphs could nottell. 

"We must ask Atlas, " they said, "the giant who sits high up on themountain and with his strong shoulders keeps the heavens and earthapart. "

And with the nymphs Perseus went up the mountain and asked the patientgiant to guide him to the place of his quest. 

"Far away I can see them, " said Atlas, "on an island in the greatocean. But unless thou wert to wear the helmet of Pluto himself, thygoing 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 wouldstbe as invisible as a shadow in the blackness of night, " answeredAtlas; "but no mortal can obtain it, for only the Immortals can bravethe terrors of the Shadowy Land and yet return; yet if thou wiltpromise 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 Igrow aweary of my burden. When thou hast slain Medusa, let me gazeupon her face, that I may be turned into stone and suffer no moreforever. "

And Perseus promised, and at the bidding of Atlas one of the nymphssped down to the land of the Shades, and for seven days Perseus andher sisters awaited her return. Her face was as the face of a whitelily and her eyes were dark with sadness when she came, but with hershe bore the helmet of Pluto, and when she and her sisters had kissedPerseus and bidden him a sorrowful farewell, he put on the helmet andvanished away. 

Soon the gentle light of day had gone, and he found himself in a placewhere clammy fog blotted out all things, and where the sea was blackas the water of that stream that runs through the Cocytus valley. Andin that silent land where there is "neither night nor day, nor cloudnor breeze nor storm, " he found the cave of horrors in which theGorgons 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 asPerseus gazed on it his soul grew heavy for the beauty and the horrorof Medusa. And "Oh that it had been her foul sisters that I mustslay!" he thought at first, but then--"To slay her will be kindindeed, " he said. "Her beauty has become corruption, and all the joyof life for her has passed into the agony of remembrance, the tortureof unending remorse. "

And when he saw her brazen claws that still were greedy and lustful tostrike and to slay, his face grew stern, and he paused no longer, butwith his sword he smote her neck with all his might and main. And tothe rocky floor the body of Medusa fell with brazen clang, but herhead he wrapped in the goatskin, while he turned his eyes away. Aloftthen 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 inpursuit of Perseus. For many a league they kept up the chase, andtheir howling was grim to hear. Across the seas they flew, and overthe yellow sand of the Libyan desert, and as Perseus flew before them, some blood-drops fell from the severed head of Medusa, and from thembred the vipers that are found in the desert to this day. But bravelydid the winged shoes of Hermes bear Perseus on, and by nightfall theGorgon sisters had passed from sight, and Perseus found himself oncemore in the garden of the Hesperides. Ere he sought the nymphs, heknelt by the sea to cleanse from his hands Medusa's blood, and stilldoes the seaweed that we find on sea-beaches after a storm bear thecrimson stains. 

And when Perseus had received glad welcome from the fair dwellers inthe garden of the Hesperides, he sought Atlas, that to him he mightfulfil his promise; and eagerly Atlas beheld him, for he was aweary ofhis long toil. 

So Perseus uncovered the face of Medusa and held it up for the Titanto gaze upon. 

And when Atlas looked upon her whose beauty had once been pure andliving as that of a flower in spring, and saw only anguish andcruelty, foul wickedness, and hideous despair, his heart grew likestone within him. To stone, too, turned his great, patient face, andinto stone grew his vast limbs and strong, crouching back. So didAtlas the Titan become Atlas the Mountain, and still his head, white-crowned with snow, and his great shoulder far up in mistyclouds, would seem to hold apart the earth and the sky. 

Then Perseus again took flight, and in his flight he passed over manylands and suffered weariness and want, and sometimes felt his faithgrowing low. Yet ever he sped on, hoping ever, enduring ever. In Egypthe had rest and was fed and honoured by the people of the land, whowere fain to keep him to be one of their gods. And in a place calledChemmis they built a statue of him when he had gone, and for manyhundreds of years it stood there. And the Egyptians said that ever andagain Perseus returned, and that when he came the Nile rose high andthe season was fruitful because he had blessed their land. 

Far down below him as he flew one day he saw something white on apurple rock in the sea. It seemed too large to be a snowy-plumagedbird, and he darted swiftly downward that he might see more clearly. The spray lashed against the steep rocks of the desolate island, andshowered itself upon a figure that at first he took to be a statue ofwhite marble. The figure was but that of a girl, slight and veryyouthful, yet more fair even than any of the nymphs of the Hesperides. Invisible in his Helmet of Darkness, Perseus drew near, and saw thatthe fragile white figure was shaken by shivering sobs. The waves, every few moments, lapped up on her little cold white feet, and he sawthat heavy chains held her imprisoned to that chilly rock in the sea. A great anger stirred the heart of Perseus, and swiftly he took thehelmet from his head and stood beside her. The maid gave a cry ofterror, but there was no evil thing in the face of Perseus. Naught butstrength and kindness and purity shone out of his steady eyes. 

Thus when, very gently, he asked her what was the meaning of her cruelimprisonment, she told him the piteous story, as a little child tellsthe story of its grief to the mother who comforts it. Her mother wasqueen of Ethiopia, she said, and very, very beautiful. But when thequeen had boasted that no nymph who played amongst the snow-crestedbillows of the sea was as fair as she, a terrible punishment was sentto her. All along the coast of her father's kingdom a loathsomesea-monster came to hold its sway, and hideous were its ravages. Menand women, children and animals, all were equally desirable food forits insatiate maw, and the whole land of Ethiopia lay in mourningbecause of it. At last her father, the king, had consulted an oraclethat he might find help to rid the land of the monster. And the oraclehad told him that only when his fair daughter, Andromeda, had beensacrificed to the creature that scourged the sea-coast would thecountry go free. Thus had she been brought there by her parents thatone life might be given for many, and that her mother's broken heartmight expiate her sin of vanity. Even as Andromeda spoke, the sea wasbroken by the track of a creature that cleft the water as does theforerunning 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 todie. "

Then Perseus darted high above her and for an instant hung poised likea hawk that is about to strike. Then, like the hawk that cannot missits prey, swiftly did he swoop down and smote with his sword thedevouring monster of the ocean. Not once, but again and again hesmote, until all the water round the rock was churned into slime andblood-stained froth, and until his loathsome combatant floated on itsback, mere carrion for the scavengers of the sea. 

Then Perseus hewed off the chains that held Andromeda, and in his armshe 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 sohappy as Andromeda? for Perseus, her deliverer, dearest and greatesthero to her in all the world, not only had given her her freedom, buthad given her his heart. 

Willingly and joyfully her father agreed to give her to Perseus forhis wife. No marriage feast so splendid had ever been held in Ethiopiain the memory of man, but as it went on, an angry man with a band ofsullen-faced followers strode into the banqueting-hall. It wasPhineus, he who had been betrothed to Andromeda, yet who had not daredto strike a blow for her rescue. Straight at Perseus they rushed, andfierce was the fight that then began. But of a sudden, from thegoatskin where it lay hid, Perseus drew forth the head of Medusa, andPhineus and his warriors were turned into stone. 

For seven days the marriage feast lasted, but on the eighth nightPallas 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 injoy, I come to claim the shoes of Hermes, the helmet of Pluto, thesword, and the shield that is mine own. Yet the head of the Gorgonmust thou yet guard awhile, for I would have it laid in my temple atSeriphos that I may wear it on my shield for evermore. "

As she ceased to speak, Perseus awoke, and lo, the shield and helmetand the sword and winged shoes were gone, so that he knew that hisdream was no false vision. 

Then did Perseus and Andromeda, in a red-prowed galley made by cunningcraftsmen from Phœnicia, sail away westward, until at length theycame to the blue water of the Ægean Sea, and saw rising out of thewaves before them the rocks of Seriphos. And when the rowers rested ontheir long oars, and the red-prowed ship ground on the pebbles of thebeach, 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 cruelthings she had suffered in his absence from the hands of Polydectesthe king. Straight to the palace Perseus strode, and there found theking and his friends at their revels. For seven years had Perseus beenaway, and now it was no longer a stripling who stood in the palacehall, but a man in stature and bearing like one of the gods. Polydectes alone knew him, and from his wine he looked up with mockinggaze. 

"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 thefaces of those who sat with him stiffened in horror. 

"O king, " Perseus said, "I swore that, the gods helping me, thoushouldst have the head of Medusa. The gods have helped me. Behold theGorgon's head. "

Wild horror in their eyes, Polydectes and his friends gazed on theunspeakable thing, and as they gazed they turned into stone--a ring ofgrey stones that still sit on a hillside of Seriphos. 

With his wife and his mother, Perseus then sailed away, for he had agreat longing to take Danaë back to the land of her birth and to seeif her father, Acrisius, still lived and might not now repent of hiscruelty to her and to his grandson. But there he found that the sinsof Acrisius had been punished and that he had been driven from histhrone and his own land by a usurper. Not for long did the sword ofPerseus dwell in its scabbard, and speedily was the usurper castforth, and all the men of Argos acclaimed Perseus as their gloriousking. 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 Seathey 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 theking 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 andcarry away prizes from the men of Larissa, surely the heart ofAcrisius must soften towards me. "

Thus did he take off his helmet and cuirass, and stood unclothedbeside the youths of Larissa, and so godlike was he that they allsaid, amazed, "Surely this stranger comes from Olympus and is one ofthe Immortals. "

In his hand he took a discus, and full five fathoms beyond those ofthe 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 arta hero indeed!"

And Perseus, putting forth all his strength, hurled once again, andthe discus flew from his hand like a bolt from the hand of Zeus. Thewatchers held their breath and made ready for a shout of delight asthey 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 asit sped and hurled it against Acrisius, the king. And with a sigh likethe sigh that passes through the leaves of a tree as the woodman fellsit and it crashes to the earth, so did Acrisius fall and lie prone. Tohis side rushed Perseus, and lifted him tenderly in his arms. But thespirit of Acrisius had fled. And with a great cry of sorrow Perseuscalled to the people:

"Behold me! I am Perseus, grandson of the man I have slain! Who canavoid the decree of the gods?"

For many a year thereafter Perseus reigned as king, and to him and tohis fair wife were born four sons and three daughters. Wisely and wellhe reigned, and when, at a good old age, Death took him and the wifeof his heart, the gods, who had always held him dear, took him upamong the stars to live for ever and ever. And there still, on clearand starry nights, we may see him holding the Gorgon's head. Near himare the father and mother of Andromeda--Cepheus and Cassiopeia, andclose beside him stands Andromeda with her white arms spread outacross 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 whosevoyaging is done and whose warfare is accomplished, and take theirbearings from the constellation of Cassiopeia. 

NIOBE

 ". .. Like Niobe, all tears. "

 Shakespeare. 

The quotation is an overworked quotation, like many another of thosefrom _Hamlet_; yet, have half of those whose lips utter it more thanthe vaguest acquaintance with the story of Niobe and the cause of hertears? The noble group--attributed to Praxiteles--of Niobe and herlast remaining child, in the Uffizi Palace at Florence, has been sooften reproduced that it also has helped to make the anguished figureof the Theban queen a familiar one in pictorial tragedy, so that aslong 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 ofvengeance wreaked upon a mortal by an angry god. She was the daughterof Tantalus, and her husband was Amphion, King of Thebes, himself ason of Zeus. To her were born seven fair daughters and seven beautifuland gallant sons, and it was not because of her own beauty, nor herhusband's fame, nor their proud descent and the greatness of theirkingdom, that the Queen of Thebes was arrogant in her pride. Very sureshe 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 ourown day there are mortal mothers who feel as Niobe felt. 

But amongst the Immortals there was also a mother with children whomshe counted as peerless. Latona, mother of Apollo and Diana, wasmagnificently certain that in all time, nor in eternity to come, couldthere be a son and daughter so perfect in beauty, in wisdom, and inpower as the two that were her own. Loudly did she proclaim her proudbelief, and when Niobe heard it she laughed in scorn. 

"The goddess has a son and a daughter, " she said. "Beautiful and wiseand powerful they may be, but I have borne seven daughters and sevensons, and each son is more than the peer of Apollo, each daughter morethan the equal of Diana, the moon-goddess!"

And to her boastful words Latona gave ear, and anger began to grow inher heart. 

Each year the people of Thebes were wont to hold a great festival inhonour of Latona and her son and daughter, and it was an evil day forNiobe when she came upon the adoring crowd that, laurel-crowned, borefrankincense to lay before the altars of the gods whose glories theyhad assembled together to celebrate. 

"Oh foolish ones!" she said, and her voice was full of scorn, "am Inot 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 Latonaherself? And, of a surety, I am richer by far than the goddess who hasbut one daughter and one son. Look on my seven noble sons! behold thebeauty of my seven daughters, and see if they in beauty and all elsedo not equal the dwellers in Olympus!"

And when the people looked, and shouted aloud, for in truth Niobe andher children were like unto gods, their queen said, "Do not waste thyworship, my people. Rather make the prayers to thy king and to me andto 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 arrogantwords of the queen of Thebes, and even as a gust of wind blowssmouldering ashes into a consuming fire, her growing anger flamed intorage. She called Apollo and Diana to her, and commanded them to avengethe blasphemous insult which had been given to them and to theirmother. And the twin gods listened with burning hearts. 

"Truly shalt thou be avenged!" cried Apollo. "The shameless one shalllearn that not unscathed goes she who profanes the honour of themother of the deathless gods!"

And with their silver bows in their hands, Apollo, the smiter fromafar, and Diana, the virgin huntress, hasted to Thebes. There theyfound all the noble youths of the kingdom pursuing their sports. Somerode, some were having chariot-races, and excelling in all things werethe seven sons of Niobe. 

Apollo lost no time. A shaft from his quiver flew, as flies a boltfrom the hand of Zeus, and the first-born of Niobe fell, like a youngpine broken by the wind, on the floor of his winning chariot. Hisbrother, who followed him, went on the heels of his comrade swiftlydown to the Shades. Two of the other sons of Niobe were wrestlingtogether, their great muscles moving under the skin of white satinthat covered their perfect bodies, and as they gripped each other, yetanother shaft was driven from the bow of Apollo, and both lads fell, joined by one arrow, on the earth, and there breathed their livesaway. 

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 anunknown god, were hurried after them by the unerring arrows of Apollo. The cries of those who watched this terrible slaying were not long inbringing Niobe to the place where her sons lay dead. Yet, even then, her pride was unconquered, and she defied the gods, and Latona, towhose jealousy she ascribed the fate of her "seven spears. "

"Not yet hast thou conquered, Latona!" she cried. "My seven sons liedead, yet to me still remain the seven perfect lovelinesses that Ihave borne. Try to match them, if thou canst, with the beauty of thytwo! Still am I richer than thou, O cruel and envious mother of onedaughter and one son!"

But even as she spoke, Diana had drawn her bow, and as the scythe of amower quickly cuts down, one after the other, the tall white blossomsin the meadow, so did her arrows slay the daughters of Niobe. When oneonly remained, the pride of Niobe was broken. With her arms round thelittle slender frame of her golden-haired youngest born, she looked upto 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 ofDiana's bow. Pierced by a silver arrow, the little girl lay dead. Thedignity of Latona was avenged. 

Overwhelmed by despair, King Amphion killed himself, and Niobe wasleft alone to gaze on the ruin around her. For nine days she sat, aGreek Rachel, weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they were not. On the tenth day, the sight was too much evenfor the superhuman hearts of the gods to endure. They turned thebodies into stone and themselves buried them. And when they looked onthe face of Niobe and saw on it a bleeding anguish that no human handcould 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 rockwas Niobe, from her blind eyes of stone the tears still flowed, aclear stream of running water, symbol of a mother's anguish andnever-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 theold tales of men and of women beloved of the gods. To those men whowere deemed worthy of being companions of the gods, seemingly no goodfortune came. Yet, after all, if even in a brief span of life they hadtasted god-given happiness, was their fate one to be pitied? Ratherlet us keep our tears for those who, in a colourless grey world, haveseen the dull days go past laden with trifling duties, unnecessarycares and ever-narrowing ideals, and have reached old age and thegrave--no narrower than their lives--without ever having known afulness of happiness, such as the Olympians knew, or ever having daredto reach upwards and to hold fellowship with the Immortals. 

Hyacinthus was a Spartan youth, son of Clio, one of the Muses, and ofthe mortal with whom she had mated, and from mother, or father, orfrom the gods themselves, he had received the gift of beauty. Itchanced one day that as Apollo drove his chariot on itsall-conquering round, he saw the boy. Hyacinthus was as fair to lookupon as the fairest of women, yet he was not only full of grace, butwas muscular, and strong as a straight young pine on Mount Olympusthat fears not the blind rage of the North Wind nor the angry tempestsof the South. 

When Apollo had spoken with him he found that the face of Hyacinthusdid not belie the heart within him, and gladly the god felt that atlast he had found the perfect companion, the ever courageous andjoyous young mate, whose mood was always ready to meet his own. DidApollo desire to hunt, with merry shout Hyacinthus called the hounds. Did the great god deign to fish, Hyacinthus was ready to fetch thenets and to throw himself, whole-souled, into the great affair ofchasing and of landing the silvery fishes. When Apollo wished to climbthe mountains, to heights so lonely that not even the moving of aneagle's wing broke the everlasting stillness, Hyacinthus--his stronglimbs too perfect for the chisel of any sculptor worthily toreproduce--was ready and eager for the climb. And when, on themountain top, Apollo gazed in silence over illimitable space, andwatched the silver car of his sister Diana rising slowly into the deepblue of the sky, silvering land and water as she passed, it was neverHyacinthus who was the first to speak--with words to break the spellof Nature's perfect beauty, shared in perfect companionship. Therewere times, too, when Apollo would play his lyre, and when naught butthe music of his own making could fulfil his longing. And when thosetimes came, Hyacinthus would lie at the feet of his friend--of thefriend who was a god--and would listen, with eyes of rapturous joy, tothe music that his master made. A very perfect friend was this friendof 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 crossedhis path and had eagerly desired him for a friend. But who could standagainst Apollo? Sulkily Zephyrus marked their ever-ripeningfriendship, and in his heart jealousy grew into hatred, and hatredwhispered to him of revenge. Hyacinthus excelled at all sports, andwhen he played quoits it was sheer joy for Apollo, who loved allthings beautiful, to watch him as he stood to throw the disc, his tautmuscles making him look like Hermes, ready to spurn the cumberingearth from off his feet. Further even than the god, his friend, couldHyacinthus throw, and always his merry laugh when he succeeded madethe god feel that nor man nor god could ever grow old. And so therecame that day, fore-ordained by the Fates, when Apollo and Hyacinthusplayed a match together. Hyacinthus made a valiant throw, and Apollotook his place, and cast the discus high and far. Hyacinthus ranforward eager to measure the distance, shouting with excitement over athrow that had indeed been worthy of a god. Thus did Zephyrus gain hisopportunity. Swiftly through the tree-tops ran the murmuring SouthWind, and smote the discus of Apollo with a cruel hand. Against theforehead 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 ofHyacinthus fell over on the god's shoulder, like the head of a lilywhose stem is broken. The red blood gushed to the ground, anunquenchable 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, hisgod's heart near breaking. "I have robbed thee of thy youth. Thine isthe suffering, mine the crime. I shall sing thee ever--oh perfectfriend! And evermore shalt thou live as a flower that will speak tothe hearts of men of spring, of everlasting youth--of life that livesforever. "

As he spoke, there sprang from the blood-drops at his feet a clusterof flowers, blue as the sky in spring, yet hanging their heads as ifin sorrow. [4]

[Illustration: DARKNESS FELL ON THE EYES OF HYACINTHUS]

And still, when winter is ended, and the song of birds tell us of thepromise of spring, if we go to the woods, we find traces of the vow ofthe sun-god. The trees are budding in buds of rosy hue, the willowbranches are decked with silvery catkins powdered with gold. Thelarches, like slender dryads, wear a feathery garb of tender green, and under the trees of the woods the primroses look up, like fallenstars. Along the woodland path we go, treading on fragrantpine-needles and on the beech leaves of last year that have not yetlost their radiant amber. And, at a turn of the way, the sun-godsuddenly shines through the great dark branches of the giants of theforest, and before us lies a patch of exquisite blue, as though a godhad robbed the sky and torn from it a precious fragment that seemsalive and moving, between the sun and the shadow. 

And, as we look, the sun caresses it, and the South Wind gently movesthe little bell-shaped flowers of the wild hyacinth as it softlysweeps across them. So does Hyacinthus live on; so do Apollo andZephyrus still love and mourn their friend. 

FOOTNOTE:

[4] Legend says that on the petals of the hyacinth Apollo transcribedthe letters "Aì, "--"Alas!"

KING MIDAS OF THE GOLDEN TOUCH

In the plays of Shakespeare we have three distinct divisions--threeseparate volumes. One deals with Tragedy, another with Comedy, a thirdwith History; and a mistake made by the young in their aspect of lifeis that they do the same thing, and keep tragedy and comedy severelyapart, relegating them to separate volumes that, so they think, havenothing to do with each other. But those who have passed manymilestones on the road know that "_History_" is the only right labelfor the Book of Life's many parts, and that the actors in the greatplay are in truth tragic comedians. 

This is the story of Midas, one of the chief tragic comedians ofmythology. 

Once upon a time the kingdom of Phrygia lacked a king, and in muchperplexity, the people sought help from an oracle. The answer was verydefinite:

"The first man who enters your city riding in a car shall be yourking. "

That day there came slowly jogging into the city in their heavy, wooden-wheeled wain, the peasant Gordias and his wife and son, whosedestination was the marketplace, and whose business was to sell theproduce of their little farm and vineyard--fowls, a goat or two, anda couple of skinsful of strong, purple-red wine. An eager crowdawaited their entry, and a loud shout of welcome greeted them. Andtheir eyes grew round and their mouths fell open in amaze when theywere hailed as King and Queen and Prince of Phrygia. 

The gods had indeed bestowed upon Gordias, the low-born peasant, asurprising gift, but he showed his gratitude by dedicating his wagonto the deity of the oracle and tying it up in its place with thewiliest knot that his simple wisdom knew, pulled as tight as hisbrawny arms and strong rough hands could pull. Nor could anyone untiethe famous Gordian knot, and therefore become, as the oracle promised, lord of all Asia, until centuries had passed, and Alexander the Greatcame to Phrygia and sliced through the knot with his all-conqueringsword. 

In time Midas, the son of Gordias, came to inherit the throne andcrown 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 wainhad entered the city amidst the acclamations of the people, he hadlearned the value of power, and therefore, from his boyhood onward, power, always more power, was what he coveted. Also his peasant fatherhad taught him that gold could buy power, and so Midas ever longed formore gold, that could buy him a place in the world that no descendantof a long race of kings should be able to contest. And from Olympusthe gods looked down and smiled, and vowed that Midas should have thechance of realising his heart's desire. 

Therefore one day when he and his court were sitting in the solemnstate that Midas required, there rode into their midst, tipsilyswaying on the back of a gentle full-fed old grey ass, ivy-crowned, jovial and foolish, the satyr Silenus, guardian of the young godBacchus. 

With all the deference due to the friend of a god Midas treated thisdisreputable old pedagogue, and for ten days and nights on end hefeasted him royally. On the eleventh day Bacchus came in search of hispreceptor, and in deep gratitude bade Midas demand of him what hewould, because he had done Silenus honour when to dishonour him lay inhis power. 

Not even for a moment did Midas ponder. 

"I would have gold, " he said hastily--"much gold. I would have thattouch by which all common and valueless things become goldentreasures. "

And Bacchus, knowing that here spoke the son of peasants who manytimes had gone empty to bed after a day of toilful striving on therocky uplands of Phrygia, looked a little sadly in the eager face ofMidas, and answered: "Be it as thou wilt. Thine shall be the goldentouch. "

Then Bacchus and Silenus went away, a rout of singing revellers attheir 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 littletwig decked with leaves of softest grey, and lo, it grew heavy as heheld it, and glittered like a piece of his crown. He stooped to touchthe green turf on which some fragrant violets grew, and turf grew intocloth of gold, and violets lost their fragrance and became hard, solid, golden things. He touched an apple whose cheek grew rosy in thesun, and at once it became like the golden fruit in the Garden of theHesperides. The stone pillars of his palace as he brushed past them onentering, blazed like a sunset sky. The gods had not deceived him. Midas had the Golden Touch. Joyously he strode into the palace andcommanded a feast to be prepared--a feast worthy of an occasion somagnificent. 

But when Midas, with the healthy appetite of the peasant-born, wouldhave eaten largely of the savoury food that his cooks prepared, hefound that his teeth only touched roast kid to turn it into a slab ofgold, that garlic lost its flavour and became gritty as he chewed, that rice turned into golden grains, and curdled milk became a dowerfit for a princess, entirely unnegotiable for the digestion of man. Baffled and miserable, Midas seized his cup of wine, but the red winehad become one with the golden vessel that held it; nor could hequench his thirst, for even the limpid water from the fountain wasmelted gold when it touched his dry lips. Only for a very few days wasMidas able to bear the affliction of his wealth. There was nothing nowfor him to live for. He could buy the whole earth if he pleased, buteven children shrank in terror from his touch, and hungry and thirstyand 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 hestarved? Gold could not buy him life and health and happiness. 

In despair, at length he cried to the god who had given him the giftthat he hated. 

"Save me, O Bacchus!" he said. "A witless one am I, and the folly ofmy desire has been my undoing. Take away from me the accursed GoldenTouch, and faithfully and well shall I serve thee forever. "

Then Bacchus, very pitiful for him, told Midas to go to Sardis, thechief city of his worshippers, and to trace to its source the riverupon which it was built. And in that pool, when he found it, he was toplunge his head, and so he would, for evermore, be freed from theGolden Touch. 

It was a long journey that Midas then took, and a weary and a starvingman was he when at length he reached the spring where the riverPactolus had its source. He crawled forward, and timidly plunged inhis head and shoulders. Almost he expected to feel the harsh grit ofgolden water, but instead there was the joy he had known as a peasantboy when he laved his face and drank at a cool spring when his day'stoil was ended. And when he raised his face from the pool, he knewthat his hateful power had passed from him, but under the water he sawgrains of gold glittering in the sand, and from that time forth theriver Pactolus was noted for its gold. 

One lesson the peasant king had learnt by paying in suffering for amistake, but there was yet more suffering in store for the tragiccomedian. 

