While with his songs, Orpheus, the bard of Thrace,allured the trees, the savage animals,and even the insensate rocks, to follow him;Ciconian matrons, with their raving breastsconcealed in skins of forest animals,from the summit of a hill observed him there,attuning love songs to a sounding harp.One of those women, as her tangled hairwas tossed upon the light breeze shouted, “See!Here is the poet who has scorned our love!”Then hurled her spear at the melodious mouthof great Apollo's bard: but the spear's point,trailing in flight a garland of fresh leaves,made but a harmless bruise and wounded not.The weapon of another was a stone,which in the very air was overpoweredby the true harmony of his voice and lyre,and so disabled lay before his feet,as asking pardon for that vain attempt.The madness of such warfare then increased.All moderation is entirely lost, and a wild Fury overcomes the right.—although their weapons would have lost all force,subjected to the power of Orpheus' harp,the clamorous discord of their boxwood pipes,the blaring of their horns, their tambourinesand clapping hands and Bacchanalian yells,with hideous discords drowned his voice and harp.—at last the stones that heard his song no morefell crimson with the Thracian poet's blood.Before his life was taken, the maenads turnedtheir threatening hands upon the many birds,which still were charmed by Orpheus as he sang,the serpents, and the company of beasts—fabulous audience of that worshipped bard.And then they turned on him their blood-stained hands:and flocked together swiftly, as wild birds,which, by some chance, may see the bird of nightbeneath the sun. And as the savage dogsrush on the doomed stag, loosed some bright fore-noon,on blood-sand of the amphitheatre;they rushed against the bard, with swifthurled thyrsi which, adorned with emerald leaveshad not till then been used for cruelty.And some threw clods, and others branches tornfrom trees; and others threw flint stones at him,and, that no lack of weapons might restraintheir savage fury then, not far from thereby chance they found some oxen which turned upthe soil with ploughshares, and in fields nearbywere strong-armed peasants, who with eager sweatworked for the harvest as they dug hard fields;and all those peasants, when they saw the troopof frantic women, ran away and lefttheir implements of labor strown upondeserted fields—harrows and heavy rakesand their long spadesafter the savage mobhad seized upon those implements, and tornto pieces oxen armed with threatening horns,they hastened to destroy the harmless bard,devoted Orpheus; and with impious hate,murdered him, while his out-stretched hands imploredtheir mercy—the first and only time his voicehad no persuasion. O great Jupiter!Through those same lips which had controlled the rocksand which had overcome ferocious beasts,his life breathed forth, departed in the air.The mournful birds, the stricken animals,the hard stones and the weeping woods, all thesethat often had followed your inspiring voice,bewailed your death; while trees dropped their green leaves,mourning for you, as if they tore their hair.They say sad rivers swelled with their own tears—naiads and dryads with dishevelled hairwore garments of dark color.His torn limbswere scattered in strange places. Hebrus thenreceived his head and harp—and, wonderful!While his loved harp was floating down the stream,it mourned for him beyond my power to tell.His tongue though lifeless, uttered a mournful soundand mournfully the river's banks replied:onward borne by the river to the seathey left their native stream and reached the shoreof Lesbos at Methymna. Instantly,a furious serpent rose to attack the headof Orpheus, cast up on that foreign sand—the hair still wet with spray. Phoebus at lastappeared and saved the head from that attack:before the serpent could inflict a sting,he drove it off, and hardened its wide jawsto rigid stone.Meanwhile the fleeting shadeof Orpheus had descended under earth:remembering now those regions that he sawwhen there before, he sought Eurydicethrough fields frequented by the blest; and whenhe found her, folded her in eager arms.Then lovingly they wandered side by side,or he would follow when she chose to lead,or at another time he walked in front,looking back, safely,—at Eurydice.Bacchus would not permit the wickednessof those who slaughtered Orpheus to remainunpunished. Grieving for the loss of hisloved bard of sacred rites, at once he boundwith twisted roots the feet of everyoneof those Edonian women who had causedthe crime of Orpheus' death.Their toes grew long.He thrust the sharp points in the solid earth.As when a bird entangled in a snare,hid by the cunning fowler, knows too latethat it is held, then vainly beats its wings,and fluttering only makes more tight the noosewith every struggle; so each woman-fiendwhose feet were sinking in the soil, when sheattempted flight, was held by deepening roots.And while she looks down where her toes and nailsand feet should be, she sees wood growing upfrom them and covering all her graceful legs.Full of delirious grief, endeavoringto smite with right hand on her changing thigh,she strikes on solid oak. Her tender breastand shoulders are transformed to rigid oak.You would declare that her extended armsare real branches of a forest tree,and such a thought would be the very truth. And not content with this, Bacchus resolvedto leave that land, and with a worthier trainwent to the vineyards of his own Tmolusand to Pactolus, though the river wasnot golden, nor admired for precious sands.His usual throng of Satyrs and of Bacchanalssurrounded him; but not Silenus, whowas then detained from him. The Phrygian folkhad captured him, as he was staggering, faintwith palsied age and wine. And after theybound him in garlands, they led him to their kingMidas, to whom with the CecropianEumolpus, Thracian Orpheus had shown allthe Bacchic rites. When Midas recognizedhis old time friend Silenus, who had beenso often his companion in the ritesof Bacchus, he kept joyful festival,with his old comrade, twice five days and nights.Upon the eleventh day, when Luciferhad dimmed the lofty multitude of stars,King Midas and Silenus went from therejoyful together to the Lydian lands.There Midas put Silenus carefullyunder the care of his loved foster-child,young Bacchus. He with great delight, becausehe