He had now no wish for golden riches, nor even for power. He wished tolead the simple life and to listen to the pipings of Pan along withthe 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 Panand Apollo himself. It was a day of merry-making for nymphs and faunsand dryads, and all those who lived in the lonely solitudes of Phrygiacame to listen to the music of the god who ruled them. For as Pan satin the shade of a forest one night and piped on his reeds until thevery shadows danced, and the water of the stream by which he sat leapthigh 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 wellpleased with his music, and mayhap a bloodless man or two. But mymusic strikes to the heart of the earth itself. It stirs with rapturethe very sap of the trees, and awakes to life and joy the innermostsoul 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 ofthe stream on the bank of which he sat, laughed loudly and cried:

"Yea, would I, Apollo! Willingly would I play thee a match--thou onthy golden lyre--I on my reeds from the river. "

Thus did it come to pass that Apollo and Pan matched against eachother their music, and King Midas was one of the judges. 

First of all Pan took his fragile reeds, and as he played, the leaveson the trees shivered, and the sleeping lilies raised their heads, andthe birds ceased their song to listen and then flew straight to theirmates. And all the beauty of the world grew more beautiful, and allits terror grew yet more grim, and still Pan piped on, and laughed tosee the nymphs and the fauns first dance in joyousness and thentremble in fear, and the buds to blossom, and the stags to bellow intheir lordship of the hills. When he ceased, it was as though atensely-drawn string had broken, and all the earth lay breathless andmute. And Pan turned proudly to the golden-haired god who had listenedas 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 hislimbs, a wreath of laurel crowning his yellow curls, looked down atPan from his godlike height and smiled in silence. For a moment hishand silently played over the golden strings of his lyre, and then hisfinger-tips gently touched them. And every creature there who had asoul, felt that that soul had wings, and the wings sped them straightto Olympus. Far away from all earth-bound creatures they flew, anddwelt in magnificent serenity amongst the Immortals. No longer wasthere strife, or any dispeace. No more was there fierce warringbetween the actual and the unknown. The green fields and thick woodshad faded into nothingness, and their creatures, and the fair nymphsand dryads, and the wild fauns and centaurs longed and fought no more, and man had ceased to desire the impossible. Throbbing nature andpassionately desiring life faded into dust before the melody thatApollo called forth, and when his strings had ceased to quiver andonly the faintly remembered echo of his music remained, it was asthough 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, andof 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 themusic of Apollo ceased. "If only Pan would play again, " he murmured tohimself. "I wish to live, and Pan's music gives me life. I love thewoolly vine-buds and the fragrant pine-leaves, and the scent of theviolets in the spring. The smell of the fresh-ploughed earth is dearto me, the breath of the kine that have grazed in the meadows of wildparsley and of asphodel. I want to drink red wine and to eat and loveand fight and work and be joyous and sad, fierce and strong, and veryweary, and to sleep the dead sleep of men who live only as weakmortals do. "

Therefore he raised his voice, and called very loud: "Pan's music issweeter and truer and greater than the music of Apollo. Pan is thevictor, and I, King Midas, give him the victor's crown!"

With scorn ineffable the sun-god turned upon Midas, his peasant's facetransfigured by his proud decision. For a little he gazed at him insilence, 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 shallMidas 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 ofmerriment that came from Pan. And fauns and nymphs and satyrs echoedthat shout most joyously. 

Willingly would he have hidden in the woods, but there he found nohiding-place. The trees and shrubs and flowering things seemed toshake in cruel mockery. Back to his court he went and sent for thecourt hairdresser, that he might bribe him to devise a covering forthese long, peaked, hairy symbols of his folly. Gladly the hairdresseraccepted many and many oboli, many and many golden gifts, and allPhrygia wondered, while it copied, the strange headdress of the king. 

But although much gold had bought his silence, the court barber wasunquiet of heart. All day and all through the night he was tormentedby his weighty secret. And then, at length, silence was to him atorture too great to be borne; he sought a lonely place, there dug adeep 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 thespot where his secret lay buried, rushes grew up. And when the windsblew through them, the rushes whispered for all those who passed by tohear: "King Midas has ass's ears! King Midas has ass's ears!" Thosewho listen very carefully to what the green rushes in marshy placeswhisper as the wind passes through them, may hear the same thing tothis 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 doits users realise from whence they have borrowed it. 

"These were halcyon days, " says the old man, and his memory wandersback 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 theheavy-hearted woman who wanders along the bleak sea-beach and strainsher weary eyes for the brown sail of the fishing-boat that will nevermore return. 

Over the kingdom of Thessaly, in the days of long ago, there reigned aking whose name was Ceyx, son of Hesperus, the Day Star, and almost asradiant in grace and beauty as was his father. His wife was the fairHalcyone, daughter of Æolus, ruler of the winds, and most perfectlydid this king and queen love one another. Their happiness was unmarreduntil there came a day when Ceyx had to mourn for the loss of abrother. Following close on the heels of this disaster came direfulprodigies which led Ceyx to fear that in some way he must haveincurred the hostility of the gods. To him there was no way in whichto discover wherein lay his fault, and to make atonement for it, butby going to consult the oracle of Apollo at Claros, in Ionia. When hetold Halcyone what he must do, she knew well that she must not try toturn him from his solemn purpose, yet there hung over her heart ablack shadow of fear and of evil foreboding that no loving words ofassurance could drive away. Most piteously she begged him to take herwith him, but the king knew too well the dangers of the treacherousÆgean 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 iffate permits I will return before the moon shall have twice roundedher orb. "

Down by the shore the sailors of King Ceyx awaited his coming, andwhen with passionately tender love he and Halcyone had taken farewellof each other, the rowers sat down on the benches and dipped theirlong oars into the water. 

With rhythmic swing they drove the great ship over the grey sea, whileCeyx stood on deck and gazed back at his wife until his eyes could nolonger distinguish her from the rocks on the shore, nor could she anylonger see the white sails of the ship as it crested the restlesswaves. Heavier still was her heart when she turned away from theshore, and yet more heavy it grew as the day wore on and dark nightdescended. For the air was full of the clamorous wailings of thefierce winds whose joy it is to lash the waves into rage and to strewwith dead men and broken timber the angry, surf-beaten shore. 

"My King, " she sighed to herself. "My King! my Own!" And through theweary hours she prayed to the gods to bring him safely back to her, and many times she offered fragrant incense to Juno, protectress ofwomen, that she might have pity on a woman whose husband and truelover was out in the storm, a plaything for ruthless winds and waves. 

A helpless plaything was the king of Thessaly. Long ere the dimevening light had made of the shore of his own land a faint, greyline, the white-maned horses of Poseidon, king of the seas, began torear their heads, and as night fell, a black curtain, blotting outevery landmark, and all home-like things, the East Wind rushed acrossthe Ægean Sea, smiting the sea-horses into madness, seizing the sailswith cruel grasp and casting them in tatters before it, snapping themast as though it were but a dry reed by the river. Before so mighty atempest no oars could be of any avail, and for a little time only thewinds and waves gambolled like a half-sated wolf-pack over theirhelpless prey. With hungry roar the great weight of black water stovein the deck and swept the sailors out of the ship to choke them in itsicy depths; and ever it would lift the wounded thing high up on itsfoaming white crests, as though to toss it to the dark sky, and everagain would suck it down into the blackness, while the shrieking windsdrove it onward with howling taunts and mocking laughter. While lifestayed in him, Ceyx thought only of Halcyone. He had no fear, onlythe fear of the grief his death must bring to her who loved him as heloved her, his peerless queen, his Halcyone. His prayers to the godswere prayers for her. For himself he asked one thing only--that thewaves might bear his body to her sight, so that her gentle hands mightlay 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 thatwas hidden behind the black pall of the sky knew that his son, a braveking 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 wastossing in half-savage mood. Eagerly she gazed at the place where lastthe white sail had been seen. Was it not possible that Ceyx, havingweathered the gale, might for the present have foregone his voyage toIonia, and was returning to her to bring peace to her heart? But thesea-beach was strewn with wrack and the winds still blew bits oftattered surf along the shore, and for her there was only the heavylabour of waiting, of waiting and of watching for the ship that nevercame. The incense from her altars blew out, in heavy sweetness, tomeet the bitter-sweet tang of the seaweed that was carried in by thetide, for Halcyone prayed on, fearful, yet hoping that her prayersmight still keep safe her man--her king--her lover. She busied herselfin laying out the garments he would wear on his return, and inchoosing the clothes in which she might be fairest in his eyes. Thisrobe, as blue as the sky in spring--silver-bordered, as the sea inkind mood is bordered with a feathery silver fringe. She could recalljust how Ceyx looked when first he saw her wear it. She could hear hisvery tones as he told her that of all queens she was the peeress, ofall women the most beautiful, of all wives the most dear. Almost sheforgot the horrors of the night, so certain did it seem that his dearvoice must soon again tell her the words that have been love's litanysince ever time began. 

In the ears of Juno those petitions for him whose dead body was eventhen being tossed hither and thither by the restless waves, hismurderers, came at last to be more than even she could bear. She gavecommand to her handmaiden Iris to go to the palace of Somnus, god ofSleep 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 invain. 

In a valley among the black Cimmerian mountains the death-god Somnushad his abode. In her rainbow-hued robes, Iris darted through the skyat her mistress's bidding, tingeing, as she sped through them, theclouds that she passed. It was a silent valley that she reached atlast. Here the sun never came, nor was there ever any sound to breakthe silence. From the ground the noiseless grey clouds, whose work itis to hide the sun and moon, rose softly and rolled away up to themountain tops and down to the lowest valleys, to work the will of thegods. All around the cave lurked the long dark shadows that bring fearto the heart of children, and that, at nightfall, hasten the steps ofthe timid wayfarer. No noise was there, but from far down the valleythere came a murmur so faint and so infinitely soothing that it wasless a sound than of a lullaby remembered in dreams. For past thevalley of Sleep flow the waters of Lethe, the river of Forgetfulness. Close up to the door of the cave where dwelt the twin brothers, Sleepand Death, blood-red poppies grew, and at the door itself stoodshadowy forms, their fingers on their lips, enjoining silence on allthose who would enter in, amaranth-crowned, and softly waving sheavesof poppies that bring dreams from which there is no awakening. Therewas there no gate with hinges to creak or bars to clang, and into thestilly darkness Iris walked unhindered. From outer cave to inner caveshe went, and each cave she left behind was less dark than the onethat she entered. In the innermost room of all, on an ebony couchdraped with sable curtains, the god of sleep lay drowsing. Hisgarments were black, strewn with golden stars. A wreath of half-openedpoppies crowned his sleepy head, and he leaned on the strong shoulderof Morpheus, his favourite son. All round his bed hovered pleasantdreams, gently stooping over him to whisper their messages, like afield of wheat swayed by the breeze, or willows that bow their silverheads and murmur to each other the secrets that no one ever knows. Brushing the idle dreams aside, as a ray of sunshine brushes away thegrey wisps of mist that hang to the hillside, Iris walked up to thecouch where Somnus lay. The light from her rainbow-hued robe lit upthe darkness of the cave, yet Somnus lazily only half-opened hiseyes, moved his head so that it rested more easily, and in a sleepyvoice asked of her what might be her errand. "Somnus, " she said, "gentlest of gods, tranquilliser of minds and soother of carewornhearts, Juno sends you her commands that you despatch a dream toHalcyone in the city of Trachine, representing her lost husband andall the events of the wreck. "

Her message delivered, Iris hastened away, for it seemed to her thatalready her eyelids grew heavy, and that there were creeping upon herlimbs, throwing silver dust in her eyes, lulling into peaceful slumberher mind, those sprites born of the blood-red poppies that bring toweary mortals rest and sweet forgetfulness. 

Only rousing himself sufficiently to give his orders, Somnus entrustedto Morpheus the task imposed upon him by Juno, and then, with a yawn, turned over on his downy pillow, and gave himself up to exquisiteslumber. 

When he had winged his way to Trachine, Morpheus took upon himself theform of Ceyx and sought the room where Halcyone slept. She had watchedthe far horizon many hours that day. For many an hour had she vainlyburned incense to the gods. Tired in heart and soul, in body and inmind, she laid herself down on her couch at last, hoping for the giftof sleep. Not long had she slept, in the dead-still sleep thatweariness and a stricken heart bring with them, when Morpheus came andstood by her side. He was only a dream, yet his face was the face ofCeyx. Not the radiant, beautiful son of the Day Star was the Ceyx whostood by her now and gazed on her with piteous, pitying dead eyes. His clothing dripped sea-water; in his hair was tangled the weed ofthe sea, uprooted by the storm. Pale, pale was his face, and his whitehands gripped the stones and sand that had failed him in his dyingagony. 

Halcyone whimpered in her sleep as she looked on him, and Morpheusstooped over her and spoke the words that he had been told to say. 

"I am thy husband, Ceyx, Halcyone. No more do prayers and theblue-curling smoke of incense avail me. Dead am I, slain by the stormand the waves. On my dead, white face the skies look down and therestless sea tosses my chill body that still seeks thee, seeking ahaven in thy dear arms, seeking rest on thy warm, loving heart. "

With a cry Halcyone started up, but Morpheus had fled, and there wereno wet footprints nor drops of sea-water on the floor, marking, as shehad hoped, the way that her lord had taken. Not again did Sleep visither 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 ofhope, was there to greet her. Yet surely she saw something--a blackspeck, like a ship driven on by the long oars of mariners who knewwell the path to home through the watery ways. From far away in thegrey it hasted towards her, and then there came to Halcyone theknowledge that no ship was this thing, but a lifeless body, sweptonwards by the hurrying waves. Nearer and nearer it came, until atlength she could recognise the form of this flotsam and jetsam of thesea. With heart that broke as she uttered the words, she stretchedout her arms and cried aloud: "O Ceyx! my Beloved! is it thus thatthou returnest to me?"

To break the fierce assaults of sea and of storm there had been builtout from the shore a mole, and on to this barrier leapt the distraughtHalcyone. She ran along it, and when the dead, white body of the manshe loved was still out of reach, she prayed her last prayer--awordless prayer of anguish to the gods. 

"Only let me get near him, " she breathed. "Grant only that I nestleclose against his dear breast. Let me show him that, living or dead, Iam his, and he mine forever. "

And to Halcyone a great miracle was then vouchsafed, for from out ofher snowy shoulders grew snow-white pinions, and with them she skimmedover the waves until she reached the rigid body of Ceyx, drifting, ahelpless burden for the conquering waves, in with the swift-flowingtide. As she flew, she uttered cries of love and of longing, but onlystrange raucous cries came from the throat that had once only mademusic. And when she reached the body of Ceyx and would fain havekissed his marble lips, Halcyone found that no longer were her ownlips like the petals of a fair red rose warmed by the sun. For thegods had heard her prayer, and her horny beak seemed to the watcherson the shore to be fiercely tearing at the face of him who had beenking of Thessaly. 

[Illustration: A GREY COLD MORNING FOUND HER ON THE SEASHORE]

Yet the gods were not merciless--or, perhaps, the love of Halcyone wasan all-conquering love. For as the soul of Halcyone had passed intothe body of a white-winged sea-bird, so also passed the soul of herhusband the king. And for evermore Halcyone and her mate, known as theHalcyon 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 beforethe shortest day of the year, and for seven days after it, thereshould reign over the sea a great calm in which Halcyone, in herfloating nest, should hatch her young. And to those days of calm andsunshine, the name of the Halcyon Days was given. 

And still, as a storm approaches, the white-winged birds come flyinginland with shrill cries of warning to the mariners whose ships theypass in their flight. 

"Ceyx!" they cry. "Remember Ceyx!"

And hastily the fishermen fill their sails, and the smacks drivehomeward to the haven where the blue smoke curls upwards from thechimneys of their homesteads, and where the red poppies are noddingsleepily 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 aluscious harvest. Their busy humming sounds like the surf on a reefheard from very far away, and would almost lull to sleep those wholazily, drowsily spend the sunny summer afternoon in the shadow of thetrees. That line of bee-hives by the sweet-pea hedge shows where theystore their treasure that men may rob them of it, but out on theuplands where the heather is purple, the wild bees hum in and out ofthe honey-laden bells and carry home their spoils to their own freefastnesses, from which none can drive them unless there comes a forayagainst them from the brown men of the moors. 

How many of us who watch their ardent labours know the story ofAristæus--he who first brought the art of bee-keeping to perfection inhis own dear land of Greece, and whose followers are those men inveils of blue and green, that motley throng who beat fire-irons andcreate a hideous clamour in order that the queen bee and her excitedfollowers may be checked in their perilous voyagings and beguiled toswarm in the sanctuary of a hive. 

Aristæus was a shepherd, the son of Cyrene, a water nymph, and to himthere had come one day, as he listened to the wild bees hummingamongst the wild thyme, the great thought that he might conquer thesebusy workers and make their toil his gain. He knew that hollow treesor 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 thatthey would covet, and near them placed all the food that they mostdesired. Soon Aristæus became noted as a tamer of bees, and even inOlympus 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 thefateful day when he saw the beautiful Eurydice and to her lost hisheart. She fled before the fiery protestations of his love, and trodupon the serpent whose bite brought her down to the Shades. The godswere angry with Aristæus, and as punishment they slew his bees. Hishives stood empty and silent, and no more did "the murmuring ofinnumerable bees" drowse the ears of the herds who watched theirflocks cropping the red clover and the asphodel of the meadows. 

Underneath the swift-flowing water of a deep river, the nymph who wasthe mother of Aristæus sat on her throne. Fishes darted round herwhite feet, and beside her sat her attendants, spinning the finestrong green cords that twine themselves round the throats of thosewho perish when their arms can no longer fight against the force ofthe 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 ofthe creatures of water, but above her song those who listened heard aman's voice, calling loudly and pitifully. 

The voice was that of Aristæus, calling aloud for his mother. Then hismother gave command, and the waters of the river rolled asunder andlet Aristæus pass down far below to where the fountains of the greatrivers lie. A mighty roar of many waters dinned in his ears as therivers started on the race that was to bring them all at last to theirrestless haven, the Ocean. To Cyrene he came at length, and to hertold his sorrowful tale:

"To men who live their little lives and work and die as Imyself--though son of a nymph and of a god--must do, " he said, "I havebrought two great gifts, oh my mother. I have taught them that fromthe grey olives they can reap a priceless harvest, and from me theyhave learned that the little brown bees that hum in and out of theflowers may be made slaves that bring to them the sweetest riches ofwhich Nature may be robbed. "

"This do I already know, my son, " said Cyrene, and smiled uponAristæus. 

"Yet dost thou not know, " said Aristæus, "the doom that has overtakenmy army of busy workers. No longer does there come from my city ofbees the boom of many wings and many busy little feet as they fly, swift and strong, hither and thither, to bring back to the hivestheir 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 ishe who herds the flocks of the boundless sea. On days when the SouthWind and the North Wind wrestle together, and when the Wind from theEast smites the West Wind in shame before him, thou mayst see himraise his snowy head and long white beard above the grey-green wavesof the sea, and lash the white-maned, unbridled, fierce sea-horsesinto fury before him. Proteus only--none but Proteus--can tell thee bywhat art thou canst win thy bees back once more. "

Then Aristæus with eagerness questioned his mother how he might findProteus and gain from him the knowledge that he sought, and Cyreneanswered: "No matter how piteously thou dost entreat him, never, saveby force, wilt thou gain his secret from Proteus. Only if thou canstchain him by guile as he sleeps and hold fast the chains, undaunted bythe shapes into which he has the power to change himself, wilt thouwin 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 newlife seemed to run. 

"Lead me now to Proteus, oh my mother!" he said, and Cyrene left herthrone and led him to the cave where Proteus, herdsman of the seas, had his dwelling. Behind the seaweed-covered rocks Aristæus concealedhimself, while the nymph used the fleecy clouds for her covering. Andwhen Apollo drove his chariot across the high heavens at noon, and allland and all sea were hot as molten gold, Proteus with his flocksreturned to the shade of his great cave by the sobbing sea, and on itssandy floor he stretched himself, and soon lay, his limbs all lax andrestful, in the exquisite joy of a dreamless sleep. From behind therocks Aristæus watched him, and when, at length, he saw that Proteusslept too soundly to wake gently he stepped forward, and on thesleep-drowsed limbs of Proteus fixed the fetters that made him hiscaptive. Then, in joy and pride at having been the undoing of theshepherd of the seas, Aristæus shouted aloud. And Proteus, awaking, swiftly turned himself into a wild boar with white tusks that lustedto thrust themselves into the thighs of Aristæus. But Aristæus, unflinching, kept his firm hold of the chain. Next did he become atiger, tawny and velvet black, and fierce to devour. And stillAristæus held the chain, and never let his eye fall before the glareof the beast that sought to devour him. A scaly dragon came next, breathing out flames, and yet Aristæus held him. Then came a lion, itsyellow pelt scented with the lust of killing, and while Aristæus yetstrove against him there came to terrify his listening ears the soundof fire that lapped up and thirstily devoured all things that wouldstand against it. And ere the crackle of the flames and their greatsigh of fierce desire had ceased, there came in his ears the sound ofmany waters, the booming rush of an angry river in furious flood, theirresistible command of the almighty waves of the sea. Yet stillAristæus held the chains, and at last Proteus took his own shapeagain, and with a sigh like the sigh of winds and waves on thedesolate places where ships become wrecks, and men perish and there isnever 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 bythy foolish wooing send the beautiful Eurydice swiftly down to theShades and break the heart of Orpheus, whose music is the music of theImmortals, the bees that thou hast treasured have left their hivesempty and silent. So little are the bees! so great, O Aristæus, thebliss or woe of Orpheus and Eurydice! Yet, because by guile thou hastwon the power to gain from me the knowledge that thou dost seek, hearken to me now, Aristæus! Four bulls must thou find--four cows ofequal beauty. Then must thou build in a leafy grove four altars, andto Orpheus and Eurydice pay such funeral honours as may allay theirresentment. At the end of nine days, when thou hast fulfilled thypious task, return and see what the gods have sent thee. "

"This will I do most faithfully, O Proteus, " said Aristæus, andgravely loosened the chains and returned to where his mother awaitedhim, and thence travelled to his own sunny land of Greece. 

Most faithfully, as he had said, did Aristæus perform his vow. Andwhen, on the ninth day, he returned to the grove of sacrifice, a soundgreeted him which made his heart stop and then go on beating andthrobbing as the heart of a man who has striven valiantly in a greatfight and to whom the battle is assured. 

For, from the carcase of one of the animals offered for sacrifice, andwhose clean white bones now gleamed in the rays of the sun that forcedits way through the thick shade of the grove of grey olives, therecame the "murmuring of innumerable bees. "

"Out of the eater came forth meat, out of the strong came forthsweetness. "

And Aristæus, a Samson of the old Greek days, rejoiced exceedingly, knowing that his thoughtless sin was pardoned, and that for evermoreto him belonged the pride of giving to all men the power of tamingbees, the glory of mastering the little brown creatures that pillagefrom 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 thesun is warming the bare brown earth, and the pale primroses look upthrough the snowy blackthorns at a kind, blue sky, almost can we hearthe soft wind murmur a name as it gently sways the daffodils andbreathes through the honey sweetness of the gold-powdered catkins onthe grey willows by the river--"Persephone! Persephone!"

Now once there was a time when there was no spring, neither summer norautumn, nor chilly winter with its black frosts and cruel gales andbrief, dark days. Always was there sunshine and warmth, ever werethere flowers and corn and fruit, and nowhere did the flowers growwith more dazzling colours and more fragrant perfume than in the fairgarden of Sicily. 

To Demeter, the Earth Mother, was born a daughter more fair than anyflower that grew, and ever more dear to her became her child, thelovely Proserpine. By the blue sea, in the Sicilian meadows, Proserpine and the fair nymphs who were her companions spent theirhappy days. Too short were the days for all their joy, and Demetermade the earth yet fairer than it was that she might bring moregladness to her daughter Proserpine. Each day the blossoms that thenymphs twined into garlands grew more perfect in form and in hue, butfrom the anemones of royal purple and crimson, and the riotous red ofgeraniums, Proserpine turned one morning with a cry of gladness, forthere stood before her beside a little stream, on one erect, slimstem, a wonderful narcissus, with a hundred blossoms. Her eager handwas stretched out to pluck it, when a sudden black cloud overshadowedthe land, and the nymphs, with shrieks of fear, fled swiftly away. Andas the cloud descended, there was heard a terrible sound, as of therushing of many waters or the roll of the heavy wheels of the chariotof one who comes to slay. Then was the earth cleft open, and from itthere arose the four coal-black horses of Pluto, neighing aloud intheir eagerness, while the dark-browed god urged them on, standingerect 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 willnot be denied, and Proserpine wept childish tears as she shivered athis icy touch, and sobbed because she had dropped the flowers she hadpicked, and had never picked the flower she most desired. While stillshe saw the fair light of day, the little oddly-shaped rocky hills, the vineyards and olive groves and flowery meadows of Sicily, she didnot lose hope. Surely the King of Terrors could not steal one soyoung, 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 mustsurely 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 andthe half-opened flower and lays them in swathes on the meadow, Plutodrove on. His iron-coloured reins were loose on the black manes of hishorses, and he urged them forward by name till the froth flew fromtheir mouths like the foam that the furious surf of the sea drivesbefore it in a storm. Across the bay and along the bank of the riverAnapus they galloped, until, at the river head, they came to the poolof Cyane. He smote the water with his trident, and downward into theblackness of darkness his horses passed, and Proserpine knew no morethe 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 ofblood from many a mortal mother's heart for a child borne off to theShades. 

 "'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 asmothers love and Death is still unchained. 

Over land and sea, from where Dawn, the rosy-fingered, rises in theEast, to where Apollo cools the fiery wheels of his chariot in thewaters of far western seas, the goddess sought her daughter. With ablack 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 moreweary days and nine sleepless nights the goddess, racked by humansorrow, sat in hopeless misery. The hot sun beat upon her by day. Bynight the silver rays from Diana's car smote her more gently, and thedew drenched her hair and her black garments and mingled with thesaltness of her bitter tears. At the grey dawning of the tenth day herelder daughter, Hecate, stood beside her. Queen of ghosts and shadeswas 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 godwho stole away the little Proserpine. Soon his chariot will driveacross the heavens. Come, let us ask him to guide us to the placewhere she is hidden. "

Thus did they come to the chariot of the glorious Apollo, and standingby the heads of his horses like two grey clouds that bar the passageof the sun, they begged him to tell them the name of him who hadstolen fair Proserpine. 