had his foster-father once again,allowed the king to choose his own reward—a welcome offer, but it led to harm.And Midas made this ill-advised reply:“Cause whatsoever I shall touch to changeat once to yellow gold.” Bacchus agreedto his unfortunate request, with grief that Midas chose for harm and not for good.The Berecynthian hero, king of Phrygia,with joy at his misfortune went away,and instantly began to test the worthof Bacchus' word by touching everything.Doubtful himself of his new power, he pulleda twig down from a holm-oak, growing ona low hung branch. The twig was turned to gold.He lifted up a dark stone from the groundand it turned pale with gold. He touched a clodand by his potent touch the clod becamea mass of shining gold. He plucked some ripe,dry spears of grain, and all that wheat he touchedwas golden. Then he held an apple whichhe gathered from a tree, and you would thinkthat the Hesperides had given it.If he but touched a lofty door, at onceeach door-post seemed to glisten. When he washedhis hands in liquid streams, the lustrous dropsupon his hands might have been those which onceastonished Danae. He could not nowconceive his large hopes in his grasping mind,as he imagined everything of gold.And, while he was rejoicing in great wealth,his servants set a table for his meal,with many dainties and with needful bread:but when he touched the gift of Ceres withhis right hand, instantly the gift of Ceresstiffened to gold; or if he tried to bitewith hungry teeth a tender bit of meat,the dainty, as his teeth but touched it, shoneat once with yellow shreds and flakes of gold.And wine, another gift of Bacchus, whenhe mixed it in pure water, can be seenin his astonished mouth as liquid gold.Confounded by his strange misfortune—richand wretched—he was anxious to escapefrom his unhappy wealth. He hated allhe had so lately longed for. Plenty couldnot lessen hunger and no remedyrelieved his dry, parched throat. The hated goldtormented him no more than he deserved.Lifting his hands and shining arms to heaven,he moaned. “Oh pardon me, father Lenaeus!I have done wrong, but pity me, I pray,and save me from this curse that looked so fair.”How patient are the gods! Bacchus forthwith,because King Midas had confessed his fault,restored him and annulled the promise given,annulled the favor granted, and he said:“That you may not be always cased in gold,which you unhappily desired, departto the stream that flows by that great town of Sardisand upward trace its waters, as they glidepast Lydian heights, until you find their source.Then, where the spring leaps out from mountain rock,plunge head and body in the snowy foam.At once the flood will take away your curse.”King Midas did as he was told and plungedbeneath the water at the river's source.And the gold virtue granted by the god,as it departed from his body, tingedthe stream with gold. And even to this houradjoining fields, touched by this ancient veinof gold, are hardened where the river flowsand colored with the gold that Midas left. Abhorring riches he inhabitedthe woods and fields, and followed Pan who dwellsalways in mountain-caves: but still obtuseremained, from which his foolish mind again,by an absurd decision, harmed his life.He followed Pan up to the lofty mountTmolus, which from its great height looks faracross the sea. Steep and erect it standsbetween great Sardis and the small Hypaepa.While Pan was boasting there to mountain nymphsof his great skill in music, and while hewas warbling a gay tune upon the reeds,cemented with soft wax, in his conceithe dared to boast to them how he despisedApollo's music when compared with his—.At last to prove it, he agreed to standagainst Apollo in a contest whichit was agreed should be decided byTmolus as their umpire.This old godsat down on his own mountain, and first easedhis ears of many mountain growing trees,oak leaves were wreathed upon his azure hairand acorns from his hollow temples hung.First to the Shepherd-god Tmolus spoke:“My judgment shall be yours with no delay.Pan made some rustic sounds on his rough reeds,delighting Midas with his uncouth notes;for Midas chanced to be there when he played.When Pan had ceased, divine Tmolus turnedto Phoebus, and the forest likewise turnedjust as he moved. Apollo's golden lockswere richly wreathed with fresh Parnassian laurel;his robe of Tyrian purple swept the ground;his left hand held his lyre, adorned with gemsand Indian ivory. His right hand heldthe plectrum—as an artist he stood therebefore Tmolus, while his skilful thumbtouching the strings made charming melody.Delighted with Apollo's artful touch,Tmolus ordered Pan to hold his reedsexcelled by beauty of Apollo's lyre.That judgment of the sacred mountain godpleased all those present, all but Midas, whoblaming Tmolus called the award unjust.The Delian god forbids his stupid earsto hold their native human shape;and, drawing them out to a hideous length,he fills them with gray hairs, and makes them bothunsteady, wagging at the lower part:still human, only this one part condemned,Midas had ears of a slow-moving ass.Midas, careful to hide his long ears, worea purple turban over both, which hidhis foul disgrace from laughter. But one daya servant, who was chosen to cut his hairwith steel, when it was long, saw his disgrace.He did not dare reveal what he had seen,but eager, to disclose the secret, duga shallow hole, and in a low voice toldwhat kind of ears were on his master's head.All this he whispered in the hollow earthhe dug, and then he buried all he saidby throwing back the loose earth in the holeso everything was silent when he left.A grove thick set with quivering reedsbegan to grow there, and when it matured,about twelve months after that servant left,the grove betrayed its planter. For, moved bya gentle South Wind, it repeated allthe words which he had whispered, and disclosedfrom earth the secret of his master's ears. His vengence now complete, Latona's sonborne through the liquid air, departed fromTmolus, and then rested on the landof Laomedon, this side the narrow seadividing Phrygia from the land of Thrace.The promontory of Sigaeum rightand on the left Rhoetaeum loftily arose;and at that place an ancient altar hadbeen dedicated to great Jove, the godPanomphaean. And near that place he sawlaomedon, beginning then to buildthe walls of famous Troy. He was convincedthe task exceeded all the power of man,requiring great resource. Together withthe trident-bearing father of the deep,he assumed a mortal form: and those two godsagreed to labor for a sum of goldand built the mighty wall. But that false kingrefused all payment, adding perjuryto his false bargaining. Neptune, enraged,said, “You shall not escape your punishment.”And he drove all his waters high uponthe shores of Troy—built there through perfidy.The sad land seemed a sea: the hard-earned wealthof all its farmers was destroyedand overwhelmed by furious waves.This awful punishment was not enough.The daughter of the king was soon requiredas food for a sea-monster—. Hesionewas chained to rugged rocks. But Herculesdelivered from all harm the royal maidand justly he demanded of the king,her father, payment of the promised steeds;but that perfidious king refused to keephis promise. Hercules enraged, becauseall payment was denied to him for hisgreat service, captured the twice-perjured wallsof conquered Troy. And as a fair reward,he gave to Telamon, who fought for him,Hesione, loved daughter of that king.For Peleus had a goddess as his brideand he was prouder of his father-in-lawthan of his grandsire. Since not he alonewas grandson of great Jove, but he alonewas honored with a goddess for a wife. To Thetis, aged Proteus once had said,“Oh goddess of the waves, you shall conceive,and you shall be the mother of a youthwho by heroic actions will surpassthe deeds of his own father, and your sonshall be superior to his father's power.”So Jupiter, although the flame of lovefor Thetis burned his breast, would not embracethe lovely daughter of the sea, and urgedhis grandson Peleus, son of Aeacus,to wed the green haired maid without delay.There is a curved bay of Haemonia,where like an arch, two bending armsproject out in the waves, as if to forma harbor; but the water is not deep—although enough to hide a shoal of sand.It has a firm shore which will not retaina foot's impression, nor delay the step—no seaweeds grow in that vicinity.There is a grove of myrtle near that placethick-hung with berries, blended of twin shades.A cave within the middle of that groveis found, and whether it was formed by artor nature is not known, although it seemsa work of art. There Thetis often went,quite naked, seated on her dolphin, whichwas harnessed. Peleus seized her there when shewas fast asleep: and after he had triedto win her by entreaties, while she longcontinued to resist him, he resolvedto conquer her by violence, and seizedher neck with both arms. She resorted thento all her usual art, and often changed: her shape as it was known, so that he failedin his attempt. At first she was a bird,but while she seemed a bird he held her fast;and then she changed herself to a large tree,and Peleus clung with ardor to the tree;her third disguise was as a spotted tigress,which frightened him so that he lost his hold.Then, as he poured wine on the heaving sea,he prayed unto the sea green gods and gavethem sacrifice of sheep entrails, and smokeof frankincense. He ceased not, till at lastthe prophet of Carpathia, as he roseup from a deep wave, said, “Hark unto me,O son of Aeacus! and you shall havethe bride your heart desires: when she at restlies sleeping in the cool wave, you must bindher while she is unwary, with strong cordsand complicated bonds, And never lether arts deceive you when she imitatesa hundred varied forms, but hold her fast,whatever she may seem, until she shallat length assume the shape she had at first.”So Proteus cautioned him, and hid his facebeneath the waves as his last words were said.Now Titan was descending and the poleof his bright chariot as it downward bentilluminated the Hesperian main;and at that time the lovely Nereid,Thetis, departing from her ocean wave,entered the cavern for desired repose.Peleus was waiting there. Immediately,just as he seized upon the virgin's limbs,she changed her shape and perservereduntil convinced she could not overcome his hold—for her two arms were forced apart—she groaned and said, “You could not overcomeme in this way, but some divinityhas given you the power.” Then she appearedas Thetis: and, when Peleus saw her nowdeprived of all deceptions, he embracedher and was father of the great Achilles. Great Peleus' heart was filled with happiness;because of his great son and Thetis hisdear wife: he was blest in everything, exceptin killing Phocus. The Trachinian landreceived him guilty of his brother's blood;when he fled, banished from his native home.There Ceyx, who had the fine countenanceof Lucifer his father, reigned as king,without the cost of violence or blood.Before this time his days had always givenhim joy and comfort, but all now was changed,for he was mourning a loved brother's death.Peleus, outwearied with his journey's length.Left his fine flock of sheep and all the herdshe had brought with him, not far from the wallsof that city, where Ceyx long had reigned.He entered with an olive branch all swathedin woolen fillets, symbol of good will,and with a suppliant hand disclosed his name.He told the monarch who he was, alsohis father's name. But he concealed his crime,giving untruthful reasons for his flight:and begged a refuge either in town or field.The king of Trachyn answered with kind words:“Ah, Peleus, even the lowest ranks enjoyour bounties and our hospitality,and you bring with you powers which compellattention and respect. Your name is soillustrious, and is not Jupiteryour grandsire? Do not lose your time by suchentreaties. Everything you may desireis yours as soon as known, and all you seeis partly yours, but in how sad a state!”And then he wept. When Peleus and his friendsasked him the reason of his grief he said,“Perchance you deem that bird which lives on prey,which is the terror of all other birds,had always feathered wings? It was a man.And now the vigor of its courage isas great as when well known by his man's name,Daedalion, bold in wars and strong and harsh,and not afraid to hazard violence.His father was unequalled Lucifer,star of the Morning, who at dawn brings forthAurora, and withdraws the last of allthe shining stars of heaven.—My brother nameddaedalion, son of that great star, was fondof cruel warfare, while I cherished peaceand loved the quiet of my married life.This brother, powerful in the art of war,subdued strong kings and nations.