"No less a thief was he, " said Apollo, "than Pluto, King of Darknessand robber of Life itself. Mourn not, Demeter. Thy daughter is safe inhis keeping. The little nymph who played in the meadows is now Queenof the Shades. Nor does Pluto love her vainly. She is now in love withDeath. "

No comfort did the words of the Sun God bring to the longing soul ofDemeter. And her wounded heart grew bitter. Because she suffered, others must suffer as well. Because she mourned, all the world mustmourn. The fragrant flowers spoke to her only of Persephone, thepurple grapes reminded her of a vintage when the white fingers of herchild had plucked the fruit. The waving golden grain told her thatPersephone 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, inpity 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 sheheld most dear. 

"Give me back my child!" she said. "Gladly I watch the sufferings ofmen, for no sorrow is as my sorrow. Give me back my child, and theearth 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 earthforever. Yet only on one condition do I grant thy fond request. Persephone must eat no food through all the time of her sojourn in therealm of Pluto, else must thy beseeching be all in vain. "

Then did Demeter gladly leave Olympus and hasten down to the darknessof the shadowy land that once again she might hold, in her strongmother's arms, her who had once been her little clinging child. 

But in the dark kingdom of Pluto a strange thing had happened. Nolonger had the pale-faced god, with dark locks, and eyes like thesunless pools of a mountain stream, any terrors for Proserpine. He wasstrong, and cruel had she thought him, yet now she knew that the touchof his strong, cold hands was a touch of infinite tenderness. When, knowing the fiat of the ruler of Olympus, Pluto gave to his stolenbride a pomegranate, red in heart as the heart of a man, she had takenit from his hand, and, because he willed it, had eaten of the sweetseeds. 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 asunbeam, and ever moaned low as an earthly river moans before a comingflood, and the feet that trod the gloomy Cocytus valley were the feetof those who never again would tread on the soft grass and flowers ofan earthly meadow. Yet when Demeter had braved all the shadows ofHades, only in part was her end accomplished. In part only wasProserpine now her child, for while half her heart was in thesunshine, rejoicing in the beauties of earth, the other half was withthe god who had taken her down to the Land of Darkness and there hadwon her for his own. Back to the flowery island of Sicily her motherbrought her, and the peach trees and the almonds blossomed snowily asshe passed. The olives decked themselves with their soft grey leaves, the corn sprang up, green and lush and strong. The lemon and orangegroves grew golden with luscious fruit, and all the land was carpetedwith flowers. For six months of the year she stayed, and gods and menrejoiced at the bringing back of Proserpine. For six months she lefther green and pleasant land for the dark kingdom of him whom sheloved, and through those months the trees were bare, and the earthchill and brown, and under the earth the flowers hid themselves infear and awaited the return of the fair daughter of Demeter. 

And evermore has she come and gone, and seedtime and harvest havenever failed, and the cold, sleeping world has awaked and rejoiced, and heralded with the song of birds, and the bursting of green budsand the blooming of flowers, the resurrection from the dead--thecoming 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 beheard coming up from the marshes, and when they are unseen, the songof the bull-frogs would suggest creatures full of solemn dignity. Thecroak of their lesser brethren is less impressive, yet there is noescape from it on those evenings when the dragon-flies' iridescentwings are folded in sleep, and the birds in the branches are still, when the lilies on the pond have closed their golden hearts, and eventhe late-feeding trout have ceased to plop and to make eddies in thequiet water. "Krroak! krroak! krroak!" they go--"krroak! krroak!krroak!"

It is unceasing, unending. It goes on like the whirr of the wheels ofa great clock that can never run down--a melancholy complaint againstthe hardships of destiny--a raucous protest against things as theyare. 

This is the story of the frogs that have helped to point the gibes ofAristophanes, the morals of Æsop, and which have always been, more orless, regarded as the low comedians of the animal world. 

Latona, or Leto, was the goddess of dark nights, and upon her themighty Zeus bestowed the doubtful favour of his errant love. Great wasthe wrath of Hera, his queen, when she found that she was no longerthe dearest wife of her omnipotent lord, and with furious upbraidingsshe banished her rival to earth. And when Latona had reached the placeof her exile she found that the vengeful goddess had sworn that shewould place her everlasting ban upon anyone, mortal or immortal, whodared to show any kindness or pity to her whose only fault had beenthat Zeus loved her. From place to place she wandered, an outcast evenamong men, until, at length, she came to Lycia. 

One evening, as the darkness of which she was goddess had just begunto fall, she reached a green and pleasant valley. The soft, cool grasswas a delight to her tired feet, and when she saw the silvery gleam ofwater she rejoiced, for her throat was parched and her lips dry andshe was very weary. By the side of this still pond, where the liliesfloated, there grew lithe grey willows and fresh green osiers, andthese were being cut by a crowd of chattering rustics. 

Humbly, for many a rude word and harsh rebuff had the dictum of Herabrought her during her wanderings, Latona went to the edge of thepond, and, kneeling down, was most thankfully about to drink, when thepeasants espied her. Roughly and rudely they told her to begone, nordare to drink unbidden of the clear water beside which their willowsgrew. Very pitifully Latona looked up in their churlish faces, and hereyes were as the eyes of a doe that the hunters have pressed veryhard. 

"Surely, good people, " she said, and her voice was sad and low, "wateris free to all. Very far have I travelled, and I am aweary almost todeath. Only grant that I dip my lips in the water for one deepdraught. Of thy pity grant me this boon, for I perish of thirst. "

Harsh and coarse were the mocking voices that made answer. Coarserstill were the jests that they made. Then one, bolder than hisfellows, spurned her kneeling figure with his foot, while anotherbrushed before her and stepping into the pond, defiled its clarity bychurning up the mud that lay below with his great splay feet. 

Loudly the peasants laughed at this merry jest, and they quicklyfollowed his lead, as brainless sheep will follow the one thatscrambles through a gap. Soon they were all joyously stamping anddancing in what had so lately been a pellucid pool. The water-liliesand blue forget-me-nots were trodden down, the fish that had theirhomes under the mossy stones in terror fled away. Only the mud cameup, filthy, defiling, and the rustics laughed in loud and foolishlaughter to see the havoc they had wrought. 

The goddess Latona rose from her knees. No longer did she seem a merewoman, very weary, hungry and athirst, travelled over far. In theirsurprised eyes she grew to a stature that was as that of the deathlessgods. And her eyes were dark as an angry sea at even. 

"Shameless ones!" she said, in a voice as the voice of a storm thatsweeps destroyingly over forest and mountain. "Ah! shameless ones! Isit thus that thou wouldst defy one who has dwelt on Olympus? Beholdfrom henceforth shalt thou have thy dwelling in the mud of thegreen-scummed pools, thy homes in the water that thy flat feet havedefiled. "

As she spoke, a change, strange and terrible, passed over the forms ofthe trampling peasants. Their stature shrank. They grew squat and fat. Their hands and feet were webbed, and their grinning mouths becamegreat, sad, gaping openings by which to swallow worms and flies. Greenand yellow and brown were their skins, and when they would fain havecried 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 inthe 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 themarshes. 

From that time the world went well with Latona. Down to the seashoreshe came, and when she held out her arms in longing appeal to theÆgean islands that lay like purple flowers strewn, far apart, on asoft carpet of limpid blue, Zeus heard her prayer. He asked Poseidonto send a dolphin to carry the woman he loved to the floating islandof Delos, and when she had been borne there in safety, he chained theisland 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--thegod 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 thefrogs--green-bronze, dark brown spotted, and all flecked with gold, the turned-down corners of their wistful mouths, their very exquisiteblack velvety eyes with golden rims--when the piteous croaks that comeforth from their throats of pale daffodil colour do indeed awake asympathy 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 herunawares in the din of a noisy city. She will answer us where thewaves are lashing themselves against the rugged cliffs of our ownBritish coast, or we may find her where the great yellow pillars offallen temples lie hot in the sun close to the vivid blue water of theAfrican sea. At nightfall, on the lonely northern moors, she mimicsthe cry of a wailing bird that calls for its mate, but it is she whoprolongs the roll of the great organ in a vast cathedral, she whorepeats the rattle and crack and boom of the guns, no matter in whatland the war may be raging. In the desolate Australian bush she makesthe crash of the falling limb of a dead gum tree go on and on, andtortures the human being who is lost, hopelessly lost, and facing acruel death, by repeating his despairing calls for help. Through thenight, in old country-houses, she sports at will and gives new life tosad old tales of the restless dead who restlessly walk. But she echoesthe children's voices as they play by the seashore or pick primrosesin the woods in spring, and when they greet her with laughter, shelaughs in merry response. They may fear her when the sun has gonedown, and when they are left all alone they begin to dread hermockery. Yet the nymph who sought for love and failed to gain whatshe sought must surely find some comfort on those bright days ofsummer and of spring when she gives the little children happiness andthey give her their love. 

When all the world was young, and nymphs and fauns and dryads dwelt inthe forests, there was no nymph more lovely and more gay than shewhose name was Echo. Diana would smile on her for her fleetness offoot when she followed her in the chase, and those whom she met in theleafy pathways of the dim, green woods, would pass on smiling at theremembrance of her merry chatter and her tricksy humour. 

It was an evil day for Echo when she crossed the path of Hera, queenof the gods. The jealous goddess sought her errant husband, who wasamusing himself with some nymphs, and Echo, full of mischievous glee, kept her in talk until the nymphs had fled to safety. Hera was furiousindeed when she found out that a frolicsome nymph had dared to play onher such a trick, and ruthlessly she spoke fair Echo's doom. 

"Henceforth, " she said, "the tongue with which thou hast cheated meshall be in bonds. No longer wilt thou have the power to speak ingreeting. To the tongues of others shall thy tongue be slave, and fromthis day until time shall cease thou shalt speak only to repeat thelast words that have fallen on thine ears. "

A maimed nymph indeed was Echo then, yet whole in all that mattersmost, in that her merry heart was still her own. But only for a littlewhile did this endure. 

Narcissus, the beautiful son of a nymph and a river god, was huntingin a lonely forest one day when Echo saw him pass. To her he seemedmore fair than god or man, and once she had seen him she knew that shemust gain his love or die. From that day on, she haunted him like hisshadow, gliding from tree to tree, nestling down amongst thick fernand undergrowth, motionless as one who stalks a wild thing, watchinghim afar off while he rested, gladdening her eyes with his beauty. Sodid she feed her hungering heart, and sought to find contentment bylooking on his face each day. 

To her at length came a perfect moment when Narcissus was separatedfrom his companions in the chase and, stopping suddenly where theevening 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, withfast-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 seemedturned into song when Echo said them over. 

"_Let us join one another!_" she said, and not Eos herself, as withrosy fingers she turns aside the dark clouds of night, could be fairerthan was the nymph as she pushed aside the leaves of the tracklesswood, and ran forward with white arms outstretched to him who was lordof 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 hadno love to give her, and his scorn filled her with shame. Thenceforthin the forest revels she never more was seen, and the nymphs dancedgaily as ever, with never a care for her who had faded and gone awayas completely as though she were a blossom in the passing of spring. In the solitude of mountain cliffs and caves and rocky places, and inthe loneliest depths of the forest, Echo hid her grief, and when thewinds blew through the dark branches of the trees at night, moaningand sighing, they could hear far below them the voice of Echorepeating their lamentations. For her, long nights followed hopelessdays, 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 thenymph, white and frail as a broken flower, crouching close to therocks they passed over. Grief had slain the body of Echo. Only hervoice was left to repeat their mocking laughter, their wistfulsighs--only her voice that lives on still though all the old gods aregone, and but few there are who know her story. 

Heartwhole and happy, Narcissus, slayer of happiness, went on hisway, and other nymphs besides fair Echo suffered from loving him invain. One nymph, less gentle than Echo, poured the tale of her lovethat was scorned into the sympathetic ears of the goddess of Love, andimplored her to punish Narcissus. 

Hot and tired from the chase, Narcissus sought one day a lonely poolin 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 crystalclear water, and a pair of beautiful eyes met his own. His surpriseand joy at the sight of what he felt sure must be the most beautifulcreature on earth, was evidently shared by the nymph of the pool, whogazed fearlessly up at him. 

Round her head she had a nimbus of curls than which that ofAdonis--nay, of the sun-god himself, was not more perfect, while hereyes were like the brown pools of water in a rippling mountain stream, flecked with sunshine, yet with depths untold. When Narcissus smiledat her in rapture, her red lips also parted in a smile. He stretchedout his arms towards her, and her arms were stretched to him. Almosttrembling in his delight, he slowly stooped to kiss her. Nearer shedrew to him, nearer still, but when his mouth would have given itselfto that other mouth that was formed like the bow of Eros--a thing toslay hearts--only the chilly water of the pool touched his lips, andthe thing of his delight vanished away. In passionate disappointmentNarcissus waited for her to return, and as soon as the water of thepool grew still, once more he saw her exquisite face gazing wistfullyup into his. Passionately he pled with the beautiful creature--spokeof his love--besought her to have pity on him, but although the facein the pool reflected his every look of adoration and of longing, timeand again he vainly tried to clasp in his arms what was but themirrored likeness of himself. 

In full measure had the avenging goddess meted out to Narcissus therestless longing of unsatisfied love. By day and by night he hauntedthe forest pool, and ere long the face that looked back at his waspale as a lily in the dawn. When the moonbeams came straying downthrough the branches and all the night was still, they found himkneeling by the pool, and the white face that the water mirrored hadthe eyes of one of the things of the woods to which a huntsman hasgiven a mortal wound. Mortally wounded he truly was, slain, like manyanother since his day, by a hopeless love for what was in truth but animage, and that an image of his own creation. Even when his shadepassed across the dark Stygian river, it stooped over the side of theboat that it might try to catch a glimpse of the beloved one in theinky waters. 

Echo and the other nymphs were avenged, yet when they looked on thebeautiful dead Narcissus, they were filled with sorrow, and when theyfilled the air with their lamentations, most piteously did the voiceof Echo repeat each mournful cry. Even the gods were pitiful, and whenthe nymphs would have burned the body on a funeral pyre which theirown fair hands had built for him, they sought it in vain. For theOlympians had turned Narcissus into a white flower, the flower thatstill 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. Inthose fourteen years how many a father's and mother's heart has bledfor the death of gallant sons, greatly-promising, greatly-daring, whohave sought to rule the skies? With wings not well enough tried, theyhave soared dauntlessly aloft, only to add more names to the tragiclist of those whose lives have been sacrificed in order that thegroping hands of science may become sure, so that in time the sons ofmen may sail through the heavens as fearlessly as their fathers sailedthrough the seas. 

High overhead we watch the monoplane, the great, swooping thing, likea monster black-winged bird, and our minds travel back to the story ofIcarus, who died so many years ago that there are those who say thathis story is but a foolish fable, an idle myth. 

Dædalus, grandson of a king of Athens, was the greatest artificer ofhis day. Not only as an architect was he great, but as a sculptor hehad the creative power, not only to make men and women and animalsthat looked alive, but to cause them to move and to be, to allappearances, endowed with life. To him the artificers who followed himowed the invention of the axe, the wedge, the wimble, and thecarpenter's level, and his restless mind was ever busy with newinventions. To his nephew, Talus, or Perdrix, he taught all that hehimself knew of all the mechanical arts. Soon it seemed that thenephew, though he might not excel his uncle, equalled Dædalus in hisinventive power. As he walked by the seashore, the lad picked up thespine of a fish, and, having pondered its possibilities, he took ithome, imitated it in iron, and so invented the saw. A still greaterinvention followed this. While those who had always thought that therecould 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, anda pair of compasses was made. Louder still were the acclamations ofthe people. Surely greater than Dædalus was here. Too much was thisfor 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 crueldeath, but Pallas Athené, protectress of all clever craftsmen, came tohis rescue. By her Perdrix was turned into the bird that still bearshis name, and Dædalus beheld Perdrix, the partridge, rapidly winginghis way to the far-off fields. Since then, no partridge has ever builtor roosted in a high place, but has nestled in the hedge-roots andamongst the standing corn, and as we mark it we can see that itsflight is always low. 

For his crime Dædalus was banished from Athens, and in the court ofMinos, king of Crete, he found a refuge. He put all his mighty powersat the service of Minos, and for him designed an intricate labyrinthwhich, like the river Meander, had neither beginning nor ending, butever returned on itself in hopeless intricacy. Soon he stood high inthe favour of the king, but, ever greedy for power, he incurred, byone of his daring inventions, the wrath of Minos. The angry monarchthrew him into prison, and imprisoned along with him his son, Icarus. But prison bars and locks did not exist that were strong enough tobaffle this master craftsman, and from the tower in which they wereshut, Dædalus and his son were not long in making their escape. Toescape from Crete was a less easy matter. There were many places inthat wild island where it was easy for the father and son to hide, butthe subjects of Minos were mostly mariners, and Dædalus knew well thatall 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 speedaway to safety like a sea-bird driven before the gale. Then did therecome to Dædalus, the pioneer of inventions, the great idea that by hisskill he might make a way for himself and his son through anotherelement than water. And he laughed aloud in his hiding place amongstthe cypresses on the hillside at the thought of how he would bafflethe simple sailormen who watched each creek and beach down on theshore. Mockingly, too, did he think of King Minos, who had dared topit his power against the wits and skill of Dædalus, the mightycraftsman. 

Many a Cretan bird was sacrificed before the task which the inventorhad set himself was accomplished. In a shady forest on the mountainshe fashioned light wooden frames and decked them with feathers, untilat length they looked like the pinions of a great eagle, or of a swanthat flaps its majestic way from lake to river. Each feather was boundon with wax, and the mechanism of the wings was so perfect areproduction of that of the wings from which the feathers had beenplucked, that on the first day that he fastened them to his back andspread them out, Dædalus found that he could fly even as the birdflew. Two pairs he made; having tested one pair, a second pair wasmade for Icarus, and, circling round him like a mother bird thatteaches her nestlings how to fly, Dædalus, his heart big with thepride of invention, showed Icarus how he might best soar upwards tothe sun or dive down to the blue sea far below, and how he mightconquer the winds and the air currents of the sky and make them hisservants. 

That was a joyous day for father and son, for the father had neverbefore drunk deeper of the intoxicating wine of the gods--Success--andfor the lad it was all pure joy. Never before had he known freedom andpower so utterly glorious. As a little child he had watched the birdsfly far away over the blue hills to where the sun was setting, and hadlonged 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 hadrisen from the cumbering earth and soared high above the trees andfields on strong pinions that bore him away to the fair land ofheart's desire--to the Islands of the Blessed. But when Sleep lefthim and the dreams silently slipped out before the coming of the lightof day, and the boy sprang from his couch and eagerly spread his armsas, in his dreams, he had done, he could no longer fly. Disappointmentand unsatisfied longing ever came with his waking hours. Now all thathad come to an end, and Dædalus was glad and proud as well to watchhis son's joy and his fearless daring. One word of counsel only did hegive him. 

"Beware, dear son of my heart, " he said, "lest in thy new-found powerthou seekest to soar even to the gates of Olympus. For as surely asthe scorching rays from the burnished wheels of the chariot of Apollosmite thy wings, the wax that binds on thy feathers will melt, andthen will come upon thee and on me woe unutterable. "

In his dreams that night Icarus flew, and when he awoke, fearing tofind only the haunting remembrance of a dream, he found his fatherstanding by the side of his bed of soft leaves under the shadowycypresses, ready to bind on his willing shoulders the great pinionsthat he had made. 

Gentle Dawn, the rosy-fingered, was slowly making her way up from theEast when Dædalus and Icarus began their flight. Slowly they went atfirst, and the goat-herds who tended their flocks on the slopes ofMount Ida looked up in fear when they saw the dark shadows of theirwings and marked the monster birds making their way out to sea. Fromthe river beds the waterfowl arose from the reeds, and with greatoutcry flew with all their swiftness to escape them. And down by theseashore 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 ofPoseidon, 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 themighty wings of Icarus cleft the cold air, the boy's slim body grewchilled, and he longed for the sun's rays to turn the waters of theÆgean Sea over which he flew from green-grey into limpid sapphire andemerald and burning gold. Towards Sicily he and his father bent theircourse, and when they saw the beautiful island afar off lying like agem in the sea, Apollo made the waves in which it lay, for it afitting setting. With a cry of joy Icarus marked the sun's rays paintthe chill water, and Apollo looked down at the great white-wingedbird, a snowy swan with the face and form of a beautiful boy, who spedexulting 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 ofIcarus as with the caressing touch of gentle, life-giving hands. Notlong before, his flight had lagged a little, but now it seemed as ifnew life was his. Like a bird that wheels and soars and dives as iffor lightness of heart, so did Icarus, until each feather of hisplumage had a sheen of silver and of gold. Down, down, he darted, sonear the water that almost the white-tipped waves caught at his wingsas he skimmed over them. Then up, up, up he soared, ever higher, higher still, and when he saw the radiant sun-god smiling down onhim, the warning of Dædalus was forgotten. As he had excelled otherlads in foot races, now did Icarus wish to excel the birds themselves. Dædalus he left far behind, and still upwards he mounted. So strong hefelt, so fearless was he, that to him it seemed that he could stormOlympus, that he could call to Apollo as he swept past him in hisflight, and dare him to race for a wager from the Ægean Sea to wherethe sun-god's horses took their nightly rest by the trackless seas ofthe unknown West. 

In terror his father watched him, and as he called to him in a voiceof anguished warning that was drowned by the whistling rush of the aircurrents through the wings of Icarus and the moist whisper of theclouds as through them he cleft a way for himself, there befell thedreaded thing. It seemed as though the strong wings had begun to losetheir power. Like a wounded bird Icarus fluttered, lunged sidewisefrom the straight, clean line of his flight, recovered himself, andfluttered again. And then, like the bird into whose soft breast thesure hand of a mighty archer has driven an arrow, downwards he fell, turning over and yet turning again, downwards, ever downwards, untilhe fell with a plunge into the sea that still was radiant in shiningemerald and translucent blue. 

Then did the car of Apollo drive on. His rays had slain one who wastoo greatly daring, and now they fondled the little white feathersthat had fallen from the broken wings and floated on the water likethe petals of a torn flower. 

On the dead, still face of Icarus they shone, and they spangled as ifwith diamonds the wet plumage that still, widespread, bore him up onthe waves. 

Stricken at heart was Dædalus, but there was no time to lament hisson's untimely end, for even now the black-prowed ships of Minos mightbe in pursuit. Onward he flew to safety, and in Sicily built a templeto Apollo, and there hung up his wings as a propitiatory offering tothe god who had slain his son. 

And when grey night came down on that part of the sea that bears thename of Icarus to this day, still there floated the body of the boywhose dreams had come true. For only a little while had he known theexquisite realisation of dreamed-of potentialities, for only a fewhours tasted the sweetness of perfect pleasure, and then, by anover-daring flight, had lost it all for ever. 

The sorrowing Nereids sang a dirge over him as he was swayed gentlyhither and thither by the tide, and when the silver stars came outfrom the dark firmament of heaven and were reflected in the blacknessof the sea at night, it was as though a velvet pall, silver-decked inhis honour, was spread around the slim white body with itsoutstretched snowy wings. 

So much had he dared--so little accomplished. 

Is it not the oft-told tale of those who have followed Icarus? Yet whocan say that gallant youth has lived in vain when, as Icarus did, hehas breasted the very skies, has flown with fearless heart and soul tothe provinces of the deathless gods?--when, even for the space of afew of the heart-beats of Time, he has tasted supreme power--theecstasy of illimitable happiness?

CLYTIE

The sunbeams are basking on the high walls of the old garden--smilingon the fruit that grows red and golden in their warmth. The bees arehumming round the bed of purple heliotrope, and drowsily murmuring inthe shelter of the soft petals of the blush roses whose sweetnessbrings back the fragrance of days that are gone. On the old greysundial the white-winged pigeons sleepily croon as they preen theirsnowy plumage, and the Madonna lilies hang their heads like aprocession of white-robed nuns who dare not look up from telling theirbeads until the triumphal procession of an all-conquering warrior hasgone by. What can they think of that long line of tall yellow flowersby the garden wall, who turn their faces sunwards with an arrogantassurance, and give stare for stare to golden-haired Apollo as hedrives his blazing car triumphant through the high heavens?

"Sunflowers" is the name by which we know those flamboyant blossomswhich somehow fail so wholly to suggest the story of Clytie, the nymphwhose destruction came from a faithful, unrequited love. She was awater-nymph, a timid, gentle being who frequented lonely streams, andbathed where the blue dragon-flies dart across the white water-liliesin pellucid lakes. In the shade of the tall poplar trees and thesilvery willows she took her midday rest, and feared the hours whenthe flowers drooped their heads and the rippling water lost itscoolness before the fierce glare of the sun. 

But there came a day when, into the dark pool by which she sat, Apollothe Conqueror looked down and mirrored his face. And nevermore did shehide from the golden-haired god who, from the moment when she had seenin the water the picture of his radiant beauty, became the lord andmaster of her heart and soul. All night she awaited his coming, andthe Dawn saw her looking eastward for the first golden gleams from thewheels 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 thelast reflection of his radiance had faded from the western sky. 

Such devotion might have touched the heart of the sun-god, but he hadno wish to own a love for which he had not sought. The nymph'sadoration irked him, nor did pity come as Love's pale substitute whenhe marked how, day by day, her face grew whiter and more white, andher lovely form wasted away. For nine days, without food or drink, shekept her shamed vigil. Only one word of love did she crave. Unexactingin the humility of her devotion, she would gratefully have nourishedher hungry heart upon one kindly glance. But Apollo, full of scorn andanger, lashed up his fiery steeds as he each day drove past her, nordeigned for her a glance more gentle than that which he threw on thesatyrs as they hid in the dense green foliage of the shadowy woods. 

Half-mocking, Diana said, "In truth the fair nymph who throws herheart's treasures at the feet of my golden-locked brother that he maytrample on them, is coming to look like a faded flower!" And, as shespoke, the hearts of the other immortal dwellers in Olympus werestirred 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 thequickening of spring. The long summer days shall she spend forever infearless worship of the god of her love!"