—And 'tis hetransformed from manhood, now a bird of prey,that so relentlessly pursues the doves,known as the pride of Thisbe's citizens.“My brother had a daughter Chioneso beautiful she pleased a thousand men,when she had reached the marriageable ageof twice seven years. It happened by some chancethat Phoebus and the son of Maia, whoreturned—one from his Delphi, the other fromCyllene's heights—beheld this lovely maidboth at the same time, and were both inflamedwith passion. Phoebus waited till the night.Hermes could not endure delay and withthe magic of his wand, that causes sleep,he touched the virgin's face; and instantly,as if entranced, she lay there fast asleep,and suffered violence from the ardent god.When night bespangled the wide heaven with stars,Phoebus became an aged crone and gainedthe joy he had deferred until that hour.“When her mature womb had completed timeAutolycus was born, a crafty son,who certainly inherited the skillof wingfoot Mereury, his artful sire,notorious now; for every kind of theft.In fact, Autolycus with Mercury's craft,loved to make white of black, and black of white.“But Phoebus' child, for Chione bore twins, was named Philammon, like his sire, well known.To all men for the beauty of his song.And famous for his handling of the lyre.“What benefit in life did she obtainbecause she pleased! two gods and bore such twins?Was she blest by good fortune then because she was the daughter of a valiant father,and even the grandchild of the Morning Star?Can glory be a curse? Often it is.“And surely it was so for Chione.It was a prejudice that harmed her daysbecause she vaunted that she did surpassDiana's beauty and decried her charms:the goddess in hot anger answered her,sarcastically, ‘If my face cannotgive satisfaction, let me try my deeds.’ “Without delay Diana bent her bow,and from the string an arrow swiftly flew, and pierced the vaunting tongue of Chione.Her tongue was silenced, and she tried in vainto speak or make a sound, and while she triedher life departed with the flowing blood.“Embracing her, I shared her father's grief.I spoke consoling words to my dear brother,he heard them as a cliff might hear the sea.And he lamented bitterly the lossof his dear daughter, snatched away from him.“Ah! when he saw her burning, he was filledwith such an uncontrolled despair, he rushedfour times to leap upon the blazing pyre;and after he had been four times repulsed,he turned and rushed away in headlong flightthrough trackless country, as a bullock flees,his swollen neck pierced with sharp hornet-stings,it seemed to me he ran beyond the speedof any human being. You would thinkhis feet had taken wings, he left us farbehind and swift in his desire for deathhe stood at last upon Parnassus' height.“Apollo pitied him.—And when Daedalionleaped over the steep cliff, Apollo's powertransformed him to a bird; supported himwhile he was hovering in the air uponuncertain wings, of such a sudden growth.Apollo, also, gave him a curved beak,and to his slender toes gave crooked claws.His former courage still remains, with strengthgreater than usual in birds. He changedto a fierce hawk; cruel to all, he ventshis rage on other birds. Grieving himselfhe is a cause of grief to all his kind.”While Ceyx, the royal son of Lucifer,told these great wonders of his brother's life;Onetor, who had watched the while those herdswhich Peleus had assigned to him, ran upwith panting speed; and cried out as he ran,“Peleus, Peleus! I bring you dreadful news!”Peleus asked him to tell what had gone wrongand with King Ceyx he listened in suspense. “I drove the weary bullocks to the shore,”Onetor then began, “About the timewhen the high burning Sun in middle course,could look back on as much as might be seenremaining: and some cattle had then benttheir knees on yellow sand; and as they laymight view the expanse of water stretched beyond.Some with slow steps were wandering here and there,and others swimming, stretched their lofty necksabove the waves. A temple near that seawas fair to view, although 'twas not adornedwith gold nor marble. It was richly madeof beams, and shaded with an ancient grove.“A sailor, while he dried his nets uponthe shore nearby, declared that aged Nereuspossessed it with his Nereids, as the godswho ruled the neighboring waters. Very nearit is a marsh, made by the encroaching waves,all thickly covered with low willow trees.“From there a loud uncanny crashing soundalarms the neighborhood. A monster-wolf!All stained with mud he breaks forth from the marsh,his thundering jaws thick-covered with vile foamand clotted blood—his fierce eyes flashing flamesof crimson: and though he was raging, bothwith fury and with hunger, the true causeof his fierce passions was Ferocity.“He never paused to sate his ravenous hungerwith the first cattle that he fell upon,but mangled the whole herd, as if at war.And some of us, while we defended them,were wounded with his fatal bite and killed.—the shore and nearest waves were red with blood,and marshy fens were filled with mournful sounds—the longings of our cattle.—This delayis dangerous. We must not hesitate.We must unite before all is destroyed!Take up your arms. Arm! and unite, I say!And bear our weapons for the cause of Right!”So spoke the countryman, and yet the losshad no effect on Peleus, though severe,for he, remembering his red crime, believedthe Nereid had given him that loss—a just misfortune, as an offeringto the departed Phocus. After this,King Ceyx, while he put his armor on,ordered his men to arm themselves with theirbest weapons, and to follow his command.But his fond wife, Halcyone, arousedby such a tumult, ran to him in haste;in such haste that her hair was still unfinished,and such as had been done, she threwin wild disorder.—Clinging to the neckof her loved husband, she entreated himwith words and tears, to send his men along.But keep himself at home and so to savetwo lives in one.But Peleus said “O queen,'Tis sweet and commendable in you to fearbut needless. Though you promise generous aid,my hope lies not in fighting with the beast,I must appease a goddess of the sea.And the divinity of ocean mustbe properly adored.”A lofty toweris near there, and upon its extreme heighta signal-fire is burning night and day,known to the grateful ships. They all went there;and from its summit they beheld with sighs,the mangled cattle scattered on the shore,and saw the ravager among the herd,his blood-stained jaws and long hair dripping blood.Then Peleus stretched his arms out towards the sea,and he implored the azure Psamatheto lay aside her wrath and give him aid.But she was deaf to any word of Peleusentreating her, and would not offer aid,till Thetis, interceding on behalfof her afflicted husband, moved her will.The monster-wolf persisted in his rage,even when the sea nymph bade him turn aside.His keen ferocity increased by tasteof new sweet blood; till Psamathe, while hewas seizing the last mangled heifer's neck,transformed him to hard marble. Every partof that ferocious monster's shape remainedbut it was changed to marble colored stone,which showed the monster was no more a wolf,and should no longer be a cause of fear.But still, the guiding Fates did not permitthe banished Peleus to continue there,in this land governed by the friendly king.A wandering exile, he proceeded northinto Magnesia; and was purifiedof guilt by King Acastus of that land.
King Ceyx, disturbed by his loved brother's fateand prodigies which happened since that time,prepared to venture to the Clarian god,that he might there consult the oracle,so sanctified to consolation of distress:for then the way to Delphi was unsafebecause of Phorbas and his Phlegyans.Before he went he told his faithful queen,his dear Halcyone. She felt at onceterror creep through the marrow of her bones,pallor of boxwood overspread her face,and her two cheeks were wet with gushing tears.Three times she tried to speak while tears and sobsdelayed her voice, until at last she said:—“What fault of mine, my dearest, has so changedyour usual thoughts? Where is that care for methat always has stood first? Can you leave mefor this long journey with no anxious fear—Halcyone, forsaken in these halls?Will this long journey be a pleasant changebecause far from you I should be more dear?Perhaps you think you will go there by land,and I shall only grieve, and shall not fearthe sea affrights me with its tragic face.Just lately I observed some broken planksupon our seashore, and I've read and readthe names of seamen on their empty tombs!“Oh, let no false assurance fill your mindbecause your father-in-law is Aeolus.Who in a dungeon shuts the stormful windsand smoothes at will the troubled ocean wavessoon as the winds get freedom from his power,they take entire possession of the deep,and nothing is forbidden their attack;and all the rights of every land and seaare disregarded by them. They insulteven the clouds of heaven and their wildconcussions urge the lightnings to strike fires.The more I know of them, for I knewthem in my childhood and I often sawthem from my father's home, the more I fear.“But, O dear husband! if this new resolvecan not be altered by my prayers and fears,and if you are determined, take me, too:some comfort may be gained, if in the stormswe may be tossed together. I shall fearonly the ills that really come to us,together we can certainly endurediscomforts till we gain that distant land.”Such words and tears of the daughter of Aeolusgave Ceyx, famed son of the Morning Star,much thought and sorrow; for the flame of loveburned in his heart as strongly as in hers.Reluctant to give up the voyage, even moreto make Halcyone his partner onthe dangerous sea, he answered her complaintsin many ways to pacify her breast,but could not comfort her until at lasthe said, “This separation from your lovewill be most sorrowful; and so I swearto you, as witnessed by the sacred fireof my Star-father, if the fates permitmy safe return, I will come back to youbefore the moon has rounded twice her orb.”These promises gave hope of his return.Without delay he ordered a ship shouldbe drawn forth from the dock, launched in the sea,and properly supplied against the needsof travel.—Seeing this, Halcyone,as if aware of future woe, shuddered,wept, and embraced him, and in extreme woesaid with a sad voice, “Ah—Farewell!” and then,her nerveless body sank down to the ground.While Ceyx longed for some pretext to delay,the youthful oarsmen, chosen for their strength,in double rows began to draw the oarsback towards their hardy breasts, cutting the waveswith equal strokes. She raised her weeping eyesand saw her husband on the high-curved stern.He by his waving hand made signs to her,and she returned his signals. Then the shipmoved farther from the shore until her eyescould not distinguish his loved countenance.Still, while she could, she followed with her gazethe fading hull; and, when that too was lostfar in the distance, she remained and gazedat the white topsails, waving from the mast.But, when she could no longer see the sails,with anxious heart she sought her lonely couchand laid herself upon it. Couch and roomrenewed her sorrow and reminded herhow much of life was absent on the sea.The ship had left the harbor, and the breezeshook the taut rigging. Now the captain badethe idle oars be drawn up to the sides.They ran the pointed sailyards up the mastand with spread canvas caught the coming breeze.Perhaps the ship had not sailed half her course,on every side the land was out of sightin fact at a great distance, when, towards darkthe sea grew white with its increasing waves,while boisterous east winds blew with violence.—prompt in his duty, the captain warns his crew,“Lower the top sails—quick—furl all the sailstight to the yards!”—He ordered, but the stormbore all his words away, his voice could notbe heard above the roaring of the sea.But of their own accord some sailors rushedto draw the oars in, others to securethe sides from danger, and some strove to pullthe sails down from the wind. One pumps the wavesup from the hold, and pours the rushing seaagain into the sea; another takesthe yards off.—While such things are being donewithout command or order, the wild stormincreases, and on every side fierce windswage a destructive warfare, which stirs upthe furious waters to their utmost power.Even the captain, terrified, confessedhe did not know the status of the ship,and could not order nor forbid the men—so great the storm, so far beyond his skill.Then he gave up control, while frightened menshouted above the rattled cordage shocks,and heavy waves were dashed against huge waves,and ail the sky reverberated withterrific thunders. The deep sea upturnedtremendous billows, which appeared to reachso near the heaven they touched the heavy cloudswith foam of their tossed waters.