And, as they willed, the nymph passed out of her human form, and tookthe form of a flower, and evermore--the emblem of constancy--does shegaze 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 hermetamorphosis take place, but into that purple heliotrope that givesan exquisite offering of fragrance to the sun-god when his warm raystouch it. And in the old walled garden, while the bees drowsily hum, and the white pigeons croon, and the dashing sunflower gives Apollogaze for gaze, and the scent of the mignonette mingles with that ofclove pinks and blush roses, the fragrance of the heliotrope is, aboveall, worthy incense to be offered upon his altar by the devout loverof 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 onfoot through the country where the wild flowers grew thick and thetrees were laden with blossom towards the city of Corinth. His tunefulvoice sang snatches of song of his own making, and ever and again hewould try how his words and music sounded on his lyre. He was light ofheart, because ever had he thought of good, and not evil, and hadalways sung only of great and noble deeds and of those things thathelped his fellow-men. And now he went to Corinth for the greatchariot-races, and for the great contest of musicians where every truepoet 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 criesof some other returned exiles. Ibycus smiled, as he looked up andbeheld the great flock of grey birds, with their long legs and strong, outstretched wings, come back from their winter sojourn on the goldensands of Egypt, to dance and beck and bow to each other by the marshesof his homeland. 

"Welcome back, little brothers!" he cried. "May you and I both meetwith naught but kindness from the people of this land!"

And when the cranes again harshly cried, as if in answer to hisgreeting, the poet walked gaily on, further into the shadow of thatdark wood out of which he was never to pass as living man. Joyous, andfearing no evil, he had been struck and cast to the ground by crueland murderous hands ere ever he knew that two robbers were hidden in anarrow pass where the brushwood grew thick. With all his strength hefought, 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 criedin vain to gods and to men for help, and in his final agony he heardonce more the harsh voices of the migratory birds and the rush oftheir speeding wings. From the ground, where he bled to death, helooked up to them. 

"Take up my cause, dear cranes!" he said, "since no voice but yoursanswers my cry!"

And the cranes screamed hoarsely and mournfully as if in farewell, asthey flapped their way towards Corinth and left the poet lying dead. 

When his body was found, robbed and terribly wounded, from all overGreece, where he was known and loved, there uprose a great clamour oflamentation. 

"Is it thus I find you restored to me?" said he who had expected himin Corinth as his honoured guest; "I who hoped to place the victor'slaurels on your head when you triumphed in the temple of song!"

And all those whom the loving personality of Ibycus and the charm ofhis music had made his friends were alert and eager to avenge so foula 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 atCyprus and watched a play that stirred their hearts within them. 

The theatre had for roof the blue vault of heaven; the sun served forfootlights and for the lights above the heads of those who acted. Thethree Furies--the Eumenides--with their hard and cruel faces and snakylocks, and with blood dripping from their eyes, were represented byactors so great that the hearts of their beholders trembled withinthem. In their dread hands lay the punishment of murder, ofinhospitality, of ingratitude, and of all the cruellest and basest ofcrimes. Theirs was the duty of hurrying the doomed spirits entrustedto their merciless care over the Phlegethon, the river of fire thatflows 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 andlistened enthralled, the Furies walked round the theatre and sangtheir song of terror:

"Woe! woe! to him whose hands are soiled with blood! The darknessshall not hide him, nor shall his dread secret lie hidden even in thebowels of the earth! He shall not seek by flight to escape us, forvengeance is ours, and swifter than a hawk that strikes its quarryshall we strike. Unwearying we pursue, nor are our swift feet and ouravenging arms made slow by pity. Woe! woe! to the shedder of innocentblood, for nor peace nor rest is his until we have hurried histormented soul down to torture that shall endure everlastingly!"

As the listeners heard the dirge of doom, there were none who did notthink of Ibycus, the gentle-hearted poet, so much beloved and sofoully done to death, and in the tensity of the moment when the voicesceased, a great thrill passed over the multitudes as a voice, shrillwith 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 overheadthe flock of cranes to whom the poet had entrusted his dying message. Then, like an electric shock, there came to all those who beheld theknowledge 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 wastoo late. The roar of the multitudes was as that of an angry sea thathungers for its prey and will not be denied. He who had spoken and himto whom he spoke were seized by a score of eager hands. 

In white-faced terror, because the Furies had hunted them down, theymade confession of their crime and were put to death. And the flock ofgrey-plumaged, rosy-headed cranes winged their way on to the marshes, there to beck and bow to each other, and to dance in the goldensunset, 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 stealsthrough the trees, touching with restless fingers the still waters ofthe little lochans that would fain have rest, there can be heard along, long whisper, like a sigh. There is no softer, sadder note to beheard in all Pan's great orchestra, nor can one marvel that it shouldbe so, for the whisper comes from the reeds who gently sway theirheads while the wind passes over them as they grow by lonely lake orriver. 

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 wasthat for her dear sake fauns and satyrs forgot to gambol, and sat inthe green woods in thoughtful stillness, that they might see her asshe passed. But for none of them had Syrinx a word of kindness. Shehad 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. Sheworshipped Diana, and with her followed the chase. As she lightly spedthrough the forest she might have been Diana herself, and there werethose who said they would not know nymph from goddess, but that thegoddess 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 thoselove-lorn nymphs who sighed their hearts out for love of a god or of aman. Heartwhole, fancy free, gay and happy and lithe and strong, as ayoung boy whose joy it is to run and to excel in the chase, wasSyrinx, whose white arms against the greenwood trees dazzled the eyesof the watching fauns when she drew back her bow to speed an arrow atthe stag she had hunted since early dawn. Each morning that she awokewas 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 remembranceof a perfect day. 

But to Syrinx, who knew no fear, Fear came at last. She was returningone evening from the shadowy hills, untired by the chase that hadlasted for many an hour, when, face to face, she met with one whomhitherto she had only seen from afar. Of him the other nymphs spokeoften. Who was so great as Pan?--Pan, who ruled the woods. None couldstand against Pan. Those who defied him must ever come under his powerin the end. He was Fear; he was Youth; he was Joy; he was Love; he wasBeast; he was Power; he was Man; he was God. He was Life itself. Sodid they talk, and Syrinx listened with a smile. Not Pan himself couldbring Fear to her. 

Yet when he met her in the silent loneliness of a great forest andstood in her path and gazed on her with eyes of joyous amazement thatone so fair should be in his kingdom without his having had knowledgeof it, Syrinx felt something come to her heart that never before hadassailed it. 

Pan's head was crowned with sharp pine-leaves. His face was young andbeautiful, and yet older than the mountains and the seas. Sadness andjoy were in his eyes at the same time, and at the same moment therelooked out from them unutterable tenderness and merciless cruelty. Foronly a little space of time did he stand and hold her eyes with hisown, and then in low caressing voice he spoke, and his words were likethe song of a bird to his mate, like the call of the earth to the sunin spring, like the lap of the waves when they tell the rocks of theireternal longing. Of love he spoke, of love that demanded love, and ofthe nymph's most perfect beauty. Yet as he spoke, the unknown thingcame and smote with icy hands the heart of Syrinx. 

"Ah! I have Fear! I have Fear!" she cried, and more cruel grew thecruelty in the eyes of Pan, but his words were still the words ofpassionate tenderness. Like a bird that trembles, helpless, before theserpent that would slay it, so did Syrinx the huntress stand, and herface 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 redlips, Fear leapt to Terror, and Terror winged her feet. Never in thechase with Diana had she run as now she ran. But like a rushing stormdid Pan pursue her, and when he laughed she knew that what the nymphshad said was true--he was Power--he was Fear--he was Beast--he wasLife itself. The darkness of the forest swiftly grew more dark. Theclimbing trails of ivy and the fragrant creeping plants caught herflying feet and made her stumble. Branches and twigs grew alive andsnatched 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 amurmur of mocking laughter, laughter from the creatures of Pan, echoing the merciless merriment of their lord and master. Nearer hecame, ever nearer. Almost she could feel his breath on her neck; buteven as he stretched out his arms to seize the nymph whose breath camewith sobs like that of a young doe spent by the chase, they reachedthe brink of the river Ladon. And to her "watery sisters" the nymphsof the river, Syrinx breathed a desperate prayer for pity and forhelp, then stumbled forward, a quarry run to the death. 

With an exultant shout, Pan grasped her as she fell. And lo, in hisarms he held no exquisite body with fiercely beating heart, but aclump of slender reeds. Baffled he stood for a little space, and, ashe stood, the savagery of the beast faded from his eyes that werefathomless as dark mountain tarns where the sun-rays seldom come, andthere came into them a man's unutterable woe. At the reeds by theriver he gazed, and sighed a great sigh, the sigh that comes from theheart of a god who thinks of the pain of the world. Like a gentlezephyr the sigh breathed through the reeds, and from the reeds therecame a sound as of the sobbing sorrow of the world's desire. Then Pandrew his sharp knife, and with it he cut seven of the reeds that grewby the murmuring river. 

"Thus shalt thou still be mine, my Syrinx, " he said. 

Deftly he bound them together, cut them into unequal lengths, andfashioned for himself an instrument, that to this day is called theSyrinx, or Pan's Pipes. 

So did the god make music. 

And all that night he sat by the swift-flowing river, and the musicfrom his pipe of reeds was so sweet and yet so passing sad, that itseemed as though the very heart of the earth itself were telling ofits 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 tremblingshadows fall on the water, we can hear her mournful whisper throughthe swaying reeds, brown and silvery-golden, that grow by lonelylochan 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 forall the greatest powers of sculptor's and painter's art, is Venus, orAphrodite, goddess of beauty and of love. And he who shares with heran 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, byaccident she wounded herself with one of his arrows. And straightwaythere came into her heart a strange longing and an ache such as themortal victims of the bow of Eros knew well. While still the acheremained, she heard, in a forest of Cyprus, the baying of hounds andthe shouts of those who urged them on in the chase. For her the chasepossessed no charms, and she stood aside while the quarry burstthrough the branches and thick undergrowth of the wood, and the houndsfollowed in hot pursuit. But she drew her breath sharply, and her eyesopened wide in amazed gladness, when she looked on the perfect beautyof the fleet-footed hunter, who was only a little less swift than theshining spear that sped from his hand with the sureness of a bolt fromthe hand of Zeus. And she knew that this must be none other thanAdonis, son of the king of Paphos, of whose matchless beauty she hadheard not only the dwellers on earth, but the Olympians themselvesspeak in wonder. While gods and men were ready to pay homage to hismarvellous loveliness, to Adonis himself it counted for nothing. Butin the vigour of his perfect frame he rejoiced; in his fleetness offoot, in the power of that arm that Michael Angelo has modelled, inthe quickness and sureness of his aim, for the boy was a mighty hunterwith a passion for the chase. 

Aphrodite felt that her heart was no longer her own, and knew that thewound that the arrow of Eros had dealt would never heal until she knewthat Adonis loved her. No longer was she to be found by the Cytherianshores or in those places once held by her most dear, and the othergods smiled when they beheld her vying with Diana in the chase andfollowing Adonis as he pursued the roe, the wolf, and the wild boarthrough the dark forest and up the mountain side. The pride of thegoddess of love must often have hung its head. For her love was athing that Adonis could not understand. He held her "Something betterthan his dog, a little dearer than his horse, " and wondered at herwhim to follow his hounds through brake and marsh and lonely forest. His reckless courage was her pride and her torture. Because he was toher so infinitely dear, his path seemed ever bestrewn with dangers. But when she spoke to him with anxious warning and begged him tobeware of the fierce beasts that might one day turn on him and bringhim 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 herbeauty, that he had word of a wild boar, larger, older, more fiercethan any he had ever slain, and which, before the chariot of Diananext passed over the land of Cyprus, would be lying dead with aspear-wound through it. 

With terrible foreboding, Aphrodite tried to dissuade him from hisventure. 

 "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 becomehim to slink abashed away before the fierceness of an old monster ofthe woods, and, laughing in the pride of a whole-hearted boy at awoman's idle fears, he sped homewards with his hounds. 

With the gnawing dread of a mortal woman in her soul, Aphrodite spentthe next hours. Early she sought the forest that she might again pleadwith Adonis, and maybe persuade him, for love of her, to give up theperilous chase because she loved him so. 

But even as the rosy gates of the Dawn were opening, Adonis had begunhis hunt, and from afar off the goddess could hear the baying of hishounds. Yet surely their clamour was not that of hounds in full cry, nor was it the triumphant noise that they so fiercely make as theypull down their vanquished quarry, but rather was it baying, mournfulas that of the hounds of Hecate. Swift as a great bird, Aphroditereached 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 inmortal agony, lay Adonis. As he lay, he "knew the strange, slow chillwhich, stealing, tells the young that it is death. "

And as, _in extremis_, he thought of past things, manhood came toAdonis and he knew something of the meaning of the love ofAphrodite--a love stronger than life, than time, than death itself. His hounds and his spear seemed but playthings now. Only theeternities remained--bright Life, and black-robed Death. 

Very still he lay, as though he slept; marble-white, and beautiful asa statue wrought by the hand of a god. But from the cruel wound in thewhite thigh, ripped open by the boar's profaning tusk, the red blooddripped, in rhythmic flow, crimsoning the green moss under him. With amoan of unutterable anguish, Aphrodite threw herself beside him, andpillowed his dear head in her tender arms. Then, for a little while, life's embers flickered up, his cold lips tried to form themselvesinto 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, andwhen there was no answer to her prayers, she cried in bitterness: "Yetshall I keep a memorial of Adonis that shall be to all everlasting!"And, as she spoke, her tears and his blood, mingling together, wereturned into flowers. 

"A tear the Paphian sheds for each blood-drop of Adonis, and tears andblood on the earth are turned to flowers. The blood brings forth theroses, the tears, the wind-flower. "

Yet, even then, the grief of Aphrodite knew no abatement. And whenZeus, wearied with her crying, heard her, to his amazement, beg to beallowed to go down to the Shades that she might there endure eternaltwilight with the one of her heart, his soul was softened. 

"Never can it be that the Queen of Love and of Beauty leaves Olympusand the pleasant earth to tread for evermore the dark Cocytus valley, "he said. "Nay, rather shall I permit the beauteous youth of thy loveto return for half of each year from the Underworld that thou and hemay 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 flowershave thrown off their white snow pall, and the brown earth growsradiant in its adornments of green blade and of fragrant blossom, weknow that Adonis has returned from his exile, and trace his footprintsby the fragile flower that is his very own, the white flower with thegolden heart, that trembles in the wind as once the white hands of agrief-stricken goddess shook for sorrow. 

"The flower of Death" is the name that the Chinese give to thewind-flower--the wood-anemone. Yet surely the flower that was born oftears and of blood tells us of a life that is beyond the grave--of alove 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 thatSpring, with its _Sursum Corda_, will return as long as the earthshall endure; even as the sun must rise each day so long as time shalllast, 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 thatwas once the religion of Greece, and treat it as a vast play in whichthere were many thousands of actors, we should find that one of theseactors appeared again and again. In one scene, then in another, inconnection with one character, then with another, unexpectedlyslipping out from the shadows of the trees from the first act even tothe last, we should see Pan--so young and yet so old, so heedlesslygay, yet so infinitely sad. 

If, rather, we were to regard the mythology of Greece as a colossaland wonderful piece of music, where the thunders of Jupiter and theharsh hoof-beats of the fierce black steeds of Pluto, the king whosecoming none can stay, made way for the limpid melodies of Orpheus andthe rustling whisper of the footfall of nymphs and of fauns on theleaves, through it all we should have an ever-recurring _motif_--theclear, magical fluting of the pipes of Pan. 

We have the stories of Pan and of Echo, of Pan and of Midas, of Panand 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 spokewhat he deemed to be comfort to the distraught Psyche; Pan who gaveDiana her hounds. The other gods had their own special parts in thegreat play that at one time would have Olympus for stage, at anotherthe earth. Pan was Nature incarnate. He was the Earth itself. 

Many are the stories of his genealogy, but the one that is given inone of the Homeric hymns is that Hermes, the swift-footed young god, wedded Dryope, the beautiful daughter of a shepherd in Arcadia, andto them was born, under the greenwood tree, the infant, Pan. WhenDryope first looked on her child, she was smitten with horror, andfled away from him. The deserted baby roared lustily, and when hisfather, Hermes, examined him he found a rosy-cheeked thing with prickears and tiny horns that grew amongst his thick curls, and with thedappled furry chest of a faun, while instead of dimpled baby legs hehad 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 beenborn 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 ownmother, cry; all others rejoiced at the new creature that had come toincrease their merriment. And Bacchus, who loved him most of all, andfelt that here was a babe after his own heart, bestowed on him thename 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. Hewas king of huntsmen and of fishermen, lord of flocks and herds and ofall the wild creatures of the forest. All living, soulless thingsowned him their master; even the wild bees claimed him as theiroverlord. He was ever merry, and when a riot of music and of laughterslew the stillness of the shadowy woods, it was Pan who led thedancing throng of white-limbed nymphs and gambolling satyrs, for whomhe 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 ofsharp pine-leaves, remembrance of another fair nymph whose destructionhe had brought about. 

Pitys listened to the music of Pan, and followed him even as thechildren followed the Pied Piper of later story. And ever his playinglured her further on and into more dangerous and desolate places, until at length she stood on the edge of a high cliff whose pitilessfront rushed sheer down to cruel rocks far below. There Pan's musicceased, and Pitys knew all the joy and the sorrow of the world as thegod held out his arms to embrace her. But neither Pan nor Pitys hadremembrance of Boreas, the merciless north wind, whose love the nymphhad flouted. 

Ere Pan could touch her, a blast, fierce and strong as death, hadseized the nymph's fragile body, and as a wind of March tears from thetree the first white blossom that has dared to brave the ruthlessgales, and casts it, torn and dying, to the earth, so did Boreas gripthe slender Pitys and dash her life out on the rocks far down below. From her body sprang the pine tree, slender, erect, clinging for dearlife to the sides of precipices, and by the prickly wreath he alwayswore, Pan showed that he held her in fond remembrance. 

Joy, and youth, and force, and spring, was Pan to all the creatureswhose 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 andthe golden daffodils; the throbbing of growth in the woodland and inthe meadows; the trilling of birds that seek for their mates and findthem; the coo of the doves on their nests of young; the arrogantvirility of bulls and of stags whose lowing and belling wake thesilence of the hills; the lightness of heart that made the nymphsdance and sing, the fauns leap high, and shout aloud for very joy ofliving. 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 manytimes became a terror because of its sheer irresistibleness. 

While the sun shone and the herdsmen could see the nodding whitecotton-grass, the asphodel, and the golden kingcups that hid the blackdeath-traps of the pitiless marshes, they had no fear of Pan. Nor inthe daytime, when in the woods the sunbeams played amongst the treesand the birds sang of Spring and of love, and the syrinx sent an echofrom far away that made the little silver birches give a whisperinglaugh of gladness and the pines cease to sigh, did man or maid haveany fear. Yet when darkness fell on the land, terror would come withit, and, deep in their hearts, they would know that the terror wasPan. Blindly, madly, they would flee from something that they couldnot see, something they could barely hear, and many times rush totheir own destruction. And there would be no sweet sound of musicthen, only mocking laughter. _Panic_ was the name given to thisfear--the name by which it still is known. And, to this day, panicyet 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 toown it, in highland glens, in the loneliness of an island in thewestern sea, in a green valley amongst the "solemn, kindly, round-backed hills" of the Scottish Border, in the remoteness of theAustralian bush. They have no reasons to give--or their reasons arefar-fetched. Only, to them as to Mowgli, _Fear_ came, and the fearseemed to them to come from a malignant something from which they mustmake all haste to flee, did they value safety of mind and of body. Wasit for this reason that the Roman legionaries on the Great Wall sooften reared altars in that lonely land of moor and mountain where somany of them fought and died--

 "_To Pan, and to the Sylvan deities_"?

For surely Pan was there, where the curlew cried and the pewitmourned, and sometimes the waiting soldiers must almost have imaginedhis mocking laughter borne in the winds that swept across the bleakhills of their exiled solitude. 

He who was surely one of the bravest of mankind, one who always, inhis own words, "clung to his paddle, " writes of such a fear when heescaped death by drowning from the Oise in flood. 

"The devouring element in the universe had leaped out against me, inthis green valley quickened by a running stream. The bells were allvery pretty in their way, but I had heard some of the hollow notes ofPan's music. Would the wicked river drag me down by the heels, indeed? and look so beautiful all the time? Nature's good humour wasonly 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 latergenerations 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 theworld. "

"_The Beauty and the terror of the world_"--was not this what Panstood for to the Greeks of long ago?

The gladness of living, the terror of living--the exquisite joy andthe infinite pain--that has been the possession of Pan--for we havenot yet found a more fitting title--since ever time began. And becausePan is as he is, from him has evolved a higher Pantheism. We have doneaway with his goat's feet and his horns, although these were handed onfrom 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 Natureis not the ugly thing that the Calvinists would once have had usbelieve 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 thegreatest 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 hewho lives very close to Nature must, at least once in a lifetime, come, in the solitude of the lonely mountain tops, upon that bush thatburns and is not yet consumed, and out of the midst of which speaksthe voice of the Eternal. 

The immortal soul--the human body--united, yet ever in conflict--thatis Pan. The sighing and longing for things that must endureeverlastingly--the riotous enjoyment of the beauty of life--theperfect appreciation of the things that are. Life is so real, sostrong, so full of joyousness and of beauty, --and on the other side ofa dark stream, cold, menacing, cruel, stands Death. Yet Life and Deathmake up the sum of existence, and until we, who live our paltry littlelives here on earth in the hope of a Beyond, can realise what is thetrue air that is played on those pipes of Pan, there is no hope for usof even a vague comprehension of the illimitable Immortality. 

It is a very old tale that tells us of the passing of Pan. In thereign of Tiberius, on that day when, on the hill of Calvary, atJerusalem in Syria, Jesus Christ died as a malefactor, on thecross--"And it was about the sixth hour, and there was a darkness allover the earth"--Thamus, an Egyptian pilot, was guiding a ship nearthe 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 hadbeen told. Then, from all the earth there arose a sound of greatlamentation, and the sea and the trees, the hills, and all thecreatures of Pan sighed in sobbing unison an echo of the pilot'swords--"_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. Yetuntil Nature has ceased to be, the thing we call Pan must remain aliving entity. Some there be who call his music, when he makes allhumanity dance to his piping, "_Joie de vivre_, " and De Musset speaksof "_Le vin de la jeunesse_" which ferments "_dans les veines deDieu_. " It is Pan who inspires Seumas, the old islander, of whom FionaMacleod writes, and who, looking towards the sea at sunrise, says, "Every morning like this I take my hat off to the beauty of theworld. "

Half of the flesh and half of the spirit is Pan. There are some whohave never come into contact with him, who know him only as the emblemof Paganism, a cruel thing, more beast than man, trampling, withgoat's feet, on the gentlest flowers of spring. They know not themeaning of "the Green Fire of Life, " nor have they ever known Pan'smoods of tender sadness. Never to them has come in the forest, wherethe great grey trunks of the beeches rise from a carpet of primrosesand blue hyacinths, and the slender silver beeches are the guardianangels of the starry wood-anemones, and the sunbeams slant through theoak and beech leaves of tender green and play on the dead amber leavesof a year that is gone, the whisper of little feet that cannot beseen, the piercing sweet music from very far away, that fills theheart 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, mythand legend hand down to us as cruel and malignant creatures, whoceaselessly seek to slay man's body and to destroy his soul, thehalf-human children of the restless sea and of the fiercely runningstreams. 

In Scotland and in Australia, in every part of Europe, we have talesof horrible formless things which frequent lonely rivers and lochs andmarshes, and to meet which must mean Death. And equal in malignitywith them, and infinitely more dangerous, are the beautiful beings whowould seem to claim descent from Lilith, the soulless wife of Adam. 

Such were the sirens who would have compassed the destruction ofOdysseus. Such are the mermaids, to wed with one of whom must bringunutterable woe upon any of the sons of men. In lonely far-off placesby the sea there still are tales of exquisite melodies heard in thegloaming, or at night when the moon makes a silver pathway across thewater; still are there stories of women whose home is in the depths ofthe ocean, and who come to charm away men's souls by their beauty andby their pitiful longing for human love. 

Those who have looked on the yellow-green waters of the Seine, or whohave seen the more turbid, more powerful Thames sweeping her serious, majestic way down towards the open ocean, at Westminster, or at LondonBridge, can perhaps realise something of that inwardness of thingsthat made the people of the past, and that makes the mentallyuncontrolled people of the present, feel a fateful power calling uponthem to listen to the insistence of the exacting waters, and tosurrender their lives and their souls forever to a thing that calledand which would brook no denial. In the Morgue, or in a mortuary bythe river-side, their poor bodies have lain when the rivers haveworked their will with them, and "Suicide, " "Death by drowning, " or"By Misadventure" have been the verdicts given. We live in a toopractical, too utterly common-sensical age to conceive a poor womanwith nothing on earth left to live for, being lured down to the Shadesby a creature of the water, or a man who longs for death seeing abeautiful daughter of a river-god beckoning to him to come where hewill find peace everlasting. 

Yet ever we war with the sea. All of us know her seductive charm, butall of us fear her. The boundary line between our fear of the fierce, remorseless, ever-seeking, cruel waves that lap up life swiftly as athirsty beast laps water, and the old belief in cruel sea-creaturesthat sought constantly for the human things that were to be theirprey, 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 thatthe hands of men have made and that was intended to rule and to resisther, foaming and frothing over the decks of the thing that carrieshuman lives, we can understand much of the old pagan belief. If onehas watched a river in spate, red as with blood, rushing triumphantlyover all resistance, smashing down the trees that baulk it, sweepingaway each poor, helpless thing, brute or human, that it encounters, dealing out ruin and death, and proceeding superbly on to carry itstrophies of disaster to the bosom of the Ocean Mother, very easy is itto see from whence came those old tales of cruelty, of irresistiblestrength, of desire. 

Many are the tales of sea-maidens who have stolen men's lives fromthem and sent their bodies to move up and down amidst the wrack, likebroken toys with which a child has grown tired of playing and castaway in weariness. In an eighth-century chronicle concerning St. Fechin, we read of evil powers whose rage is "seen in that watery furyand their hellish hate and turbulence in the beating of the seaagainst the rocks. " "The bitter gifts of our lord Poseidon" is thename given to them by one of the earliest poets of Greece[7] and apoet of our own time--poet of the sea, of running water, and of lonelyplaces--quotes from the saying of a fisherman of the isle of Ulvawords that show why simple minds have so many times materialised therestless, devouring element into the form of a woman who is verybeautiful, but whose tender mercies are very cruel. "She is like awoman of the old tales whose beauty is dreadful, " said Seumas, theislander, "and who breaks your heart at last whether she smiles orfrowns. But she doesn't care about that, or whether you are hurt ornot. It's because she has no heart, being all a wild water. "[8]

Treacherous, beautiful, remorseless, that is how men regard the seaand the rushing rivers, of whom the sirens and mermaids of oldtradition have come to stand as symbols. Treacherous and pitiless, yetwith a fascination that can draw even the moon and the stars to herbreast:

 "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 hasimmortalised her in song, is the river maiden of the Rhine--theLorelei. 

Near St. Goar, there rises out of the waters of the Rhine aperpendicular rock, some four hundred feet high. Many a boatman inbygone days there met his death, and the echo which it possesses isstill a mournful one. Those who know the great river, under which lieshid the treasure of the Nibelungs, with its "gleaming towns by theriver-side and the green vineyards combed along the hills, " and whohave felt the romance of the rugged crags, crowned by ruined castles, that stand like fantastic and very ancient sentries to guard itschannel, can well understand how easy of belief was the legend of theLorelei. 

Down the green waters came the boatman's frail craft, ever drawingnearer to the perilous rock. All his care and all his skill wererequired to avert a very visible danger. But high above him, from therock round which the swirling eddies splashed and foamed, there came avoice. 

 "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, hebeheld a maiden more fair than any he had ever dreamed of. On the rockshe sat, combing her long golden hair with a comb of red gold. Herlimbs were white as foam and her eyes green like the emerald green ofthe rushing river. And her red lips smiled on him and her arms wereheld out to him in welcome, and the sound of her song thrilled throughthe heart of him who listened, and her eyes drew his soul to her arms. 

Forgotten was all peril. The rushing stream seized the little boatand did with it as it willed. And while the boatman still gazedupwards, intoxicated by her matchless beauty and the magic of hervoice, his boat was swept against the rock, and, with the jar andcrash, 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 athousand icy hands, and, with a choking sigh, surrendered his life tothe pitiless river. 

To one man only was it granted to see the siren so near that he couldhold her little, cold, white hands, and feel the wondrous golden hairsweep across his eyes. This was a young fisherman, who met her by theriver and listened to the entrancing songs that she sang for himalone. Each evening she would tell him where to cast his nets on themorrow, and he prospered greatly and was a marvel to all others whofished in the waters of the Rhine. But there came an evening when hewas seen joyously hastening down the river bank in response to thevoice of the Lorelei, that surely never had sounded so honey-sweetbefore, and he came back nevermore. They said that the Lorelei haddragged him down to her coral caves that he might live with her thereforever, and, if it were not so, the rushing water could never whisperher secret and theirs, of a lifeless plaything that they sweptseawards, and that wore a look of horror and of great wonder in itsdead, 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 ofCirce to Odysseus:

"To the Sirens first shalt thou come, who bewitch all men, whosoevershall come to them. Whoso draws nigh them unwittingly and hears thesound of the Siren's voice, never doth he see wife or babes stand byhim on his return, nor have they joy at his coming; but the Sirensenchant him with their clear song. "

And until there shall be no more sea and the rivers have ceased torun, the enchantment that comes from the call of the water to thehearts of men must go on. Day by day the toll of lives is paid, andstill the cruel daughters of the deep remain unsatisfied. We can heartheir hungry whimper from the rushing river through the night, and thewaves of the sea that thunders along the coast would seem to voice theinsistence 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 isa 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 setsforth the special qualities of the children born on each day of theweek, and to the superstitious who regard Friday as a day of evilomen, it seems strange that Friday's bairn should be so blessed. Butthey forget that before Christianity swept paganism before it, andtaught those who worshipped the northern gods the story of that firstblack "Good Friday, " the tragedy in which all humanity was involved, Friday was the day of Freya, "The Beloved, " gentle protectress, andmost generous giver of all joys, delights, and pleasures. From her, inmediæval times, the high-born women who acted as dispensers to theirlords first took the title _Frouwa_ (=Frau), and when, in itstransition stage, the old heathenism had evolved into a religion ofstrong nature worship, overshadowed by fatalism, only thinly veneeredby Christianity, the minds of the Christian converts of Scandinavia, like those of puzzled children, transferred to the Virgin Mary theattributes that had formerly been those of their "Lady"--Freya, thegoddess 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 thebeautiful little insect, that he finds on a leaf, "Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, " is commemorating the name of the Lady, Freya, to whomhis ancestors offered their prayers. 

In her home in the Hall of Mists, Freya (or Frigga), wife of Odin theAll Father, sat with her golden distaff spinning the clouds. Orion'sBelt was known as "Frigga's spindle" by the Norsemen, and the men onthe earth, as they watched the great cumulous masses of snowy-white, golden or silver edged, the fleecy cloudlets of grey, soft as thefeathers on the breast of a dove, or the angry banks of black andpurple, portending a storm, had constant proof of the diligence oftheir 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, loverswhom Death had parted, and to her belonged the glorious task of goingdown to the fields of battle where the slain lay strewn like leaves inautumn and leading to Valhalla the half of the warriors who, asheroes, 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 aprofound 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 ofsilence--the silence of the lonely marshes where the heron stands inmutest contemplation--a tall, very stately, very queenly, whollybeautiful woman, with a bunch of keys at her girdle--symbol of herprotection of the Northern housewife--sometimes clad in snow-whiterobes, sometimes in robes of sombre black. And because her care wasfor the anxious, weary housewife, for the mother and her new-bornbabe, for the storm-tossed mariner, fighting the billows of a hungrysea, for those whose true and pure love had suffered the crucifixionof death, and for the glorious dead on the field of battle, it is veryeasy to see Freya as her worshippers saw her--an ideal of perfectwomanhood. 

But the gods of the Norsemen were never wholly gods. Always they, likethe gods of Greece, endeared themselves to humanity by possessing somelittle, or big, human weakness. And Freya is none the less lovable tothe descendants of her worshippers because she possessed the so-called"feminine weakness" of love of dress. Jewels, too, she loved, andknowing the wondrous skill of the dwarfs in fashioning exquisiteornaments, she broke off a piece of gold from the statue of Odin, herhusband, and gave it to them to make into a necklace--the marvellousjewelled necklace Brisingamen, that in time to come was possessed byBeowulf. It was so exquisite a thing that it made her beauty twicemore perfect, and Odin loved her doubly much because of it. But whenhe discovered that his statue had been tampered with, his wrath wasvery great, and furiously he summoned the dwarfs--they who dealtalways with fine metal--and demanded of them which of them had donehim this grievous wrong. But the dwarfs loved Freya, and from them hegot no answer. 

Then he placed the statue above the temple gate, and laboured withguile to devise runes that might give it the power of speech, so thatit might shout aloud the name of the impious robber as the robber wentby. Freya, no longer an omnipotent goddess, but a frightened wife, trembled before his wrath, and begged the dwarfs to help her. And whenone of them--the most hideous of all--promised that he would preventthe 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 whoseheart was full of love and of pity, smiled her gentle smile on thepiteous little creature who had never known looks of anything buthorror and disgust from any of the deathless gods. It was for him awondrous moment, and the payment was worth Death itself. That night adeep 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 Asgardin furious wrath. For seven months he stayed away, and in that timethe Ice Giants invaded his realm, and all the land was covered with apall of snow, viciously pinched by black frosts, chilled by clinging, deadening, impenetrable mists. But at the end of seven dreary monthsOdin returned, and with him came the blessings of light and ofsunshine, and the Ice Giants in terror fled away. 

Well was it for woman or for warrior to gain the favour of Freya, theBeloved, who knew how to rule even Odin, the All Father, himself. TheWinilers who were warring with the Vandals once sought her aid, andgained her promise of help. From Hlidskialf, the mighty watch-tower, highest point in Asgard, from whence Odin and his queen could lookdown and behold what was happening all the world over, amongst godsand men, dwarfs, elves, and giants, and all creatures of theirkingdom, Freya watched the Vandals and the Winilers making ready forthe battle which was to decide forever which people should rule theother. 

Night was descending, but in the evening light the two gods beheld theglitter of spears, the gleam of brass helmets and of swords, and heardfrom afar the hoarse shouts of the warriors as they made ready for thegreat fight on the morrow. Knowing well that her lord favoured theVandals, Freya asked him to tell her which army was to gain thevictory. "The army upon which my eyes shall first rest when I awake atthe dawning, " said Odin, full well knowing that his couch was soplaced that he could not fail to see the Vandals when he woke. Wellpleased with his own astuteness, he then retired to rest, and soonsleep lay heavy on his eyelids. But, while he slept, Freya gentlymoved the couch upon which he lay, so that he must open his eyes noton 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, andlet 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 greysky and sea, Odin awoke, and gazed from his watch-tower at the army onthe beach. And, with great amazement, "What Longbeards are those?" hecried. 

"They are Winilers!" said Freya, in joyous triumph, "but you havegiven them a new name. Now must you also give them a gift! Let it bethe victory, I pray you, dear lord of mine. "

And Odin, seeing himself outwitted and knowing that honour bade himfollow the Northern custom and give the people he had named a gift, bestowed on the Longbeards and their men the victory that Freyacraved. Nor was the gift of Odin one for that day alone, for to himthe _Langobarden_ attributed the many victories that led them at lastto find a home in the sunny land of Italy, where beautiful Lombardystill commemorates by its name the stratagem of Freya, the queen. 

With the coming of Christianity, Freya, the Beloved, was cast outalong with all the other old forgotten gods. The people who had lovedand worshipped her were taught that she was an evil thing and that toworship her was sin. Thus she was banished to the lonely peaks of themountains of Norway and of Sweden and to the Brocken in Germany, nolonger a goddess to be loved, but transformed into a malignant power, full of horror and of wickedness. On Walpurgis Night she led thewitches' revels on the Brocken, and the cats who were said to draw hercar while still she was regarded as a beneficent protectress of theweak and needy, ceased to be the gentle creatures of Freya the Good, and came under the ban of religion as the satanic companions ofwitches by habit and repute. 

One gentle thing only was her memory allowed to keep. When, not as anomnipotent goddess but as a heart-broken mother, she wept the death ofher dearly-loved son, Baldur the Beautiful, the tears that she shedwere turned, as they fell, into pure gold that is found in the beds oflonely mountain streams. And we who claim descent from the peoples whoworshipped her--

 "Saxon and Norman and Dane are we"--

can surely cleanse her memory from all the ugly impurities ofsuperstition and remember only the pure gold of the fact that ourwarrior ancestors did not only pray to a fierce and mighty god ofbattles, but to a woman who was "loving and giving"--the littlechild's deification of the mother whom it loves and who holds it verydear. 

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 unworthydeeds, but none to act the permanent part of villain of the play. Inthe mythology of the Norsemen we have a god who is wholly treacherousand 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 greatlybeloved. Baldur was the Galahad of the court of Odin the king, hisfather. 

 "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 hiscourage, yet ever he counselled peace, ever was gentle and infinitelywise, and his beauty was as the beauty of the whitest of all theflowers of the Northland, called after him _Baldrsbrá_. The god of theNorsemen was essentially a god of battles, and we are told by greatauthorities that Baldur was originally a hero who fought on theearth, and who, in time, came to be deified. Even if it be so, it isgood to think that a race of warriors could worship one whose chiefqualities were wisdom, purity, and love. 

In perfect happiness, loving and beloved, Baldur lived in Asgard withhis wife Nanna, until a night when his sleep was assailed by horribledreams of evil omen. In the morning he told the gods that he haddreamed that Death, a thing till then unknown in Asgard, had come andcruelly taken his life away. Solemnly the gods debated how this illhappening might be averted, and Freya, his mother, fear for her bestbeloved hanging heavy over her heart, took upon herself the task oflaying under oath fire and water, iron and all other metals, trees andshrubs, birds, beasts and creeping things, to do no harm to Baldur. With eager haste she went from place to place, nor did she fail toexact the oath from anything in all nature, animate or inanimate, saveone only. 

"A twig of mistletoe, tender and fair, grew high above the field, " andsuch a little thing it was, with its dainty green leaves and waxenwhite berries, nestling for protection under the strong arm of a greatoak, that the goddess passed it by. Assuredly no scathe could come toBaldur the Beautiful from a creature so insignificant, and Freyareturned to Asgard well pleased with her quest. 

Then indeed was there joy and laughter amongst the gods, for each onetried how he might slay Baldur, but neither sword nor stone, hammernor battle-axe could work him any ill. 

Odin alone remained unsatisfied. Mounted on his eight-footed greysteed, Sleipnir, he galloped off in haste to consult the giantprophetess Angrbotha, who was dead and had to be followed to Niflheim, the chilly underworld that lies far north from the world of men, andwhere 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 wasreceived, nor any that fought out the last of life in a fierce combatwith the angry waves of the sea. Only those who died ingloriously wereher guests. 

When he had reached the realm of Hel, Odin found that a feast wasbeing prepared, and the couches were spread, as for an honoured guest, with rich tapestry and with gold. For many a year had Angrbotha restedthere in peace, and it was only by chanting a magic spell and tracingthose runes which have power to raise the dead that Odin awoke her. When she raised herself, terrible and angry from her tomb, he did nottell her that he was the mighty father of gods and men. He only askedher for whom the great feast was prepared, and why Hel was spreadingher couches so gorgeously. And to the father of Baldur she revealedthe secret of the future, that Baldur was the expected guest, and thatby his blind brother Hodur his soul was to be hastened to the Shades. 

"Who, then, would avenge him?" asked the father, great wrath in hisheart. And the prophetess replied that his death should be avenged byVali, his youngest brother, who should not wash his hands nor comb hishair 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 noneother than Odin, for to no mortal man could be known so much of thefuture, refused for evermore to speak, and returned to the silence ofher tomb. And Odin was forced to mount his steed and to return to hisown land of warmth and pleasure. 

On his return he found that all was well with Baldur. Thus he tried tostill his anxious heart and to forget the feast in the chill regionsof Niflheim, spread for the son who was to him the dearest, and tolaugh with those who tried in vain to bring scathe to Baldur. 

Only one among those who looked at those sports and grew merry, as hewhom they loved stood like a great cliff against which the devouringwaves of the fierce North Sea beat and foam and crash in vain, hadmalice in his heart as he beheld the wonder. In the evil heart of Lokithere came a desire to overthrow the god who was beloved by all godsand by all men. He hated him because he was pure, and the mind of Lokiwas 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, wastreachery and dishonour. He hated him because to Loki there came nevera thought that was not full of meanness and greed and cruelty andvice, 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 ofBaldur. 

The goddess sat, in happy majesty, spinning the clouds, and when Loki, apparently a gentle old woman, passed by where she sat, and thenpaused and asked, as if amazed, what were the shouts of merriment thatshe heard, the smiling goddess replied:

"All things on earth have sworn to me never to injure Baldur, and allthe gods use their weapons against him in vain. Baldur is safe forevermore. "

"All things?" queried Loki. 

And Freya answered, "All things but the mistletoe. No harm can come tohim 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 wherethe mistletoe grew, cut a slender green branch, shaped it into apoint, 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 sojoin in the laughter?" asked Loki. 

And Hodur sadly made answer:

"Well dost thou know that darkness is my lot, nor have I ought tocast at my brother. "

Then Loki placed in his hand the shaft of mistletoe and guided hisaim, and well and surely Hodur cast the dart. He waited, then, for themerry laughter that followed ever on the onslaught of those againsthim whom none could do harm. But a great and terrible cry smote hisears. "_Baldur the Beautiful is dead! is dead!_"

On the ground lay Baldur, a white flower cut down by the scythe of themower. And all through the realm of the gods, and all through the landof the Northmen there arose a cry of bitter lamentation. 

"That was the greatest woe that ever befell gods and men, " says thestory. 

The sound of terrible mourning in place of laughter brought Freya towhere

 "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 thatrefused to be comforted, but when the gods, overwhelmed with sorrow, knew not what course to take, she quickly commanded that one shouldride to Niflheim and offer Hel a ransom if she would permit Baldur toreturn to Asgard. 

Hermoder the Nimble, another of the sons of Odin, undertook themission, and, mounted on his father's eight-footed steed, he speedilyreached the ice-cold domain of Hel. 

There he found Baldur, sitting on the noblest seat of those whofeasted, ruling among the people of the Underworld. With burning wordsHermoder pled with Hel that she would permit Baldur to return to theworld of gods and the world of men, by both of whom he was so dearlybeloved. 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 thegods heard what Hel had said, messengers were despatched all over theearth to beg all things, living and dead, to weep for Baldur, and sodear to all nature was the beautiful god, that the messengerseverywhere left behind them a track of the tears that they caused tobe shed. 

Meantime, in Asgard, preparations were made for Baldur's pyre. Thelongest of the pines in the forest were cut down by the gods, andpiled 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 withrich gifts all round it, and the pine trunks of the Northern foreststhat formed the pyre, they covered with gorgeous tapestries andfragrant flowers. And when they had laid him there, with all love andgentleness, and his fair young wife, Nanna, looked on his beautifulstill face, sorrow smote her heart so that it was broken, and she felldown dead. Tenderly they laid her beside him, and by him, too, theylaid the bodies of his horse and his hounds, which they slew to beartheir master company in the land whither his soul had fled; and aroundthe pyre they twined thorns, the emblem of sleep. 

Yet even then they looked for his speedy return, radiant and glad tocome home to a sunlit land of happiness. And when the messengers whowere to have brought tidings of his freedom were seen drawing near, eagerly they crowded to hear the glad words, "_All creatures weep, andBaldur shall return!_"

But with them they brought not hope, but despair. All things, livingand dead, had wept, save one only. A giantess who sat in a dark cavehad 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, andthat the giantess was none other than Loki, and Loki, realising thefierce wrath of Odin and of the other gods, fled before them, yetcould not escape his doom. And grief unspeakable was that of gods andof men when they knew that in the chill realm of the inglorious deadBaldur must remain until the twilight of the gods had come, until oldthings had passed away, and all things had become new. 

Not only the gods, but the giants of the storm and frost, and thefrost elves came to behold the last of him whom they loved. Then thepyre was set alight, and the great vessel was launched, and glided outto 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 andwhispered a word in his ear. And there are those who say that as thegods in infinite sorrow stood on the beach staring out to sea, darkness fell, and only a fiery track on the waves showed whither hehad gone whose passing had robbed Asgard and the Earth of their mostbeautiful thing, heavy as the weight of chill Death's remorseless handwould have been their hearts, but for the knowledge of that word. Theyknew that with the death of Baldur the twilight of the gods had begun, and that by much strife and infinite suffering down through the agesthe work of their purification and hallowing must be wrought. But whenall were fit to receive him, and peace and happiness reigned again onearth 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 originand date of the poem, ingenious theorists who would fain use all thefragmentary tales and rhymes of the nursery as parts of a vast jig-sawpuzzle of nature myths, or merely simple folk who read a tale for atale's sake, every reader of the poem of Beowulf must own that it isone of the finest stories ever written. 

It is "the most ancient heroic poem in the Germanic language, " and wasbrought to Britain by the "Wingèd Hats" who sailed across the greyNorth Sea to conquer and to help to weld that great amalgam of peoplesinto what is now the British Race. 

But once it had arrived in England, the legend was put into a dressthat the British-born could more readily appreciate. In allprobability the scene of the story was a corner of that island ofSaeland upon which Copenhagen now stands, but he who wrote down thepoem for his countrymen and who wrote it in the pure literaryAnglo-Saxon of Wessex, painted the scenery from the places that he andhis readers knew best. And if you should walk along the breezy, magnificent, rugged Yorkshire coast for twelve miles, from Whitbynorthward to the top of Bowlby Cliff, you would find it quite easy tobelieve that it was there amongst the high sea-cliffs that Beowulfand his hearth-sharers once lived, and there, on the highest ness ofour eastern coast, under a great barrow, that Beowulf was buried. _Beowulfesby_--_Bowlby_ seems a quite easy transition. But the peopleof our island race have undoubtedly a gift for seizing the imports ofother lands and hall-marking them as their own, and, in allprobability, the Beowulf of the heroic poem was one who lived and diedin the land of Scandinavia. 

In Denmark, so goes the story, when the people were longing for aking, to their shores there drifted, on a day when the white birdswere screaming over the sea-tangle and wreckage that a stormy sea, nowsinking to rest, was sweeping up on the shore, a little boat in which, on a sheaf of ripe wheat and surrounded by priceless weapons andjewels, there lay a most beautiful babe, who smiled in his sleep. Thathe was the son of Odin they had no doubt, and they made him theirking, 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 andon the sea, of which even as an infant he had had no fear. But whenmany years had come and gone, and when Scyld Scefing felt that deathdrew near, he called his nobles to him and told them in what manner hefain would pass. So they did as he said, and in a ship they built afuneral pyre, and round it placed much gold and jewels, and on it laida sheaf of wheat. Then with very great pain and labour, for he was oldand Death's hand lay heavy upon him, the king climbed into the shipand stretched out his limbs on the pyre, and said farewell to all hisfaithful people. And the ship drifted out with the tide, and thehearts of the watchers were heavy as they saw the sails of the vesselthat bore him vanish into the grey, and knew that their king had goneback to the place from whence he came, and that they should look onhis face no more. 

Behind him Scyld left descendants, and one after the other reignedover Denmark. It was in the reign of his great-grandson, Hrothgar, that there took place those things that are told in the story ofBeowulf. 

A mighty king and warrior was Hrothgar, and far across the northernseas his fame spread wide, so that all the warriors of the land thathe ruled were proud to serve under him in peace, and in war to die forhim. During his long life he and his men never went forth in theirblack-prowed ships without returning with the joyous shouts of thevictor, with for cargo the rich spoil they had won from their enemies. As he grew old, Hrothgar determined to raise for himself a mightymonument to the magnificence of his reign, and so there was buildedfor him a vast hall with majestic towers and lofty pinnacles--thefinest banqueting-hall that his skilled artificers could dream of. Andwhen at length the hall was completed, Hrothgar gave a feast to allhis thanes, and for days and for nights on end the great rafters ofHeorot--as his palace was named--echoed the shouts and laughter of themighty warriors, and the music of the minstrels and the songs thatthey sang. A proud man was Hrothgar on the night that the banquet wasended amidst the acclamations of his people, and a proud and happy manhe lay down to rest, while his bodyguard of mighty warriors stretchedthemselves on the rush-strewn floor of the great room where they hadfeasted, 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 wasjoyous and good. To its ears came the ring of the laughter and theshouts of King Hrothgar's revellers, and the sweet song of the gleemenand the melody of harps filled it with fierce hatred. From its wallowin the marshes, where the pestilent grey fog hung round its dwelling, the monster, known to all men as the Grendel, came forth, to kill andto devour. Through the dark night, across the lonely moorland, it madeits way, and the birds of the moor flew screaming in terror before it, and the wild creatures of the desolate country over which it paddedclapped down in their coverts and trembled as it passed. It came atlength 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 ofthe morning, he was roused by terrified servants, forgetful of hisaugust 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 ofthe feasting overnight. But the two-and-thirty knights who, in fullarmour, had lain down to sleep were all gone, and on the floor wasthe spoor of something foul and noisome, and on the walls and on thetrampled 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 leftblood-stains behind. 

Terrible indeed was the grief of Hrothgar, but still more terrible washis anger. He offered a royal reward to any man who would slay theGrendel, and full gladly ten of his warriors pledged themselves tosleep that night in the great hall and to slay the Grendel ere morningcame. 

But dawn showed once more a piteous sight. Again there were onlytrampled and blood-stained rushes, with the loathsome smell of uncleanflesh. Again the foul tracks of the monster were found where it hadpadded softly back to its noisome fens. 

There were many brave men in the kingdom of Hrothgar the Dane, and yetagain did they strive to maintain the dignity of the great hall, Heorot, and to uphold the honour of their king. But through twelvedismal 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 hismagnificent supremacy, ever meant, for the sleeper, shameful death. Well content was the Grendel, that grew fat and lusty amongst the greymists of the black marshes, unknowing that in the land of the Gothsthere was growing to manhood one whose feet already should be echoingalong that path from which Death was to come. 

In the realm of the Goths, Hygelac was king, and no greater herolived in his kingdom than Beowulf, his own sister's son. From the ageof seven Beowulf was brought up at the court of his uncle. 

A great, fair, blue-eyed lad was Beowulf, lazy, and very slow towrath. When he had at last become a yellow-haired giant, of wondrousgood-temper, and leisurely in movement, the other young warriors ofGothland had mocked at him as at one who was only a very huge, veryamiable 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 fewof those flares-up had shown the folk of his uncle's kingdom that nomean nor evil deed might lightly be done, nor evil word spoken in thepresence of Beowulf. In battle against the Swedes, no sword had hewndown more men than the sword of Beowulf. And when the champion swimmerof the land of the Goths challenged the young giant Beowulf to swim amatch with him, for five whole days they swam together. A tempestdriving down from the twilight land of the ice and snow parted themthen, and he who had been champion was driven ashore and thankfullystruggled on to the beach of his own dear country once again. But thefoaming seas cast Beowulf on some jagged cliffs, and would fain havebattered his body into broken fragments against them, and as he foughtand struggled to resist their raging cruelty, mermaids and nixies andmany monsters of the deep joined forces with the waves and strove towrest his life from him. And while with one hand he held on to a sharprock, with the other he dealt with his sword stark blows on thosechildren of the deep who would fain have devoured him. Their bodies, deep-gashed and dead, floated down to the coast of Gothland, and theking and all those who looked for the corpse of Beowulf saw them, amazed. Then at length came Beowulf himself, and with great gladnesswas he welcomed, and the king, his uncle, gave him his treasuredsword, Nägeling, in token of his valour. 

In the court of Hrothgar, the number of brave warriors ever grewsmaller. One man only had witnessed the terrible slaughter of one ofthose black nights and yet had kept his life. He was a bard--ascald--and from the land where he had seen such grim horror, he fledto the land of the Goths, and there, in the court of the king, he sangthe gloomy tale of the never-ending slaughter of noble warriors by thefoul Grendel of the fens and moors. 