—At one time,while the great billows churned up yellow sandfrom off the bottom, the wild rolling waveswere of that color. At another timethey were more black than water of the Styx.Sometimes they levelled, white with lashing foam. The ship was tossed about in the wild storm:aloft as from a mountain peak it seemedto look down on the valley and the depthof Acheron; and, when sunk down in a troughof waves engulfing, it appeared to lookup at the zenith from infernal seas.Often the waves fell on the sides with crashas terrible as when a flying stoneor iron ram shatters a citadel.As lions, mustering up their strength anew,might hurl their breasts against the spearsand outstretched arms of huntsmen, so the waves,upon the rising of the winds, rushed forthagainst the battered sides of the tossed shipand rose much higher than the slanting masts.The ship-bolts lost their grip, the loosened planks,despoiled of covering wax, gave open seams,through which streamed water of the fatal waves.—vast sheets of rain pour from dissolving clouds,so suddenly, it seemed that all the heavenswere flung into the deep, while swelling seasascended to the emptied fields of heaven!The sails are drenched with rain, the salt sea wavesare mingled with the waters of the skies.The firmament is black without a star,and night is doubly dark with its own gloomand blackness of the storm. Quick lightning makesthe black skies glitter, and the waves are firedwith flames of thunder-bolts. Now floods leap upinto the very middle of the ship.Just as a soldier, more courageous thanthe rest of his brave fellows, after hehas often charged against the embattled wallsof a defended city, gains at lengththe place which he has fought for; all inflamedwith his desire of glory, scales the walland stands alone among a thousand foes;so, when destructive waves have beat againstthe ship's high sides, the tenth wave with known power,rushes more furious than the nine before,nor ceases to attack the failing ship,until dashed high above the captured wallsit surges in the hold. Part of the seais still attempting to get in the ship,and part is in it. All are panic stricken,like men within a doomed and shaken town;who see some foes attack the walls without,and others hold possession of the wallswithin the city. Every art has failed,their courage sinks. With every coming waveanother death seems rushing in upon them.One sailor yields in tears; another fallsdown, stupefied; another calls those blestwhom funeral rites await; another prays,addressing trusted gods, lifting his handsup to that heaven unseen, as vainly heimplores some aid divine, and one in frightrecalls his brothers and his parent, whileanother names his children and his home:each frightened sailor thinks of all he left.King Ceyx thinks only of Halcyone,no other name is on his lips but hers:and though he longs for her, yet he is gladthat she is safe at home. Ah, how he triedto look back to the shore of his loved land,to turn his last gaze towards his wife and home.But he has lost direction.—The tossed seais raging in a hurricane so vast,and all the sky is hidden by the gloomof thickened storm-clouds, doubled in pitch-black.The mast is shattered by the violenceof drenching tempests, and the useless helmis broken. One undaunted giant wavestands over wreck and spoil, and looks down likea conqueror upon the other waves:then falls as heavily as if some godshould hurl Mount Athos or Mount Pindus, tornfrom rock foundations, into that wide sea:so, with down-rushing weight and violenceit struck and plunged the ship to the lowest deeps.And as the ship sank, many of the crewsank overwhelmed in deep surrounding waves,never to rise from suffocating death:but some in desperation, clung for lifeto broken timbers and escaped that fate.King Ceyx clung to a fragment of the wreckwith that majestic hand which often beforehad proudly swayed the sceptre. And in vain,alas, he called upon his father's name,alas, he begged his father-in-law's support.But, while he swam, his lips most frequentlypronounced that dearest name, “Halcyone!”He longs to have his body carried by wavesto her dear gaze and have at last,entombment by the hands of his loved friends.Swimming, he called Halcyone—far off,as often as the billows would allowhis lips to open, and among the waveshis darling's name was murmured, till at lasta night-black arch of water swept abovethe highest waves and buried him beneathengulfing billows.Lucifer was dimpast recognition when the dawn appearedand, since he never could depart from heaven,soon hid his grieving countenance in clouds.Meanwhile, Halcyone, all unawareof his sad wreck, counts off the passing nightsand hastens to prepare for him his clothesthat he may wear as soon as he returns to her;and she is choosing what to wear herself,and vainly promises his safe return—all this indeed, while she in hallowed prayeris giving frankincense to please the gods:and first of loving adorations, shepaid at the shrine of Juno. There she prayedfor Ceyx—after he had suffered death,that he might journey safely and returnand might love her above all other women,this one last prayer alone was granted to herbut Juno could not long accept as hersthese supplications on behalf of onethen dead; and that she might persuade Halcyoneto turn her death-polluted hands awayfrom hallowed altars, Juno said in haste,“O, Iris, best of all my messengers,go quickly to the dreadful court of Sleep,and in my name command him to despatcha dream in the shape of Ceyx, who is dead,and tell Halcyone the woeful truth.”So she commanded.