Beowulf listened, enthralled, to his song. But those who knew him sawhis eyes gleam as the good steel blade of a sword gleams when it isdrawn for battle, and when he asked his uncle to allow him to go tothe 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, withfourteen trusty followers, set sail from Gothland for the kingdom ofHrothgar. 

The warden of the Danish coast was riding his rounds one morning whenhe beheld from the white cliffs a strange war-vessel making for theshore. Skilfully the men on board her ran her through the surf, andbeached her in a little creek between the cliffs, and made her fast toa rock by stout cables. Only for a little time the valiant wardenwatched them from afar, and then, one man against fifteen, he rodequickly 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 andtold him simply and unboastfully who he was, from whence he came, andwhat was his errand. He had come as the nation's deliverer, to slaythe 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 abarrier of oars against the greedy tide. Come with me to the king. "

It was a gallant band that strode into Heorot, where sat the oldking, gloom overshadowing his soul. And fit leader for a band ofheroes was Beowulf, a giant figure in ring-mail, spear and shieldgleaming in his hand, and by his side the mighty sword, Nägeling. ToHrothgar, as to the warden, Beowulf told the reason of his coming, andhope began again to live in the heart of the king. 

That night the warriors from the land of the Goths were feasted in thegreat banqueting-hall where, for twelve unhappy years, voices hadnever rung out so bravely and so merrily. The queen herself poured outthe mead with which the king and the men from Gothland pledged eachother, 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 cupof mead from the fair queen and solemnly pledged himself to save theland from the evil thing that devoured it like a pestilence, or to diein 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 hallsave Beowulf and his fourteen followers. In their armour, with swordsgirt on their sides, the fourteen heroes lay down to rest, but Beowulflaid 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 ofrevelry, and as the Goths closed their eyes to sleep, knowing theymight open them again only to grapple with hideous death, yet unafraidbecause of their sure belief that "What is to be goes ever as itmust, " the monster roused himself. Through the dank, chill, clingingmists he came, and his breath made the poisonous miasma of the marshesmore deadly as he padded over the shivering reeds and tremblingrushes, across the bleak moorland and the high cliffs where the freshtang of the grey sea was defiled by the hideous stench of a foul beastof prey. There was fresh food for him to-night, he knew, some bloodmore potent than any that for twelve years had come his bestial way. And he hastened on with greedy eagerness, nightmare incarnate. Hefound the great door of the banqueting-hall bolted and barred, but oneangry wrench set at naught the little precautionary measures of meremen. 

The dawn was breaking dim and grey and very chill when Beowulf heardthe stealthy tread without, and the quick-following crash of the boltsand 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, andswifter than any great bear could strike, a scaly hand had struck oneof the friends of Beowulf. In an instant the man was torn from limb tolimb, and in a wild disgust and hatred Beowulf heard the lapping ofblood, the scrunching of bones and chewing of warm flesh as themonster ravenously devoured him. Again the loathsome hand wasstretched out to seize and to devour. But in the darkness two hands, like hands of iron, gripped the outstretched arm, and the Grendel knewthat he had met his match at last. The warriors of Beowulf awoke tofind a struggle going on such as their eyes never before beheld, forit was a fight to the death between man and monster. Vainly they triedto aid their leader, but their weapons only glanced harmlessly off theGrendel's scaly hide. Up and down the hall the combatants wrestled, until the walls shook and the great building itself rocked to itsfoundations. Ever and again it seemed as though no human power couldprevail against teeth and claws and demonic fury, and as tables andbenches crashed to the ground and broke under the tramping feet of theGrendel, it appeared an impossible thing that Beowulf should overcome. Yet ever tighter and more tight grew the iron grip of Beowulf. Hisfingers seemed turned to iron. His hatred and loathing made his graspcrash through scales, into flesh, and crush the marrow out of the boneit found there. And when at length the Grendel could no more, and witha terrible cry wrenched himself free, and fled, wailing, back to thefenland, still in his grasp Beowulf held the limb. The Grendel hadfreed himself by tearing the whole arm out of its socket, and, foronce, the trail of blood across the moors was that of the monster andnot of its victims. 

Great indeed was the rejoicing of Hrothgar and of his people when, inthe morning, instead of crimson-stained rushes and the track of verminclaws imbrued in human blood, they found all but one of the men fromGothland alive, and looked upon the hideous trophy that told themthat their enemy could only have gone to find a shameful death in themarshes. They cleansed out the great hall, hung it with lordlytrappings, and made it once more fit habitation for the lordliest inthe land. That night a feast was held in it, such as had never beforebeen held all through the magnificent reign of Hrothgar. The best ofthe scalds sung songs in honour of the triumph of Beowulf, and thequeen herself pledged the hero in a cup of mead and gave to him thebeautiful most richly jewelled collar Brisingamen, of exquisiteancient workmanship, that once was owned by Freya, queen of the gods, and a great ring of the purest red gold. To Beowulf, too, the kinggave a banner, all broidered in gold, a sword of the finest, withhelmet and corselet, and eight fleet steeds, and on the back of theone that he deemed the best Hrothgar had placed his own saddle, cunningly wrought, and decked with golden ornaments. To each of thewarriors of Beowulf there were also given rich gifts. And ere thequeen, with her maidens, left the hall that night she said to Beowulf:

"Enjoy thy reward, O dear Beowulf, while enjoy it thou canst. Livenoble and blessed! Keep well thy great fame, and to my dear sons, intime to come, should ever they be in need, be a kind protector!"

With happy hearts in very weary bodies, Beowulf and his men left thehall when the feast was ended, and they slept through the night inanother lodging as those sleep who have faced death through a verylong night, and to whom joy has come in the morning. 

But the Danish knights, careless in the knowledge that the Grendelmust even now be in his dying agonies, and that once more Hereot wasfor them a safe and noble sleeping-place, lay themselves down to sleepin the hall, their shields at their heads, and, fastened high up onthe roof above them, the hideous trophy of Beowulf. 

Next morning as the grey dawn broke over the northern sea, it saw asight that made it more chill than death. Across the moorland went athing--half wolf, half woman--the mother of Grendel. The creature shehad 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 toHrothgar most dear, and from the roof she plucked her desiredtreasure--the arm of Grendel, her son. Then she trotted off to herfar-off, filthy den, leaving behind her the noise of lamentation. 

Terrible was the grief of Hrothgar over the death of Aschere, dearestof friends and sharer of his councils. And to his lamentations Beowulflistened, sad at heart, humble, yet with a heart that burned forvengeance. The hideous creature of the night was the mother ofGrendel, as all knew well. On her Beowulf would be avenged, forAschere'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 strengthcould do to rid the land of an evil thing. Well did he know howdangerous was the task before him, and he gave directions for thedisposal 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 forlornhope, 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 himwhen he set out to trace the blood-stained tracks of the Grendel'smother. Near the edge of a gloomy mere they found the head of Aschere. And when they looked at the fiord itself, it seemed to beblood-stained--stained with blood that ever welled upwards, and inwhich revelled with a fierce sort of joy--the rapture of bestialcruelty--water-monsters without number. 

Beowulf, his face white and grim like that of an image of Thor cast insilver, watched a little while, then drew his bow and drove a boltinto the heart of one of them, and when they had drawn the slaincarcase to shore, the thanes of Hrothgar marvelled at the horror ofit. 

Then Beowulf took leave of Hrothgar and told him that if in two dayshe 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 Beowulflaughed, and bade them be of good cheer. Then into the black waters hedived, sword in hand, clad in ring-armour, and the dark pool closedover him as the river of Death closes over the head of a man when hisday is done. To him it seemed as if the space of a day had passed erehe reached the bottom, and in his passing he encountered many dreaddangers from tusk and horn of a myriad evil creatures of the water whosought to destroy him. Then at length he reached the bottom of thatsinister mere, and there was clasped in the murderous grip of theWolf-Woman who strove to crush his life out against her loathsomebreast. Again and again, when her hideous embrace failed to slay him, she stabbed him with her knife. Yet ever did he escape. His goodarmour resisted the power of her arm, and his own great muscles thrusther from him. Yet his own sword failed him when he would have smittenher, 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 thatshore her head from her body. Through the foul blood that flowed fromher and that mingled with the black water of the mere, Beowulf saw avery terrible horror--the body of the Grendel, lying moaning out thelast of his life. Again his strong arm descended, and, his left handgripping the coiled locks of the Evil Thing, he sprang upwards throughthe water, that lost its blackness and its clouded crimson as he wentever higher and more high. In his hand he still bore the sword thathad saved him, but the poisonous blood of the dying monsters had madethe water of such fiery heat that the blade melted as he rose, andonly the hilt, with strange runes engraved upon it, remained in hishand. 

Where he left them, his followers, and the Danes who went with them, remained, watching, waiting, ever growing more hopeless as nightturned into day, and day faded into night, and they saw the blackwaters of the lonely fen bubbling up, terrible and blood-stained. Butwhen the waters cleared, hope returned to their hearts, and when, atlength, Beowulf uprose from the water of the mere and they saw that inhis 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 theglad cry of "_Beowulf! Beowulf!_"

Well-nigh overwhelmed by gifts from those whom he had preserved wasthe 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 withtreasure, nobly gained. And when Beowulf had come in safety to hishomeland and had told his kinsman the tale of the slaying of theGrendel and of the Wolf-Woman, he gave the finest of his steeds to theKing, and to the Queen the jewelled collar, Brisingamen, that theQueen of the Goths had bestowed on him. And the heart of his uncle wasglad and proud indeed, and there was much royal banqueting in thehero's honour. Of him, too, the scalds made up songs, and there was nohero in all that northern land whose fame was as great as was the fameof Beowulf. 

"The Must Be often helps an undoomed man when he is brave" was theprecept on which he ruled his life, and he never failed the King whosechief champion and warrior he was. When, in an expedition against theFrieslanders, 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 wasa grievously wounded man when he brought back to Gothland the body ofthe dead King. The Goths would fain have made him their King, inHygelac's stead, but Beowulf was too loyal a soul to supplant hisuncle's own son. On his shield he laid the infant prince, Hardred, andheld him up for the people to see. And when he had proclaimed thechild 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 theirhero, 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 armskept war away from the land, and his wisdom as a statesman broughtgreat prosperity and happiness to his people. He had never known fear, and so for him there was nothing to dread when the weakness of agefell upon him and when he knew that his remaining years could be butfew:

 "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 tohim had lurked, unknown, unimagined, in a cave in the lonelymountains. 

Many centuries before the birth of Beowulf, a family of mightywarriors had won by their swords a priceless treasure of weapons andof armour, of richly chased goblets and cups, of magnificent ornamentsand precious jewels, and of gold "beyond the dreams of avarice. " In agreat 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 therestumbled a fiery dragon--a Firedrake--and for three hundred years themonster gloated, unchallenged, over the magnificent possession. But atthe end of that time, a bondsman, who fled before his master'svengeance and sought sanctuary in the mountains, came on an opening inthe rocks, and, creeping in, found the Firedrake asleep upon a mass ofred gold and of sparkling gems that dazzled his eyes even in thedarkness. For a moment he stood, trembling, then, sure of his master'sforgiveness if he brought him as gift a golden cup all studded withjewels, he seized one and fled with it ere the monster could awake. With its awakening, terror fell upon the land. Hither and thither itflew, searching for him who had robbed it, and as it flew, it sentflames on the earth and left behind it a black trail of ruin and ofdeath. 

When news of its destroyings came to the ears of the father of hispeople, Beowulf knew that to him belonged the task of saving the landfor 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 withthe Firedrake as once he had wrestled with the Grendel and theWolf-Woman, but had to trust to his arms. He had an iron shield madeto withstand the Firedrake's flaming breath, and, with a band ofeleven picked followers, and taking the bondsman as guide, Beowulfwent out to fight his last fight. As they drew near the place, he badehis followers stay where they were, "For I alone, " he said, "will winthe gold and save my people, or Death shall take me. "

From the entrance to the cave there poured forth a sickening cloud ofsteam and smoke, suffocating and blinding, and so hot that he couldnot go forward. But with a loud voice the old warrior shouted anarrogant challenge of defiance to his enemy, and the Firedrake rushedforth from its lair, roaring with the roar of an unquenchable firewhose fury will destroy a city. From its wings of flame and from itseyes heat poured forth scorchingly, and its great mouth belched forthdevouring 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, andonly for a moment was his adversary stunned. In hideous rage themonster coiled its snaky folds around him, and the heat from his bodymade the iron shield redden as though the blacksmith in his smithywere welding it, and each ring of the armour that Beowulf wore searedright into his flesh. His breast swelled with the agony, and his greatheart must have come near bursting for pain and for sorrow. For he sawthat 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 receivedmany a kindness, calling shame on the dastards who fled, rushedforward, sword in hand, and with no protection but that of his shieldof linden wood. Like a leaf scorched in a furnace the shield curledup, but new strength came to Beowulf with the knowledge that Wiglafhad not failed him in his need. Together the two heroes made a gallantstand, although blood flowed in a swift red stream from a wound thatthe monster had made in Beowulf's neck with its venomous fangs, andran down his corselet. A stroke which left the Firedrake unharmedshivered the sword that had seen many fights, but Wiglaf smote ashrewd blow ere his lord could be destroyed, and Beowulf swiftly drewhis broad knife and, with an effort so great that all the life thatwas 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 thankedWiglaf for his loyal help, he bade him enter the cave and bring forththe treasure that he might please his dying eyes by looking on theriches that he had won for his people. And Wiglaf hastened into thecave, for he knew that he raced with Death, and brought forth armfulsof weapons, of magnificent ornaments, of goblets and of cups, of barsof red gold. Handfuls of sparkling jewels, too, he brought, and eachtime he came and went, seizing without choosing, whatever lay nearest, it seemed as though the Firedrake's hoard were endless. A magicalgolden standard and armour and swords that the dwarfs had made broughta smile of joy into the dying King's eyes. And when the ten shamedwarriors, seeing that the fight was at an end, came to where theirmighty ruler lay, they found him lying near the vile carcase of themonster he had slain, and surrounded by a dazzlement of treasureuncountable. To them, and to Wiglaf, Beowulf spoke his valediction, urging on them to maintain the honour of the land of the Goths, andthen 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, andunder a mighty barrow on a cliff very high above the sea, they buriedhim, and with him a great fortune from the treasure he had won. Thenwith heavy hearts, "round about the mound rode his hearth-sharers, whosang that he was of kings, of men, the mildest, kindest, to his peoplesweetest, 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 havebecome 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 perfectgentleman. 

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 whenWilliam the Conqueror led his army to victory at Hastings, a Normanknight named Taillefer (and a figure of iron surely was his) spurredhis horse to the front. In face of the enemy who hated all things thathad to do with France, he lifted up his voice and chanted aloud theexploits of Charlemagne and of Roland. As he sang, he threw his swordin 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 beour 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 onewonders how many of those who went down to the Shades owed half theirdesperate courage to the remembrance of the magnificent deeds of thehero of whom they sang, ere ever sword met sword, or spear met thesullen impact of the stark frame of a Briton born, fighting for hisown. 

The story of Roland, so we are told, is only a splendid coating ofpaint put on a very slender bit of drawing. A contemporary chronicletells of the battle of Roncesvalles, and says: "In which battle wasslain Roland, prefect of the marches of Brittany. " Merely a Bretonsquire, we are told to believe--a very gallant country gentleman whosename would not have been preserved in priestly archives had he not wonfor himself, by his fine courage, such an unfading laurel crown. Butbecause we are so sure that "it is the memory that the soldier leavesafter him, like the long trail of light that follows the sunken sun, "and because so often oral tradition is less misleading than thewritten word, we gladly and undoubtingly give Roland high place in theValhalla 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, andHead of the Holy Roman Empire, was returning victoriously from a sevenyears' 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 orMarsiglio. Here amongst the mountains the King and his people stillheld to their idols, worshipped "Mahommed, Apollo, and Termagaunt, "and looked forward with horror to a day when the mighty Charlemagnemight, by the power of the sword, thrust upon them the worship of thecrucified Christ. Ere Charlemagne had returned to his own land, Marsile held a council with his peers. To believe that the greatconqueror would rest content with Saragossa still unconquered was toomuch to hope for. Surely he would return to force his religion uponthem. 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 sentambassadors to Charlemagne to ask of him upon what conditions he wouldbe allowed to retain his kingdom in peace and to continue to worshipthe 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 triedveterans were with him there, and his "Douzeperes"--his TwelvePeers--who were to him what the Knights of the Round Table were toKing Arthur of Britain. He held his court in an orchard, and under agreat pine tree from which the wild honeysuckle hung like a fragrantcanopy, the mighty king and emperor sat on a throne of gold. 

The messengers of Marsile saw a man of much more than ordinary statureand with the commanding presence of one who might indeed conquerkingdoms, but his sword was laid aside and he watched contentedly thecontests between the older of his knights who played chess under theshade of the fruit trees, and the fencing bouts of the youngerwarriors. Very dear to him were all his Douzeperes, yet dearest of allwas his own nephew, Roland. In him he saw his own youth again, his ownimperiousness, his reckless gallantry, his utter fearlessness--allthose qualities which endeared him to the hearts of other men. Rolandwas his sister's son, and it was an evil day for the fair Bertha whenshe told her brother that, in spite of his anger and scorn, she haddisobeyed his commands and had wed the man she loved, Milon, a pooryoung knight. 

No longer would Charlemagne recognise her as sister, and in obscurityand poverty Roland was born. He was still a very tiny lad when hisfather, in attempting to ford a flooded river, was swept down-streamand drowned, and Bertha had no one left to fend for her and for herchild. Soon they had no food left, and the little Roland watched withamazed eyes his famished mother growing so weak that she could notrise from the bed where she lay, nor answer him when he pulled her bythe hand and tried to make her come with him to seek his father and tofind something to eat. And when he saw that it was hopeless, the childknew that he must take his father's place and get food for the motherwho lay so pale, and so very still. Into a great hall whereCharlemagne and his lords were banqueting Roland strayed. Here wasfood in plenty! Savoury smelling, delicious to his little emptystomach were the daintily cooked meats which the Emperor and his courtate from off their silver platters. Only one plateful of food such asthis must, of a surety, make his dear mother strong and well oncemore. Not for a moment did Roland hesitate. Even as a tiny sparrowdarts into a lion's cage and picks up a scrap almost out of themonarch's hungry jaws, so acted Roland. A plateful of food stoodbeside the King. At this Roland sprang, seized it with both hands, andjoyfully ran off with his prey. When the serving men would have caughthim, 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 somepieces of the rich food and had seen her gradually revive, yet anotherthought came to his baby mind. 

"My father gave her wine, " he thought. "They were drinking wine inthat great hall. It will make her white cheeks red again. "

Thus he ran back, as fast as his legs could carry him, and Charlemagnesmiled 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 chairhe came, solemnly measured with his eye the cups of wine that thegreat company quaffed, saw that the cup of Charlemagne was the mostbeautiful and the fullest of the purple-red wine, stretched out adaring little hand, grasped the cup, and prepared to go off again, like a marauding bright-eyed bird. Then the King seized in his ownhand the hand that held the cup. 

"No! no! bold thief, " he said, "I cannot have my golden cup stolenfrom me, be it done by ever so sturdy a robber. Tell me, who sent theeout to steal?"

And Roland, an erect, gallant, little figure, his hand still in theiron grip of the King, fearlessly and proudly gazed back into the eyesof Charlemagne. 

"No one sent me, " he said. "My mother lay very cold and still andwould 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 struggledto 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 todrag himself free. And Charlemagne mockingly said:

"Roland, I fear thy father and mother have taught thee to be a cleverthief. "

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 wouldhave 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 Milonthe knight, who was drowned these three weeks agone. "

Then the heart of Charlemagne grew heavy with remorse when he foundthat his sister had so nearly died of want, and from that day shenever knew aught but kindness and tenderness from him, while Rolandwas dear to him as his own child. 

He was a Douzepere now, and when the envoys from Saragossa haddelivered their message to Charlemagne, he was one of those who helpedto do them honour at a great feast that was held for them in apavilion raised in the orchard. 

Early in the morning Charlemagne heard mass, and then, on his goldenthrone under the great pine, he sat and took counsel with hisDouzeperes. Not one of them trusted Marsile, but Ganelon, who hadmarried the widowed Bertha and who had a jealous hatred for hisstep-son--so beloved by his mother, so loved and honoured by theKing--was ever ready to oppose the counsel of Roland. Thus did hepersuade Charlemagne to send a messenger to Marsile, commanding him todeliver 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 toCharlemagne. 

Then arose the question as to which of the peers should bear thearrogant message. Roland, ever greedy for the post of danger, impetuously asked that he might be chosen. But Charlemagne would haveneither him nor his dear friend and fellow-knight, Oliver--he who wasthe Jonathan of Roland's David--nor would he have Naismes de Bavière, nor Turpin, "the chivalrous and undaunted Bishop of Rheims. " He couldnot afford to risk their lives, and Marsile was known to betreacherous. 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 hestays, you have none better than he. "

And all the other peers applauded the choice, and Charlemagne said toGanelon:

"Come hither, Ganelon, and receive my staff and glove, which the voiceof all the Franks have given to thee. "

But the honour which all the others coveted was not held to be anhonour by Ganelon. In furious rage he turned upon Roland:

"You and your friends have sent me to my death!" he cried. "But if bya miracle I should return, look you to yourself, Roland, for assuredlyI shall be revenged!"

And Roland grew red, then very white, and said:

"I had taken thee for another man, Ganelon. Gladly will I take thyplace. Wilt give me the honour to bear thy staff and glove toSaragossa, sire?" And eagerly he looked Charlemagne in the face--eageras, 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 thehonour of Jesus Christ, and for your Emperor. "

Thus, sullenly and unwillingly, and with burning hatred againstRoland in his heart, Ganelon accompanied the Saracens back toSaragossa. A hate so bitter was not easy to hide, and as he rodebeside him the wily Blancandrin was not long in laying a probingfinger on this festering sore. Soon he saw that Ganelon would pay eventhe price of his honour to revenge himself upon Roland and on theother Douzeperes whose lives were more precious than his in the eyesof Charlemagne. Yet, when Saragossa was reached, like a brave man anda true did Ganelon deliver the insulting message that his own brainhad conceived and that the Emperor, with magnificent arrogance, hadbidden him deliver. And this he did, although he knew his life hungbut by a thread while Marsile and the Saracen lords listened to hiswords. But Marsile kept his anger under, thinking with comfort of whatBlancandrin had told him of his discovery by the way. And very soon hehad shown Ganelon how he might be avenged on Roland and on the friendsof 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 withthe Saracens to betray Roland and his companions into their hands intheir passage of the narrow defiles of Roncesvalles. For more thanfifty pieces of silver Marsile purchased the soul of Ganelon, and whenthis Judas of the Douzeperes returned in safety to Cordova, bringingwith him princely gifts for Charlemagne, the keys of Saragossa, andthe promise that in sixteen days Marsile would repair to France to dohomage and to embrace the Christian faith, the Emperor was happyindeed. All had fallen out as he desired. Ganelon, who had gone forthin wrath, had returned calm and gallant, and had carried himselfthroughout his difficult embassy as a wise statesman and a brave andloyal soldier. 

"Thou hast done well, Ganelon, " said the king. "I give thanks to myGod and to thee. Thou shalt be well rewarded. "

The order then was speedily given for a return to France, and for tenmiles the great army marched before they halted and encamped for thenight. But when Charlemagne slept, instead of dreams of peace he hadtwo dreams which disturbed him greatly. In the first, Ganelon roughlyseized the imperial spear of tough ash-wood and it broke intosplinters in his hand. In the next, Charlemagne saw himself attackedby a leopard and a bear, which tore off his right arm, and as agreyhound darted to his aid he awoke, and rose from his couch heavy atheart because of those dreams of evil omen. 

In the morning he held a council and reminded his knights of thedangers 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 sheerdown below, and the path that crossed the crest of the Pyrenees andled to it was so narrow that it must be traversed in single file. Thedangers for the rearguard naturally seemed to Charlemagne to be thegreatest, and to his Douzeperes he turned, as before, for counsel. 

"Who, then, shall command the rearguard?" he asked. And quicklyGanelon answered, "Who but Roland? Ever would he seek the post wheredanger lies. "

And Charlemagne, feeling he owed much to Ganelon, gave way to hiscounsel, though with heavy forebodings in his heart. Then all theother Douzeperes, save Ganelon, said that for love of Roland theywould 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 Ganeloncommanding the vanguard, Charlemagne started. 

"Christ keep you!" he said on parting with Roland--"_I betak you toCrist. _"

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, andhis flower-painted shield on his arm, mounted his good steedVeillantif, and, holding his bright lance with its white pennon andgolden fringe in his hand, led the way for his fellow-knights and forthe other Franks who so dearly loved him. 

Not far from the pass of Roncesvalles he saw, gleaming against thedark side of the purple mountain, the spears of the Saracens. Tenthousand men, under Sir Gautier, were sent by Roland to reconnoitre, but from every side the heathen pressed upon them, and every one ofthe ten thousand were slain--hurled into the valley far down below. Gautier alone, sorely wounded, returned to Roland, to tell him, erehis life ebbed away, of the betrayal by Ganelon, and to warn him ofthe ambush. Yet even then they were at Roncesvalles, and the warningcame too late. Afar off, amongst the beech trees, and coming downamongst the lonely passes of the mountains, the Franks could see thegleam of silver armour, and Oliver, well knowing that not even themost dauntless valour could withstand such a host as the one that cameagainst them, besought Roland to blow a blast on his magic horn thatCharlemagne might hear and return to aid him. And all the otherDouzeperes begged of him that thus he would call for help. But Rolandwould 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 fairand still. There was no wind, there was dew on the grass; "dew dymmdthe floures, " and amongst the trees the birds sang merrily. Atdaybreak the good Bishop Turpin celebrated Mass and blessed them, andeven as his voice ceased they beheld the Saracen host close upon them. Then Roland spoke brave words of cheer to his army and commended theirsouls and his own to Christ, "who suffrid for us paynes sore, " andfor whose sake they had to fight the enemies of the Cross. Behindevery tree and rock a Saracen seemed to be hidden, and in a moment thewhole pass was alive with men in mortal strife. 

Surely never in any fight were greater prodigies of valour performedthan those of Roland and his comrades. Twelve Saracen kings fellbefore their mighty swords, and many a Saracen warrior was hurled downthe cliffs to pay for the lives of the men of France whom they hadtrapped to their death. Never before, in one day, did one man slay somany as did Roland and Oliver his friend--"A Roland for an Oliver" wasno good exchange, and yet a very fair one, as the heathen quicklylearned. 

 "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 Rolandsaw that his friend was using for weapon and dealing death-blows withthe 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 wasleft, and those of the Frankish rearguard who still lived were veryweary men. 

Then Roland called on his men to give thanks to God, and BishopTurpin, whose stout arm had fought well on that bloody day, offered upthanks for the army, though in sorry plight were they, almost noneunwounded, their swords and lances broken, and their hauberks rent andblood-stained. Gladly they laid themselves down to rest beside thecomrades 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 uponhim 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 withunwavering courage the Franks responded to their leaders' call. 

The war-cry of the soldiers of France--"Montjoie! Montjoie!"--rangclear 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 thisterrible fight. 

And now it seemed as though the Powers of Good and of Evil also tookpart in the fray, for a storm swept down from the mountains, thickdarkness fell, and the rumble of thunder and the rush of heavy raindulled the shouts of those who fought and the clash and clang of theirweapons. When a blood-red cloud came up, its lurid light showed thetrampled ground strewn with dead and dying. At that piteous sightRoland 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 pityfor the men whom he had led to death, and he took the magic hornOlifant in his hand, that he might blow on it a blast that would bringCharlemagne, his mighty army behind him, to wipe out the Saracen hostthat had done him such evil. But Oliver bitterly protested. Earlier inthe 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--wasclosing in upon them. Why, then, call now for Charlemagne, when nor henor any other could help them? But Turpin with all his force backedthe 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 themand bear them reverently to la belle France. And there shall they liein sanctuary, and not in a Paynim land where the wild beasts devourthem and croaking wretches with foul beaks tear our flesh and leaveour bones dishonoured. "

"That is well said, " quoth Roland and Oliver. 

Then did Roland blow three mighty blasts upon his horn, and so greatwas the third that a blood-vessel burst, and the red drops trickledfrom his mouth. 

For days on end Charlemagne had been alarmed at the delay of hisrearguard, but ever the false Ganelon had reassured him. 

"Why shouldst thou fear, sire?" he asked. "Roland has surely goneafter 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 themeaning of its call. He knew that his dreams had come true, and atonce he set his face towards the dire pass of Roncesvalles that hemight, even at the eleventh hour, save Roland and his men. 

Long ere Charlemagne could reach the children of his soul who stood insuch dire need, the uncle of Marsile had reached the place of battlewith a force of fifty thousand men. Pierced from behind by a cowardlylance, Oliver was sobbing out his life's blood. Yet ever he cried, "Montjoie! Montjoie!" and each time his voice formed the words, athrust from his sword, or from the lances of his men, drove a souldown to Hades. And when he was breathing his last, and lay on theearth, humbly confessing his sins and begging God to grant him rest inParadise, he asked God's blessing upon Charlemagne, his lord theking, and upon his fair land of France, and, above all other men, tokeep free from scathe his heart's true brother and comrade, Roland, the gallant knight. Then did he gently sigh his last little measure oflife away, and as Roland bent over him he felt that half of theglamour of living was gone. Yet still so dearly did he love Aude theFair, the sister of Oliver, who was to be his bride, that his musclesgrew taut as he gripped his sword, and his courage was the dauntlesscourage of a furious wave that faces all the cliffs of a rocky coastin a winter storm, when again, he faced the Saracen host. 

Of all the Douzeperes, only Gautier and Turpin and Roland nowremained, 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 eachlance thrust he slew a hundred men, and when at length he fell, Roland, himself sorely wounded, seized once more his horn and blewupon 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, andstraightway he turned his army towards the pass of Roncesvalles thathe might succour Roland, whom he so greatly loved. Yet then it was toolate. Turpin was nearly dead. Roland knew himself to be dying. Veillantif, Roland's faithful warhorse, was enduring agonies fromwounds of the Paynim arrows, and him Roland slew with a shrewd blowfrom his well-tried sword. From far, far away the hero could hear theblare of the trumpets of the Frankish army, and, at the sound, whatwas left of the Saracen host fled in terror. He made his way, blindly, painfully, to where Turpin lay, and with fumbling fingers took off hishauberk and unlaced his golden helmet. With what poor skill was leftto him, he strove to bind up his terrible wounds with strips of hisown tunic, and he dragged him, as gently as he could, to a spot underthe 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 therest of the Douzeperes from the places where they had died to whereTurpin, their dear bishop, lay a-dying. Each step that he took costhim a pang of agony; each step took from him a toll of blood. Yetfaithfully he performed his task, until they all lay around Turpin, who gladly blessed them and absolved them all. And then the agony ofsoul and of heart and body that Roland had endured grew overmuch forhim to bear, and he gave a great cry, like the last sigh of a mightytree that the woodcutters fell, and dropped down, stiff and chill, ina deathly swoon. Then the dying bishop dragged himself towards him andlifted the horn Olifant, and with it in his hand he struggled, inch byinch, with very great pain and labour, to a little stream thattrickled down the dark ravine, that he might fetch some water torevive the hero that he and all men loved. But ere he could reach thestream, the mists of death had veiled his eyes. He joined his hands inprayer, though each movement meant a pang, and gave his soul toChrist, his Saviour and his Captain. And so passed away the soul of amighty warrior and a stainless priest. 

Thus was Roland alone amongst the dead when consciousness came back tohim. With feeble hands he unlaced his helmet and tended to himself asbest he might. And, as Turpin had done, so also did he painfully crawltowards the stream. There he found Turpin, the horn Olifant by hisside, and knew that it was in trying to fetch him water that the bravebishop 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 butdeath. " With dragging steps he toiled uphill a little way, his goodsword Durendala in one hand, and in the other his horn Olifant. Undera little clump of pines were some rough steps hewn in a boulder ofmarble leading yet higher up the hill, and these Roland would haveclimbed, but his throbbing heart could no more, and again he fellswooning on the ground. A Saracen who, out of fear, had feigned death, saw him lying there and crawled out of the covert where he layconcealed. 

"It is Roland, the nephew of the Emperor!" he joyously thought, and intriumph he said to himself, "I shall bear his sword back with me!" Butas his Pagan hand touched the hilt of the sword and would have torn itfrom Roland's dying grasp, the hero was aroused from his swoon. Onegreat stroke cleft the Saracen's skull and laid him dead at Roland'sfeet. 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 ofbody he struggled to his feet and smote with his blade the marbleboulder. Before the stroke the marble split asunder as though thepick-axe of a miner had cloven it. On a rock of sardonyx he strove tobreak it then, but Durendala remained unharmed. A third time hestrove, and struck a rock of blue marble with such force that thesparks rushed out as from a blacksmith's anvil. Then he knew that itwas in vain, for Durendala would not be shattered. And so he raisedOlifant to his lips and blew a dying blast that echoed down the cliffsand 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 warriorrides by night down the heights and through the dark pass ofRoncesvalles, even such a blast may be heard, waking all the echoesand sounding through the lonely hollows of the hills. 

Then he made confession, and with a prayer for pardon of his sins andfor mercy from the God whose faithful servant and soldier he had beenunto 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 werethe grief and the rage of the Emperor as he looked on him and on theothers of his Douzeperes and on the bodies of that army of twentythousand. 

"All the field was with blod ouer roun"--"Many a good swerd was brokenther"--"Many a fadirles child ther was at home. "

By the side of Roland, Charlemagne vowed vengeance, but ere he avengedhis 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 theSaracen army was utterly exterminated; and when all the noble dead hadbeen buried where they fell, save only Roland, Oliver, and Turpin, thebodies of these three heroes were carried to Blaye and interred withgreat honour in the great cathedral there. 

Charlemagne then returned to Aix, and as he entered his palace, Audethe Fair, sister of Oliver, and the betrothed of Roland, hastened tomeet him. Where were the Douzeperes? What was the moaning murmur as ofwomen who wept, that had heralded the arrival in the town of theEmperor and his conquering army? Eagerly she questioned Charlemagne ofthe safety of Roland, and when the Emperor, in pitying grief, toldher:

"Roland, thy hero, like a hero died, " Aude gave a bitter cry and fellto the ground like a white lily slain by a cruel wind. The Emperorthought she had fainted, but when he would have lifted her up, hefound that she was dead, and, in infinite pity, he had her taken toBlaye and buried by the side of Roland. 

Very tender was Charlemagne to the maiden whom Roland had loved, butwhen the treachery of Ganelon had been proved, for him there was nomercy. At Aix-la-Chapelle, torn asunder by wild horses, he met ashameful and a horrible death, nor is his name forgotten as that ofthe blackest of traitors. But the memory of Roland and of the otherDouzeperes 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 arehanded down to us, and the literature of the Celts is rich in tragedy. To the romantic and sorrowful imagination of the Celts of the greenisland of Erin we owe the hauntingly piteous story of the children ofLîr. 

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 magicand other arts so wonderful that the people of the land believed themto be gods, the Dedannans had so many chiefs that they met one day todecide who was the best man of them all, that they might choose him tobe their king. The choice fell upon Bodb the Red, and gladly did everyman acclaim him as king, all save Lîr of Shee Finnaha, who left thecouncil 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 waragainst one another. At last a great sorrow came to Lîr, for after anillness of three days his wife, who was very dear to him, was takenfrom him by death. Then Bodb saw an opportunity for reconciliationwith the chief whose enemy he had no wish to be. And to thegrief-stricken husband he sent a message:

"My heart weeps for thee, yet I pray thee to be comforted. In my househave I three maidens, my foster-daughters, the most beautiful and thebest 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 gallantcompany of fifty chariots, nor ever halted until he had reached thepalace of Bodb the Red at Lough Derg, on the Shannon. Warm and kindlywas the welcome that Lîr received from his overlord, and next day, asthe three beautiful foster-daughters of Bodb sat on the same couch ashis 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, soshe 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 withhim to his own place, Shee Finnaha, and happy were both of them intheir love. To them in course of time were born a twin son and adaughter. The daughter they named Finola and the son Aed, and thechildren were as beautiful, as good, and as happy as their mother. Again she bore twins, boys, whom they named Ficra and Conn, but astheir eyes opened on the world, the eyes of their mother closed onpleasant life forever, and once again Lîr was a widower, more boweddown by grief than before. 

The tidings of the death of Eve brought great sorrow to the palace ofBodb the Red, for to all who knew her Eve was very dear. But again theking sent a message of comfort to Lîr:

"We sorrow with thee, yet in proof of our friendship with thee and ourlove for the one who is gone, we would give thee another of ourdaughters to be a mother to the children who have lost their mother'scare. "

And again Lîr went to the palace at Loch Derg, the Great Lake, andthere 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 asthough they were her own. But when she saw how passionate was herhusband's devotion to them, how he would have them to sleep near himand would rise at their slightest whimper to comfort and to caressthem, and how at dawn she would wake to find he had left her side tosee that all was well with them, the poisonous weed of jealousy beganto grow up in the garden of her heart. She was a childless woman, andshe knew not whether it was her sister who had borne them whom shehated, or whether she hated the children themselves. But steadily thehatred grew, and the love that Bodb the Red bore for them onlyembittered her the more. Many times in the year he would come to seethem, many times would take them away to stay with him, and each yearwhen the Dedannans held the Feast of Age--the feast of the great godMannanan, of which those who partook never grew old--the four childrenof Lîr were present, and gave joy to all who beheld them by theirgreat 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 atlength 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 ayear she lay sick in bed, while the sound of the children's laughterand their happy voices, their lovely faces like the faces of thechildren of a god, and the proud and loving words with which theirfather spoke of them were, to her, like acid in a festering wound. Atlast there came a black day when jealousy had choked all the flowersof goodness in her heart, and only treachery and merciless crueltyremained. She rose from her couch and ordered the horses to be yokedto her chariot that she might take the four children to the Great Laketo see the king, her foster-father. They were but little children, yetthe instinct that sometimes tells even a very little child when it isnear an evil thing, warned Finola that harm would come to her and toher brothers were they to go. It may also have been, perhaps, that shehad seen, with the sharp vision of a woman child, the thing to whichLîr was quite blind, and that in a tone of her stepmother's voice, ina look she had surprised in her eyes, she had learned that the lovethat her father's wife professed for her and for the others was onlyhatred, cunningly disguised. Thus she tried to make excuses forherself and the little brothers to whom she was a child-mother, sothat they need not go. But Eva listened with deaf ears, and thechildren said farewell to Lîr, who must have wondered at the tearsthat 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: "Muchwealth have I, " she said, "and all that I have shall be yours if youwill slay for me those four hateful things that have stolen from methe love of my man. "

The servants heard her in horror, and in horror and shame for her theyanswered: "Fearful is the deed thou wouldst have us do; more fearfulstill is it that thou shouldst have so wicked a thought. Evil willsurely come upon thee for having wished to take the lives of Lîr'sinnocent little children. "

Angrily, then, she seized a sword and herself would fain have donewhat her servants had scorned to do. But she lacked strength to carryout her own evil wish, and so they journeyed onwards. They came toLake Darvra at last--now Lough Derravaragh, in West Meath--and therethey all alighted from the chariot, and the children, feeling asthough they had been made to play at an ugly game, but that now it wasover and all was safety and happiness again, were sent into the lochto bathe. Joyously and with merry laughter the little boys splashedinto the clear water by the rushy shore, all three seeking to holdthe hands of their sister, whose little slim white body was whiterthan the water-lilies and her hair more golden than their hearts. 

It was then that Eva struck them, as a snake strikes its prey. Onetouch for each, with a magical wand of the Druids, then the lowchanting of an old old rune, and the beautiful children had vanished, and where their tiny feet had pressed the sand and their yellow hairhad shown above the water like four daffodil heads that dance in thewind, there floated four white swans. But although to Eva belonged thepower of bewitching their bodies, their hearts and souls and speechstill belonged to the children of Lîr. And when Finola spoke, it wasnot as a little timid child, but as a woman who could look with sadeyes into the future and could there see the terrible punishment of ashameful act. 

"Very evil is the deed that thou hast done, " she said. "We only gavethee love, and we are very young, and all our days were happiness. Bycruelty and treachery thou hast brought our childhood to an end, yetis our doom less piteous than thine. Woe, woe unto thee, O Eva, for afearful doom lies before thee!"

Then she asked--a child still, longing to know when the dreary days ofits banishment from other children should be over--"Tell us how long atime 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 peacehadst thou left unsought that knowledge. Yet will I tell thee thydoom. Three hundred years shall ye live in the smooth waters of LakeDarvra; three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle, [11] which isbetween Erin and Alba; three hundred years more at Ivros Domnann[12]and at Inis Glora, [13] on the Western Sea. Until a prince from thenorth shall marry a princess from the south; until the Tailleken (St. Patrick) shall come to Erin, and until ye shall hear the sound of theChristian bell, neither my power nor thy power, nor the power of anyDruid'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 witheager, beseeching eyes, through which looked the souls of the littlechildren that once she had loved. They were so silent and piteous, thelittle Ficra and Conn, whose dimpled baby faces she often used tokiss. And she said, that her burden of guilt might be the lighter:

"This relief shall ye have in your troubles. Though ye keep your humanreason and your human speech, yet shall ye suffer no grief becauseyour form is the form of swans, and you shall sing songs more sweetthan any music that the earth has ever known. "

Then Eva went back to her chariot and drove to the palace of herfoster-father at the Great Lake, and the four white swans were left onthe lonely waters of Darvra. 

When she reached the palace without the children, the king asked indisappointment why she had not brought them with her. 

"Lîr loves thee no longer, " she made answer. "He will not trust hischildren to thee, lest thou shouldst work them some ill. "

But her father did not believe her lying words. Speedily he sentmessengers to Shee Finnaha that they might bring back the children whoever carried joy with them. Amazed, Lîr received the message, and whenhe learned that Eva had reached the palace alone, a terrible dreadarose in his heart. In great haste he set out, and as he passed byLake Darvra he heard voices singing melodies so sweet and moving thathe was fain, in spite of his fears, to stop and listen. And lo, as helistened, he found that the singers were four swans, that swam closeup to where he stood, and greeted him in the glad voices of his owndear children. All that night he stayed beside them, and when they hadtold him their piteous tale and he knew that no power could free themtill the years of their doom were accomplished, Lîr's heart was liketo break with pitying love and infinite sorrow. At dawn he took atender leave of them and drove to the house of Bodb the Red. Terriblewere the words of Lîr, and dark was his face as he told the king theevil thing that Eva had done. And Eva, who had thought in the madnessof her jealousy that Lîr would give her all his love when he was achildless man, shrank, white and trembling, away from him when she sawthe furious hatred in his eyes. Then said the king, and his anger waseven as the anger of Lîr:

"The suffering of the little children who are dear to our souls shallcome 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 theearth, 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 herfoster-father. Thereupon he smote her with his druidical wand, and acreature too hideous for men's eyes to look upon, gave a great screamof anguish, and flapped its black wings as it flew away to join theother demons of the air. 

Then the king of the Dedannans and all his people went with Lîr toLake Darvra, and listened to the honey-sweet melodies that were sungto 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 andpain, and give rest to the grief-stricken and sleep to the toil-wornand the heavy at heart. And the Dedannans made a great encampment onthe shores of the lake that they might never be far from them. There, too, as the centuries went by, came the Milesians, who succeeded theDedannans in Erin, and so for the children of Lîr three hundred yearspassed happily away. 

Sad for them and for Lîr, and for all the people of the Dedannans, wasthe day when the years at Darvra were ended and the four swans saidfarewell to their father and to all who were so dear to them, spreadtheir snowy pinions, and took flight for the stormy sea. They sang asong of parting that made grief sit heavy on the hearts of all thosewho listened, and the men of Erin, in memory of the children of Lîrand 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 thattime forth no man of their land should harm a swan. 

Weary were the great white wings of the children of Lîr when theyreached the jagged rocks by the side of the fierce grey sea of Moyle, whose turbulent waves fought angrily together. And the days that cameto them there were days of weariness, of loneliness, and of hardship. Very cold were they often, very hungry, and yet the sweetness of theirsong pierced through the vicious shriek of the tempest and the sullenboom and crash of the great billows that flung themselves against thecliffs or thundered in devouring majesty over the wrack-strewn shore, like a thread of silver that runs through a pall. One night a tempestdrove across and down the Sea of Moyle from the north-east, and lashedit into fury. And the mirk darkness and the sleet that drove in theteeth of the gale like bullets of ice, and the huge, irresistiblebreakers that threshed the shore, filled the hearts of the children ofLîr with dread. For always they had desired love and beauty, and theugliness of unrestrained cruelty and fury made them sick at soul. 

To her brothers Finola said: "Beloved ones, of a surety the storm mustdrive us apart. Let us, then, appoint a place of meeting, lest wenever look upon each other again. "

And, knowing that she spoke wisely and well, the three brothersappointed as their meeting-place the rock of Carricknarone. 

Never did a fiercer storm rage on the sea between Alba and Erin thanthe storm that raged that night. Thunderous, murky clouds blotted outstars 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 swanswere driven one from another and scattered over the face of the angrydeep. Scarcely could their souls cling to their bodies while theystruggled with the winds and waves. When the long, long night came toan end, in the grey and cheerless dawn Finola swam to the rock ofCarricknarone. But no swans were there, only the greedy gulls thatsought after wreckage, and the terns that cried very dolorously. 

Then great grief came upon Finola, for she feared she would see herbrothers nevermore. But first of all came Conn, his feathers allbattered and broken and his head drooping, and in a little Ficraappeared, so drenched and cold and beaten by the winds that no wordcould he speak. And Finola took her younger brothers under her greatwhite 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 aproud ship with its white sails shining in the sun, and Finola heldhim close to the snowy plumage of her breast, and happiness returnedto the children of Lîr. 

Many another tempest had they to strive with, and very cruel to themwere the snow and biting frosts of the dreary winters. One Januarynight there came a frost that turned even the restless sea into solidice, and in the morning, when the swans strove to rise from the rockof Carricknarone, the iron frost clung to them and they left behindthem the skin of their feet, the quills of their wings, and the softfeathers of their breasts, and when the frost had gone, the salt waterwas torture for their wounds. Yet ever they sang their songs, piercingsweet and speaking of the peace and joy to come, and many astorm-tossed mariner by them was lulled to sleep and dreamt the happydreams of his childhood, nor knew who had sung him so magical alullaby. It was in those years that Finola sang the song which a poetwho possessed the wonderful heritage of a perfect comprehension of thesoul 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 ofLîr see any of their friends. When they saw, riding down to the shoreat the mouth of the Bann on the north coast of Erin, a company ingallant attire, with glittering arms, and mounted on white horses, theswans hastened to meet them. And glad were their hearts that day, forthe company was led by two sons of Bodb the Red, who had searched forthe swans along the rocky coast of Erin for many a day, and whobrought them loving greetings from the good king of the Dedannans andfrom 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 thewestern sea. And there they had sufferings and hardships to bear thatwere even more grievous than those that they had endured on the Sea ofMoyle, and one night the snow that drifted down upon them from the icewas scourged on by a north-west wind, and there came a moment when thethree 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 cansuccour us, for He alone can wholly understand the sorrows of ourhearts. Put your trust in Him, dear brothers, and He will send uscomfort and help. "

Then said her brothers: "In Him we put our trust, " and from thatmoment the Lord of Heaven gave them His help, so that no frost, norsnow, nor cold, nor tempest, nor any of the creatures of the deepcould work them any harm. 

When the nine hundred years of their sorrowful doom had ended, thechildren of Lîr joyously spread their wings and flew to their father'shome at Shee Finnaha. 

But the house was there no more, for Lîr, their father, was dead. Onlystones, round which grew rank grass and nettles, and where no humancreature had his habitation, marked the place for which they hadlonged with an aching, hungry longing, through all their weary yearsof doom. Their cries were piteous as the cries of lost children asthey looked on the desolate ruins, but all night they stayed there, and their songs were songs that might have made the very stones shedtears. 

Next day they winged their way back to Inis Glora, and there thesweetness of their singing drew so many birds to listen that thelittle 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 theWestern Sea, and at the island of Iniskea they held converse with thelonely 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 gladtidings, for the holy Patrick came to lead men out of darkness intolight. 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 alittle bell. It was so far away that it rang faintly, but it was likeno sound they had ever known, and the three brothers were filled withfear and flew hither and thither, trying to discover from whence thestrange sound came. But when they returned to Finola, they found herfloating 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 itis. "

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 thebell, until Kemoc had said matins. Then said Finola: "Let us now singour 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-sweetmelody. So he hastened to where they were, and when he asked them ifthey were indeed the children of Lîr, for whose sake he had come toInis Glora, they told him all their piteous tale. 

Then said Kemoc, "Come then to land, and put your trust in me, for onthis island shall your enchantment come to an end. " And when mostgladly they came, he caused a cunning workman to fashion two slendersilver chains; one he put between Finola and Aed, and the otherbetween Ficra and Conn, and so joyous were they to know again humanlove, and so happy to join each day with Kemoc in praising God, thatthe memory of their suffering and sorrow lost all its bitterness. Thusin part were the words of Eva fulfilled, but there had yet to takeplace the entire fulfilment of her words. 

Decca, a princess of Munster, had wed Larguen, king of Connaught, andwhen news came to her of the wonderful swans of Kemoc, nothing wouldsuffice her but that she should have them for her own. By constantbeseeching, she at length prevailed upon Larguen to send messengers toKemoc, demanding the swans. When the messengers returned with a sternrefusal from Kemoc, the king was angry indeed. How dared a mere clericrefuse to gratify the whim of the queen of Larguen of Connaught! ToInis Glora he went, posthaste, himself. 

"Is it truth that ye have dared to refuse a gift of your birds to myqueen?" he asked, in wrath. 

And Kemoc answered: "It is truth. "

Then Larguen, in furious anger, seized hold of the silver chain thatbound Finola and Aed together, and of the chain by which Conn andFicra were bound, and dragged them away from the altar by which theysat, that he might take them to his queen. 

But as the king held their chains in his rude grasp, a wondrous thingtook place. 

Instead of swans, there followed Larguen a very old woman, white-haired and feeble, and three very old men, bony and wrinkledand grey. And when Larguen beheld them, terror came upon him and hehastened homeward, followed by the bitter denunciations of Kemoc. Thenthe children of Lîr, in human form at last, turned to Kemoc andbesought him to baptize them, because they knew that death was verynear. 

"Thou art not more sorrowful at parting from us than we are to partwith you, dear Kemoc, " they said. And Finola said, "Bury us, I prayyou, 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 evenas the water touched their foreheads, and while his words were intheir 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, andcarved their names on a stone. 

And over it he sang a lament and prayed to the God of all love andpurity, a prayer for the pure and loving souls of those who had beenthe 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 saystradition, 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 Irelandas Deirdrê. As in the story of Helen, it is not easy, or even possiblein the story of Deirdrê, to disentangle the old, old facts of actualhistory from the web of romantic fairy tale that time has woven aboutthem, yet so great is the power of Deirdrê, even unto this day, thatit has been the fond task of those men and women to whom the Gael owesso much, to preserve, and to translate for posterity, the tragicromance of Deirdrê the Beautiful and the Sons of Usna. 

In many ancient manuscripts we get the story in more or less completeform. In the Advocates' Library of Edinburgh, in the Glenmasan MS. Weget the best and the fullest version, while the oldest and theshortest is to be found in the twelfth-century _Book of Leinster_. 

But those who would revel in the old tale and have Deirdrê lead themby the hand into the enchanted realm of the romance of misty, ancientdays of our Western Isles must go for help to Fiona Macleod, toAlexander 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, liketrue descendants of the Druids, possess the power of unlocking theentrance 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 histime, heroes whose mighty deeds live on in legend, and whose title was"The Champions of the Red Branch, " he gathered round him, and allthrough Erin and Alba rang the fame of the warlike Ultonians. 