—Iris instantlyassumed a garment of a thousand tints;and as she marked the high skies with her arch,went swiftly thence as ordered, to the placewhere Sleep was then concealed beneath a rock. Near the Cimmerian Land there is a cave,with a long entrance, in a hallowed mountain,the home of slothful Sleep. To that dark cavethe Sun, when rising or in middle skies,or setting, never can approach with light.There dense fogs, mingled with the dark, exhaledarkness from the black soil—and all that placeis shadowed in a deep mysterious gloom.No wakeful bird with visage crested highcalls forth the morning's beauty in clear notes;nor do the watchful dogs, more watchful geese,nor wild beasts, cattle, nor the waving trees,make sound or whisper; and the human voiceis never heard there—silent Rest is there.But, from the bottom of a rock beneath,Lethean waters of a stream ooze forth,sounds of a rivulet, which trickle withsoft murmuring amid the pebbles andinvite soft sleep. Before the cavern doorsmost fertile poppies and a wealth of herbsbloom in abundance, from the juice of whichthe humid night-hours gather sleep and spreadit over darkened Earth. No door is inthat cavern-home and not a hinge's noisenor guarding porter's voice disturbs the calm.But in the middle is a resting-couch,raised high on night-black ebony and softwith feathered cushions, all jet black, concealedby a rich coverlet as dark as night,on which the god of sleep, dissolved in slothlies with unmoving limbs. Around him therein all directions, unsubstantial dreamsrecline in imitation of all shapes—as many as the uncounted ears of cornat harvest—as the myriad leaves of trees—or tiny sand grains spread upon the shore.As soon as Iris entered that dread gloom,she pushed aside the visions in her waywith her fair glowing hands; and instantly,that sacred cavern of the god of Sleepwas all illuminated with the glowand splendor of her garment.—Out of himselfthe god with difficulty lifted uphis lanquid eyes. From this small sign of liferelapsing many times to languid sloth,while nodding, with his chin he struck his breastagain and again. At last he roused himselffrom gloom and slumber; and, while raised uponhis elbow, he enquired of Iris whyshe came to him.—He knew her by her name.She answered him, “O, Sleep, divine reposeof all things! Gentlest of the deities!Peace to the troubled mind, from which you drivethe cares of life, restorer of men's strengthwhen wearied with the toils of day, commanda vision that shall seem the actual formof royal Ceyx to visit Trachin famedfor Hercules and tell Halcyonehis death by shipwreck. It is Juno's wish.”Iris departed after this was said.For she no longer could endure the effectof slumber-vapor; and as soon as sheknew sleep was creeping over her tired limbsshe flew from there—and she departed bythe rainbow, over which she came before.Out of the multitude—his thousand sons—the god of sleep raised Morpheus by his power.Most skillful of his sons, who had the artof imitating any human shape;and dexterously could imitate in menthe gait and countenance, and every modeof speaking. He could simulate the dressand customary words of any manhe chose to represent—but he could notassume the form of anything but man.Such was his art. Another of Sleep's sonscould imitate all kinds of animals;such as a wild beast or a flying bird,or even a serpent with its twisted shape;and that son, by the gods above was calledIcelos—but the inhabitants of earthcalled him Phobetor—and a third son, namedPhantasos, cleverly could change himselfinto the forms of earth that have no life;into a statue, water, or a tree.It was the habit of these three to showthemselves at night to kings and generals;and other sons would frequently appearamong the people of the common class.All such the aged god of Sleep passed by.Selecting only Morpheus from amongthe many brothers to accomplish this,and execute what Iris had desired.And after all that work, he dropped his head,and sank again in languid drowsiness,shrinking to sloth within his lofty couch.Morpheus at once flew through the nightof darkness, on his wings that make no sound,and in brief space of intervening time,arrived at the Haemonian city walls;and there he laid aside his wings, and tookthe face and form of Ceyx. In that formas one deprived of life, devoid of clothes,wan and ghastly, he stood beside the bedof the sad wife. The hero's beard seemed dripping,sea water streamed down from his drenching hair.Then leaning on the bed, while dropping tearswere running down his cheeks, he said these words:“Most wretched wife, can you still recognizeyour own loved Ceyx, or have my looks changed:so much with death you can not?—Look at me,and you will be assured I am your own:but here instead of your dear husband, youwill find only his ghost. Your faithful prayersdid not avail, Halcyone, and Ihave perished. Give up all deluding hopesof my return. The stormy Southwind caughtmy ship while sailing the Aegean sea;and there, tossed by the mighty wind, my shipwas dashed to pieces. While I vainly calledupon your name, the angry waters closedabove my drowning head and it is nouncertain messenger that tells you thisand nothing from vague rumors has been told.But it is I myself, come from the wreck,now telling you my fate. Come then, ariseshed tears, and put on mourning; do not sendme unlamented, down to Tartarus.”And Morpheus added to these words a voicewhich she would certainly believe was herbeloved husband's; and he seemed to beshedding fond human tears; and even his handswere moved in gestures that Ceyx often used.Halcyone shed tears and groaned aloud,and, as she moved her arms and caught at hisdear body, she embraced the vacant airshe cried out loudly, “Stay, oh stay with me!Why do you hurry from me? We will gotogether!” Agitated by her ownexcited voice; and by what seemed to beher own dear husband, she awoke from sleep.And first looked all about her to persuadeherself that he whom she had lately seenmust yet be with her, for she had arousedthe servants who in haste brought lights desired.When she could find him nowhere, in despairshe struck her face and tore her garment fromher breast and beat her breast with mourning hands.She did not wait to loosen her long hair;but tore it with her hands and to her nurse,who asked the cause of her wild grief, she cried:“Alas, Halcyone is no more! no more! with her own Ceyx she is dead! is dead!Away with words of comfort, he is lostby shipwreck! I have seen him, and I knewhim surely—as a ghost he came to me;and when desirous to detain him, Istretched forth my arms to him, his ghost left me—it vanished from me; but it surely wasthe ghost of my dead husband. If you askdescription of it, I must truly sayhe did not have his well known features—hewas not so cheerful as he was in life!Alas, I saw him pale and naked, withhis hair still dripping—his ghost from the wavesstood on this very spot:” and while she moanedshe sought his footprints on the floor. “Alas,this was my fear, and this is what my mindshuddered to think of, when I begged that youwould not desert me for the wind's control.But how I wish, since you were sailing forthto perish, that you had but taken mewith you. If I had gone with you, it wouldhave been advantage to me, for I shouldhave shared the whole course of my life with youand you would not have met a separate death.I linger here but I have met my death,I toss on waves, and drift upon the sea.