There came a day when Conor and his champions, gorgeous in their galadress of crimson tunic with brooches of inlaid gold and white-hoodedshirt embroidered in red gold, went to a feast in the house of onecalled Felim. Felim was a bard, and because not only was his arm inwar strong and swift to strike, but because, in peace, his fingerscould draw the sweetest of music from his harp, he was dear to theking. As they feasted, Conor beheld a dark shadow of horror and ofgrief 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. Speedilyhe bade him tell him what evil thing it was that he saw, and Cathbadturned to the childless Felim and told him that to his wife there wasabout to be born a daughter, with eyes like stars that are mirroredby night in the water, with lips red as the rowan berries and teethmore white than pearls; with a voice more sweet than the music offairy harps. "A maiden fair, tall, long haired, for whom championswill contend . .. And mighty kings be envious of her lovely, faultlessform. " For her sweet sake, he said, more blood should be spilt in Erinthan for generations and ages past, and many heroes and bright torchesof the Gaels should lose their lives. For love of her, three heroes ofeternal renown must give their lives away, the sea in which her starryeyes should mirror themselves would be a sea of blood, and woeunutterable should come on the sons of Erin. Then up spoke the lordsof 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 uponour land, better that thou shouldst shed her innocent blood ere shespills the blood of our nation. "

And Felim made answer:

"It is well spoken. Bitter it is for my wife and for me to lose achild so beautiful, yet shall I slay her that my land may be savedfrom such a doom. "

But Conor, the king, spoke then, and because the witchery of theperfect beauty and the magic charm of Deirdrê was felt by him evenbefore she was born, he said: "She shall not die. Upon myself I takethe doom. The child shall be kept apart from all men until she is ofan age to wed. Then shall I take her for my wife, and none shall dareto contend for her. "

His voice had barely ceased, when a messenger came to Felim to tellhim that a daughter was born to him, and on his heels came aprocession of chanting women, bearing the babe on a flower-deckedcushion. And all who saw the tiny thing, with milk-white skin, andlocks "more yellow than the western gold of the summer sun, " looked onher with the fear that even the bravest heart feels on facing theUnknown. And Cathbad spoke: "Let Deirdrê be her name, sweet menacethat she is. " And the babe gazed up with starry eyes at thewhite-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 leftwith her mother for only a month and a day, and then was sent with anurse and with Cathbad the Druid to a lonely island, thickly wooded, and only accessible by a sort of causeway at low tide. Here she grewinto maidenhood, and each day became more fair. She had instructionfrom Cathbad in religion and in all manner of wisdom, and it wouldseem as though she also learned from him some of that mystical powerthat enabled her to see things hidden from human eyes. 

"Tell me, " one day she asked her teacher, "who made the stars, thefirmament 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 thehand of Cathbad, broke it in two, and flung the pieces far out on thewater. "Ah, Cathbad!" she cried, "there shall come One in the dimfuture 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 givingpain to the friend whom she loved, threw her arms about the old man'sneck, and by her kisses strove to comfort him. 

As Deirdrê grew older, Conor sent one from his court to educate her inall that any queen should know. They called her the Lavarcam, which, in our tongue, really means the Gossip, and she was one of royal bloodwho belonged to a class that in those days had been trained to bechroniclers, or story-tellers. The Lavarcam was a clever woman, andshe 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 Deirdrêsaw lying on the snow a calf that had been slain for her food. The redblood that ran from its neck had brought a black raven swooping downupon the snow. And to Lavarcam Deirdrê said: "If there were a man whohad hair of the blackness of that raven, skin of the whiteness of thesnow, and cheeks as red as the blood that stains its whiteness, to himshould I give my heart. "

And Lavarcam, without thought, made answer:

"One I know whose skin is whiter than the snow, whose cheeks are ruddyas the blood that stained the snow, and whose hair is black and glossyas the raven's wing. He has eyes of the darkest blue of the sky, andhead and shoulders is he above all the men of Erin. "

"And what will be the name of that man, Lavarcam?" asked Deirdrê. "Andwhence is he, and what his degree?"

And Lavarcam made answer that he of whom she spoke was Naoise, one ofthe three sons of Usna, a great lord of Alba, and that these threesons were mighty champions who had been trained at the famed militaryschool at Sgathaig[14] in the Isle of Skye. 

Then said Deirdrê: "My love shall be given to none but Naoise, son ofUsna. To him shall it belong forever. "

From that day forward, Naoise held kingship over the thoughts anddreams of Deirdrê. 

And when Lavarcam saw how deep her careless words had sunk into theheart of the maiden, she grew afraid, and tried to think of a means bywhich to undo the harm which, in her thoughtlessness, she had wrought. 

Now Conor had made a law that none but Cathbad, Lavarcam, and thenurse of Deirdrê should pass through the forest that led to herhiding-place, and that none but they should look upon her until hisown eyes beheld her and he took her for his wife. But as Lavarcam oneday came from seeing Deirdrê, and from listening to her many eagerquestions about Naoise, she met a swineherd, rough in looks andspeech, and clad in the pelt of a deer, and with him two roughfellows, bondmen of the Ultonians, and to her quick mind there came aplan. Thus she bade them follow her into the forbidden forest andthere to remain, by the side of a well, until they should hear thebark of a fox and the cry of a jay. Then they were to walk slowly onthrough the woods, speaking to none whom they might meet, and stillkeeping 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 toenjoy the beauty of the woods. In a little, Lavarcam strayed away fromher charge, and soon the cry of a jay and the bark of a fox wereheard, and while Deirdrê still marvelled at the sounds that came soclose together, Lavarcam returned. Nor had she been back a minutebefore three men came through the trees and slowly walked past, closeto where Lavarcam and Deirdrê were hidden. 

"I have never seen men so near before, " said Deirdrê. "Only from theoutskirts of the forest have I seen them very far away. Who are thesemen, who bring no joy to my eyes?"

And Lavarcam made answer: "These are Naoise, Ardan, and Ainle--thethree sons of Usna. "

But Deirdrê looked hard at Lavarcam, and scorn and laughter were inher 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 bya path amongst the fern, and stood suddenly before the three men. 

And the rough hinds, seeing such perfect loveliness, made very surethat Deirdrê was one of the _sidhe_[15] and stared at her with theround 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 lashedthem with her mockery, until the swineherd could no more, and blurtedout the whole truth to this most beautiful of all the world. Then, very gently, like pearls from a silver string, the words fell from therowan-red lips of Deirdrê: "I blame thee not, poor swineherd, " shesaid, "and that thou mayst know that I deem thee a true man, I wouldfain ask thee to do one thing for me. "

And when the eyes of the herd met the eyes of Deirdrê, a soul was bornin 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 andkissed the swineherd on his weather-beaten, tanned forehead. 

"Go, then, " she said, "to Naoise. Tell him that I, Deirdrê, dream ofhim all the night and think of him all the day, and that I bid himmeet me here to-morrow an hour before the setting of the sun. "

The swineherd watched her flit into the shadows of the trees, and thenwent on his way, through the snowy woods, that he might pay with hislife for the kiss that Deirdrê had given him. 

Sorely puzzled was Lavarcam over the doings of Deirdrê that day, forDeirdrê told her not a word of what had passed between her and theswineherd. On the morrow, when she left her to go back to the court ofKing Conor, she saw, as she drew near Emain Macha, where he stayed, black wings that flapped over something that lay on the snow. At herapproach there rose three ravens, three kites, and three hoodie-crows, and she saw that their prey was the body of the swineherd with gapingspear-wounds all over him. Yet even then he looked happy. He had diedlaughing, and there was still a smile on his lips. Faithfully had hedelivered his message, and when he had spoken of the beauty ofDeirdrê, rumour of his speech had reached the king, and the spears ofConor's men had enabled him to make true the words he had said toDeirdrê: "I will pay for it with my life. " In this way was shed thefirst blood of that great sea of blood that was spilt for the love ofDeirdrê, the Beauty of the World. 

From where the swineherd lay, Lavarcam went to the camp of the Sonsof Usna, and to Naoise she told the story of the love that Deirdrêbore him, and counselled him to come to the place where she washidden, and behold her beauty. And Naoise, who had seen how even arough clod of a hind could achieve the noble chivalry of a race ofkings for her dear sake, felt his heart throb within him. "I willcome, " he said to Lavarcam. 

Days passed, and Deirdrê waited, very sure that Naoise must come toher at last. And one day she heard a song of magical sweetness comingthrough the trees. Three voices sung the song, and it was as thoughone of the _sidhe_ played a harp to cast a spell upon men. The voiceof Ainle, youngest of the Sons of Usna, was like the sweet upperstrings of the harp, that of Ardan the strings in the middle, and thevoice of Naoise was like the strings whose deep resonance can playupon the hearts of warriors and move them to tears. Then Deirdrê knewthat she heard the voice of her beloved, and she sped to him as a birdspeeds to her mate. Even as Lavarcam had told her was Naoise, eldestof the Sons of Usna, but no words had been able to tell Naoise of thebeauty 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 othercreature, " and their souls rushed together and were one for evermore. It was for them the beginning of a perfect love, and so sure were theyof that love from the very first moment that it seemed as though theymust have been born loving one another. 

Of that love they talked, of the anger of Conor when he knew that hisdestined bride was the love of Naoise, and together they planned howit was best for Deirdrê to escape from the furious wrath of the kingwho desired her for his own. 

Of a sudden, the hands of Naoise gripped the iron-pointed javelin thathung by his side, and drove it into a place where the snow weigheddown the bracken. 

"Is it a wolf?" cried Deirdrê. 

And Naoise made answer: "Either a dead man, or the mark of where a manhas lain hidden thou wilt find under the bracken. "

And when they went to look they found, like the clap of a hare, themark of where a man had lain hidden, and close beside the javelin thatwas driven in the ground there lay a wooden-hilted knife. 

Then said Naoise: "Well I knew that Conor would set a spy on mytracks. 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. ToDeirdrê, both Ainle and Ardan swiftly gave their lifelong allegianceand their love, but they were full of forebodings for her and forNaoise because of the certain wrath of Conor, the king. 

Then said Naoise: "Although harm should come, for her dear sake I amwilling 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 weshall be alive. We will go with her to another country. There is notin Erin a king who will not bid us welcome. "

Then did the Sons of Usna decide to cross the Sea of Moyle, and intheir own land of Alba to find a happy sanctuary. That night theyfled, and with them took three times fifty men, three times fiftywomen, three times fifty horses, and three times fifty greyhounds. Andwhen they looked back to where they had had their dwelling, they sawred flames against the deep blue sky of the night, and knew that thevengeance of Conor had already begun. And first they travelled roundErin from Essa to Beinn Etair, [16] and then in a great black galleythey set sail, and Deirdrê had a heart light as the white-wingedsea-birds as the men pulled at the long oars and sang together arowing song, and she leaned on the strong arm of Naoise and saw theblue coast-line of Erin fading into nothingness. 

In the bay of Aros, on the eastern shores of the island of Mull, theyfound their first resting-place, but there they feared treachery froma lord of Appin. For the starry eyes of Deirdrê were swift to discernevil that the eyes of the Sons of Usna could not see. Thus they faredonward until they reached the great sea-loch of Etive, with hillsaround it, and Ben Cruachan, its head in mist, towering above it likea watchman placed there by Time, to wait and to watch over the peopleof those silent hills and lonely glens until Time should give place tohis brother, Eternity. 

Joy was in the hearts of the three Sons of Usna when they came back tothe home of their fathers. Usna was dead, but beyond the Falls of Lorawas still the great dun--the vitrified fort--which he had built forhimself and for those who should follow him. 

For Deirdrê then began a time of perfect happiness. Naoise was herheart, but very dear to her also were the brothers of Naoise, and eachof the three vied with one another in their acts of tender and lovingservice. Their thrice fifty vassals had no love for Alba, and rejoicedwhen their lord, Naoise, allowed them to return to Erin, but the Sonsof Usna were glad to have none to come between them and their servingof Deirdrê, the queen of their hearts. Soon she came to know well eachlittle bay, each beach, and each little lonely glen of Loch Etive, forthe Sons of Usna did not always stay at the dun which had been theirfather's, but went a-hunting up the loch. At various spots on theshores of Etive they had camping places, and at Dail-an-eas[17] theybuilt 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 thepools, and with soft feathers from the breasts of birds. There shecould sit and listen to the murmur and drip of the clear water overthe mossy boulders, the splash of the salmon in the dark pools, andsee the distant silver of the loch. When the summer sun was hot on thebog myrtle and heather, the hum of the wild bees would lull her tosleep, and in autumn, when the bracken grew red and golden and therowan berries grew red as Deirdrê's lips, her keen eyes would see thestags grazing high up among the grey boulders of the mist-crownedmountains, and would warn the brothers of the sport awaiting them. Thecrow 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 thebirches--all these things made music to Deirdrê, to whom all thingswere dear. 

"_Is tu mein na Dearshul agha_"--"The tenderness of heartsweetDeirdrê"--so runs a line in an old, old Gaelic verse, and it is alwaysof her tenderness as well as her beauty that the old _Oea_ speak. 

Sometimes she would hunt the red deer with Naoise and his brothers, upthe lonely glens, up through the clouds to the silent mountain tops, and in the evening, when she was weary, her three loyal worshipperswould proudly bear her home upon their bucklers. 

So the happy days passed away, and in Erin the angry heart of Conorgrew yet more angry when tidings came to him of the happiness ofDeirdrê and the Sons of Usna. Rumour came to him that the king ofAlba had planned to come against Naoise, to slay him, and to takeDeirdrê for his wife, but that ere he could come the Sons of Usna andDeirdrê 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 onLoch 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 ofthe 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 hismind a plan of evil by which his burning thirst for revenge might behandsomely assuaged. 

He made, therefore, a great feast, at which all the heroes of the RedBranch were present. When he had done them every honour, he asked themif they were content. As one man: "Well content indeed!" answeredthey. 

"And that is what I am not, " said the king. Then with the guile offair words he told them that to him it was great sorrow that the threeheroes, with whose deeds the Western Isles and the whole of the northand west of Alba were ringing, should not be numbered amongst hisfriends, sit at his board in peace and amity, and fight for theUltonians like all the other heroes of the Red Branch. 

"They took from me the one who would have been my wife, " he said, "yeteven that I can forgive, and if they would return to Erin, glad wouldmy welcome be. "

At these words there was great rejoicing amongst the lords of the RedBranch and all those who listened, and Conor, glad at heart, said, "My three best champions shall go to bring them back from theirexile, " and he named Conall the Victorious, Cuchulainn, and Fergus, the son of Rossa the Red. Then secretly he called Conall to him andasked 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 reachedthe land of the Ultonians. And Conall made answer that should such ashameful thing come to pass he would slay with his own hand all thetraitor dogs. Then he sent for Cuchulainn, and to him put the samequestion, and, in angry scorn, the young hero replied that even Conorhimself would not be safe from his vengeance were such a deed of blacktreachery to be performed. 

"Well did I know thou didst bear me no love, " said Conor, and blackwas his brow. 

He called for Fergus then, and Fergus, sore troubled, made answer thatwere there to be such a betrayal, the king alone would be held sacredfrom 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 theBeautiful. 

"Thy name of old was Honeymouth, " he said, "so I know well that withguile thou canst bring them to Erin. And when thou shalt have returnedwith them, send them forward, but stay thyself at the house ofBorrach. Borrach shall have warning of thy coming. "

This he said, because to Fergus and to all the other of the RedBranch, a _geasa_, or pledge, was sacrosanct. And well he knew thatFergus had as one of his _geasa_ that he would never refuse aninvitation 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 hadbeen playing chess in their dun with Conor, the king. The board was offair ivory, and the chessmen were of red-gold, wrought in strangedevices. It had come from the mysterious East in years far beyond thememory of any living man, and was one of the dearest of Conor'spossessions. Thus, when Ainle and Ardan carried off the chess-boardwith them in their flight, after the loss of Deirdrê, that was theloss that gave the king the greatest bitterness. Now it came to passthat as Naoise and Deirdrê were sitting in front of their dun, thelittle waves of Loch Etive lapping up on the seaweed, yellow as thehair of Deirdrê, far below, and playing chess at this board, theyheard a shout from the woods down by the shore where the hazels andbirches grew thick. 

"That is the voice of a man of Erin!" said Naoise, and stopped in hisgame to listen. 

But Deirdrê said, very quickly: "Not so! It is the voice of a Gael ofAlba. "

Yet so she spoke that she might try to deceive her own heart, thateven then was chilled by the black shadow of an approaching evil. Thencame another shout, and yet a third. And when they heard the thirdshout, there was no doubt left in their minds, for they all knew thevoice for that of Fergus, the son of Rossa the Red. And when Ardanhastened down to the harbour to greet him, Deirdrê confessed to Naoisewhy she had refused at first to own that it was a voice from Erin thatshe heard. 

"I saw in a dream last night, " she said, "three birds that flew hitherfrom Emain Macha, carrying three sips of honey in their beaks. Thehoney they left with us, but took away three sips of blood. "

And Naoise said: "What then, best beloved, dost thou read from thisdream of thine?"

And Deirdrê said: "I read that Fergus comes from Conor with honeyedwords of peace, but behind his treacherous words lies death. "

As they spake, Ardan and Fergus and his following climbed up theheight where the bog-myrtle and the heather and sweet fern yieldedtheir 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 thatawaited them in Erin if they would but listen to the words of welcomethat he brought. 

Then said Naoise: "I am ready. " But his eyes dared not meet thesea-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 heartof Deirdrê hung that black cloud of sorrow to come, of woeunspeakable. 

When the golden dawn crept over the blue hills of Loch Etive, and thewhite-winged birds of the sea swooped and dived and cried in thesilver 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, andwhen Ardan and Ainle and Naoise heard the words of the song ofDeirdrê, on their hearts also descended the strange sorrow of an evilthing 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, Fergusand the returned exiles landed. And scarcely were they out of sight ofthe shore when a messenger came to Fergus, bidding him to a feast ofale at the dun of Borrach. Then Fergus, knowing well that in this wasthe hand of Conor and that treachery was meant, reddened all over withanger and with shame. But yet he dared not break his _geasa_, evenalthough by holding to it the honour he had pledged to the threebrothers for their safe-conduct and that of Deirdrê was draggedthrough the mire. He therefore gave them his sons for escort and wentto the feast at the dun of Borrach, full well knowing that Deirdrêspoke truth when she told him sadly that he had sold his honour. Thegloomy forebodings that had assailed the heart of Deirdrê ere they hadleft Loch Etive grew ever the stronger as they went southwards. Shebegged Naoise to let them go to some place of safety and there waituntil Fergus had fulfilled his _geasa_ and could rejoin them and gowith them to Emain Macha. But the Sons of Usna, strong in theknowledge of their own strength, and simply trustful of the pledgedword of Conor and of Fergus, laughed at her fears, and continued ontheir way. Dreams of dread portent haunted her sleep, and by daytimeher eyes in her white face looked like violets in the snow. She saw acloud of blood always hanging over the beautiful Sons of Usna, and allof them she saw, and Illann the Fair, with their heads shorn off, goryand awful. Yet no pleading words could prevail upon Naoise. His fatedrove him on. 

"To Emain Macha we must go, my beloved, " he said. "To do other thanthis would be to show that we have fear, and fear we have none. "

Thus at last did they arrive at Emain Macha, and with courteouswelcome Conor sent them word that the house of the heroes of the RedBranch was to be theirs that night. And although the place the kinghad chosen for their lodgment confirmed all the intuitions andforebodings of Deirdrê, the evening was spent by in good cheer, andDeirdrê 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 ofthe Red Branch and bring me back tidings if the beauty of Deirdrê haswaned, 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, sheknew that love had made the beauty of Deirdrê blossom, and that shewas 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 inthe starry eyes of Deirdrê, and so she poured forth warning of thetreachery of Conor, and the Sons of Usna knew that there was truth inthe dreams of her who was the queen of their hearts. And even asLavarcam ceased there came to the eyes of Deirdrê a vision such asthat 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 Machaand told Conor that the cruel winds and snows of Alba had robbedDeirdrê of all her loveliness, so that she was no more a thing to bedesired. But Naoise had said to Deirdrê when she foretold his doom:"Better to die for thee and for thy deathless beauty than to havelived without knowledge of thee and thy love, " and it may have beenthat some memory of the face of Deirdrê, when she heard these words, dwelt in the eyes of Lavarcam and put quick suspicion into the evilheart of the king. For when Lavarcam had gone forth, well pleased thatshe had saved her darling, Conor sent a spy--a man whose father andthree brothers had fallen in battle under the sword of Naoise--that hemight see Deirdrê and confirm or contradict the report of Lavarcam. And when this man reached the house of the Red Branch, he found thatthe Sons of Usna had been put on their guard, for all the doors andwindows were barred. Thus he climbed to a narrow upper window andpeered in. There, lying on the couches, the chess-board of ivory andgold between them, were Naoise and Deirdrê. So beautiful were they, that they were as the deathless gods, and as they played that lastgame of their lives, they spoke together in low voices of love thatsounded 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 thatgloated on her loveliness. No word said she, but silently made thegaze of Naoise follow her own, even as he held a golden chessman inhis hand, pondering a move. Swift as a stone from a sling the chessmanwas hurled, and the man fell back to the ground with his eyeballsmashed, and found his way to Emain Macha as best he could, shakingwith agony and snarling with lust for revenge. Vividly he painted forthe king the picture of the most beautiful woman on earth as sheplayed at the chess-board that he held so dear, and the rage of Conorthat had smouldered ever since that day when he learned that Naoisehad stolen Deirdrê from him, flamed up into madness. With a bellowlike that of a wounded bull, he called upon the Ultonians to come withhim to the House of the Red Branch, to burn it down, and to slay allthose within it with the sword, save only Deirdrê, who was to be savedfor a more cruel fate. 

In the House of the Red Branch, Deirdrê and the three brothers and thetwo sons of Fergus heard the shouts of the Ultonians and knew that thestorm was about to break. But, calm as rocks against which the angrywaves beat themselves in vain, sat those whose portion at dawn was tobe cruel death. And Naoise and Ainle played chess, with hands that didnot tremble. At the first onslaught, Buinne the Red, son of Fergus, sallied forth, quenched the flames, and drove back the Ultonians withgreat slaughter. But Conor called to him to parley and offered him abribe of land, and Buinne, treacherous son of a treacherous father, went over to the enemy. His brother, Illann the Fair, filled withshame, did what he could to make amends. He went forth, and manyhundreds of the besieging army fell before him, ere death stayed hisloyal hand. At his death the Ultonians again fired the house, andfirst Ardan and then Ainle left their chess for a fiercer game, andglutted their sword blades with the blood of their enemies. Last camethe turn of Naoise. He kissed Deirdrê, and drank a drink, and went outagainst 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 againstthe Sons of Usna no man could prevail, save by magic. Thus he sent forCathbad the Druid, who was even then very near death, and the old manwas carried on a litter to the House of the Red Branch, from which theflames were leaping, and before which the dead lay in heaps. 

And Conor besought him to help him to subdue the Sons of Usna ere theyshould have slain every Ultonian in the land. So by his magic Cathbadraised a hedge of spears round the house. But Naoise, Ardan, andAinle, with Deirdrê in their centre, sheltered by their shields, burstsuddenly forth from the blazing house, and cut a way for themselvesthrough the hedge as though they sheared green wheat. And, laughingaloud, they took a terrible toll of lives from the Ultonians who wouldhave withstood them. Then again the Druid put forth his power, and anoise like the noise of many waters was in the ears of all who werethere. So suddenly the magic flood arose that there was no chance ofescape for the Sons of Usna. Higher it mounted, ever higher, andNaoise held Deirdrê on his shoulder, and smiled up in her eyes as thewater rose past his middle. Then suddenly as it had come, the floodabated, and all was well with the Ultonians who had sheltered on arising ground. But the Sons of Usna found themselves entrapped in amorass where the water had been. Conor, seeing them in his hands atlast, bade some of his warriors go and take them. But for shame noUltonian would go, and it was a man from Norway who walked along a dryspit of land to where they stood, sunk deep in the green bog. "Slay mefirst!" called Ardan as he drew near, sword in hand. "I am theyoungest, and, who knows, my death may change the tides of fate!"

And Ainle also craved that death might be dealt to him the first. ButNaoise held out his own sword, "The Retaliator, " to the executioner. 

"Mannanan, the son of Lîr, gave me my good sword, " he said. "With itstrike my dear brothers and me one blow only as we stand here likethree trees planted in the soil. Then shall none of us know the griefand shame of seeing the other beheaded. " And because it was hard forany man to disobey the command of Naoise, a king of men, the Norsemanreached out his hand for the sword. But Deirdrê sprang from theshoulder of Naoise and would have killed the man ere he struck. Roughly he threw her aside, and with one blow he shore off the headsof the three greatest heroes of Alba. 

For a little while there was a great stillness there, like the silencebefore the coming of a storm. And then all who had beheld the end ofthe fair and noble Sons of Usna broke into great lamentation. OnlyConor stood silent, gazing at the havoc he had wrought. To Cuchulainn, the mighty champion, a good man and a true, Deirdrê fled, and beggedhim to protect her for the little span of life that she knew yetremained to her. And with him she went to where the head of Naoiselay, and tenderly she cleansed it from blood and from the stains ofstrife and stress, and smoothed the hair that was black as a raven'swing, and kissed the cold lips again and again. And as she held itagainst her white breast, as a mother holds a little child, shechanted for Naoise, her heart, and for his brothers, a lament thatstill 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 weredug for the brothers, but the grave of Naoise was made wider than theothers, and when he was placed in it, standing upright, with his headplaced on his shoulders, Deirdrê stood by him and held him in herwhite arms, and murmured to him of the love that was theirs and ofwhich not Death itself could rob them. And even as she spoke to him, merciful Death took her, and together they were buried. At that samehour a terrible cry was heard: "_The Red Branch perisheth! Uladhpasseth! Uladh passeth!_" and when he had so spoken, the soul ofCathbad 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 intoruins, and Conor died in a madness of sorrow. 

And still, in that land of Erin where she died, still in the lonelycleuchs and glens, and up the mist-hung mountain sides of Loch Etive, where she knew her truest happiness, we can sometimes almost hear thewind 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 transposedletters, etc. ) have been amended without note. Inconsistenthyphenation and accent use has been made consistent within the maintext, again without note. Any inconsistencies between quotations andthe main text remain as printed. 

There is a lot of archaic language in this text, which remains asprinted. The author also used alternative spelling in places (e. G. Epimethus rather than the more usual Epimetheus); this remains asprinted. There is a reference to Michael Angelo on page 203 and inthe Index, by which the author presumably meant Michelangelo; thishas 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, asfollows:

 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.