“My heart would be more cruel than the waves,if it should ask me to endure this life—if I should struggle to survive such grief.I will not strive nor leave you so forlorn,at least I'll follow you to death. If notthe urn at least the lettered stoneshall keep us still together. If your bonesare not united with my bones, 'tis sureour names must be united.”Overcomewith grief, she could not say another word—but she continued wailing, and her groanswere heaved up from her sorrow-stricken breast.At early dawn, she went from her abodedown to the seashore, where most wretchedly,she stood upon the spot from which he sailed,and sadly said; “He lingered here while hewas loosening the cables, and he kissedme on this seashore when he left me here.”And while she called to recollection allthat she had seen when standing there, and whileshe looked far out on flowing waves from there,she noticed floating on the distant sea—what shall I say? At first even she could notbe sure of what she saw. But presentlyalthough still distant—it was certainlya floating corpse. She could not see what manhe might be, but because it seemed to herit surely was a shipwrecked body, shewas moved as at an omen and beganto weep; and, moaning as she stood there, said:—“Ah wretched one, whoever it may be,ah, wretched is the wife whom you have left!”As driven by the waves the body camestill nearer to her, she was less and lessthe mistress of herself, the more she lookedupon it; and, when it was close enoughfor her to see its features, she beheldher husband. “It is he,” she cried and thenshe tore her face, her hair, her royal robeand then, extending both her trembling handstowards Ceyx, “So dearest one! So do you cometo me again?” She cried, “O luckless mate.”A mole, made by the craft of man, adjoinsthe sea and breaks the shoreward rush of waves.To this she leaped—it seemed impossible—and then, while beating the light air with wingsthat instant formed upon her, she flew on,a mourning bird, and skimmed above the waves.And while she lightly flew across the seaher clacking mouth with its long slender bill,full of complaining, uttered moaning sounds:but when she touched the still and pallied form,embracing his dear limbs with her new wings,she gave cold kisses with her hardened bill.All those who saw it doubted whether Ceyxcould feel her kisses; and it seemed to themthe moving waves had raised his countenance.But he was truly conscious of her grief;and through the pity of the gods above,at last they both were changed to flying birds,together in their fate. Their love lived on,nor in these birds were marriage bonds dissolved,and they soon coupled and were parent birds.Each winter during seven full days of calmHalcyone broods on her floating nest—her nest that sails upon a halcyon sea:the passage of the deep is free from storms,throughout those seven full days; and Aeolusrestraining harmful winds, within their cave,for his descendants' sake gives halcyon seas. An old man saw the two birds fly acrossthe wide extended sea and praised their love,undying to the end. His old friend whostood near him, said, “There is another bird,which you can see skimming above the waveswith folded legs drawn up;” and as he spoke,he pointed at a divedapper, which hada long throat, and continued, “It was firstthe son of a great king, as Ceyx, was:and if you wish to know his ancestry,I can assure you he descended fromIlus, Assaracus, and Ganymede—taken by Jupiter, and old Laomedon,and Priam, ruler at the fall of Troy.“Aesacus was the brother of the greatillustrious Hector; and, if he had notbeen victimized by a strange fate in youth,he would have equalled Hector's glorious fame,Hector was child of Hecuba, who wasdaughter of Dymas. Alexirhoe,the daughter of the two-horned Granicus,so rumor has it, secretly brought forthAesacus, hidden under Ida's shade.“He loathed the city and away from court,frequented lonely mountains and the fieldsof unambitious peasants. Rarely hewas seen among the throngs of Ilium.—yet, neither churlish nor impregnableto love's appeal, he saw Hesperia,the daughter of Cebrenus, while she wasonce resting on the velvet-shaded banksof her sire's cherished stream. Aesacus hadso often sought for her throughout the woods.“Just when he saw her, while she rested there,her hair spread on her shoulders to the sun,she saw him, and without delay she fled,even as the frightened deer runs from the wolfor as the water-duck, when she has lefther favored stream, surprised, flies from the hawk.Aesacus followed her, as swift with loveas she was swift with fear. But in the grassa lurking snake struck at her rosy heeland left its venom in her flesh.—And so,her flight was ended by untimely death.“Oh, frantic, he embraced her breathless form,and cried: ‘Alas, alas, that I pursued!I did not dream of such a dreadful fate!Success was not worth such a priceI and the snake together caused your death—the serpent gave the wound, I was the cause.Mine is the greater guilt, and by my deathI'll give you consolation for your death!’ ”“He said those words and leaped on a high rock,which years of sounding waves had undermined,and hurled himself into the sea below.“Tethys was moved with pity for his fall,received him softly, and then covered himwith feathers, as he swam among the waves.The death he sought for was not granted him.At this the lover was wroth. Against his will,he was obliged to live in his distress,with opposition to his spirit that desireddeparture from the wretched pain of life.“As he assumed upon his shoulders wingsnewformed, he flew aloft and from that heightagain he plunged his body in the waveshis feathers broke all danger of that fall—and this new bird, Aesacus, plunged headlonginto the deep, and tried incessantlythat method of destruction. His great loveunsatisfied, made his sad body lean,till even the spaces fixed between the jointsof his legs have grown long; his neck is long;so that his head is far away from hislean body. Still he hunts the seaand takes his name from diving in the waves.