All unknown to himcame Theseus to his kingly court.—Beforethe time his valor had established peaceon all the isthmus, raved by dual seas.Medea, seeking his destruction, brewedthe juice of aconite, infesting shoresof Scythia, where, 'tis fabled, the plant grewon soil infected by Cerberian teeth.There is a gloomy entrance to a cave,that follows a declivitous descent:there Hercules with chains of adamantdragged from the dreary edge of Tartarusthat monster-watch-dog, Cerberus, which, vainopposing, turned his eyes aslant from light—from dazzling day. Delirious, enraged,that monster shook the air with triple howls;and, frothing, sprinkled as it raved, the fields,once green—with spewing of white poison-foam.And this, converted into plants, sucked upa deadly venom with the nourishmentof former soils,—from which productive grewupon the rock, thus formed, the noxious plant;by rustics, from that cause, named aconite.Medea worked on Aegeus to presenthis own son, Theseus, with a deadly cupof aconite; prevailing by her artso that he deemed his son an enemy.Theseus unwittingly received the cup,but just before he touched it to his lips,his father recognized the sword he wore,for, graven on its ivory hilt was wroughta known device—the token of his race.Astonished, Aegeus struck the poison-cupfrom his devoted son's confiding lips.Medea suddenly escaped from death,in a dark whirlwind her witch-singing raised.Recoiling from such utter wickedness,rejoicing that his son escaped from death,the grateful father kindled altar-fires,and gave rich treasure to the living Gods. —He slaughtered scores of oxen, decked with flowersand gilded horns. The sun has never shoneupon a day more famous in that land,for all the elders and the common folkunited in festivities,—with wineinspiring wit and song;—“O you,” they sang,“Immortal Theseus, victory was yours!Did you not slaughter the huge bull of Crete?“Yes, you did slay the boar of Cromyon —where now the peasant unmolested plows;“And Periphetes, wielder of the club,was worsted when he struggled with your strength;“And fierce Procrustes, matched with youbeside the rapid river, met his death;“And even Cercyon, in Eleusis losthis wicked life—inferior to your might;“And Sinis, a monstrosity of strength,who bent the trunks of trees, and used his might“Against the world for everything that's wrong.For evil, he would force down to the earth,“Pine tops to shoot men's bodies through the air.Even the road to Megara is safe,“For you did hurl the robber Scyron,—sheer—over the cliff. Both land and sea denied“His bones a resting place—as tossed aboutthey changed into the cliffs that bear his name.“How can we tell the number of your deeds,—deeds glorious, that now exceed your years!“For you, brave hero, we give public thanksand prayers; to you we drain our cups of wine!”And all the palace rings with happy songs,and with the grateful prayers of all the people.And sorrow in that city is not known.— But pleasure always is alloyed with grief,and sorrow mingles in the joyous hour.While the king Aegeus and his son rejoiced,Minos prepared for war. He was invinciblein men and ships—and stronger in his rageto wreak due vengeance on the king who slewhis son Androgeus. But first he soughtsome friends to aid his warfare; and he scouredthe sea with a swift fleet—which was his strength.Anaphe and Astypalaea, bothagreed to join his cause—the first one movedby promises, the second by his threats.Level Myconus and the chalky fieldsof Cimolus agreed to aid, and Syroscovered with wild thyme, level Seriphos,Paros of marble cliffs, and that place whichArne the impious Siphnian had betrayed,who having got the gold which in her greedshe had demanded, was changed to a birdwhich ever since that day imagines goldits chief delight—a black-foot black-winged daw.But Oliarus, Didymae, and Tenos,Gyaros, Andros, and Peparethosrich in its glossy olives, gave no aidto the strong Cretan fleet. Sailing from themMinos went to Oenopia, known realmof the Aeacidae.—Men of old timehad called the place Oenopia; but Aeacusstyled it Aegina from his mother's name.At his approach an eager rabble rushedresolved to see and know so great a man.Telamon met him, and his brother,younger than Telamon, and Phocus whowas third in age. Even Aeacus appeared,slow with the weight of years, and asked him whatcould be a reason for his coming there.The ruler of a hundred cities, sighed,as he beheld the sons of Aeacus,for they reminded him of his lost son;—and heavy with his sorrow, he replied:“I come imploring you to take up arms,and aid me in the war against my foes;for I must give that comfort to the shadeof my misfortuned son—whose blood they shed.”But Aeacus replied to Minos, “Nay,it is a vain request you make, for weare bound in strict alliance to the landand people of Cecropia.”Full of rage,because he was denied, the king of Crete,Minos, as he departed from their shoresreplied, “Let such a treaty be your bane.”And he departed with his crafty threat,believing it expedient not to wastehis power in wars until the proper time.Before the ships of Crete had disappeared,before the mist and blue of waves concealedtheir fading outlines from the anxious throngwhich gathered on Oenopian shores, a shipof Athens covered with wide sails appeared,and anchored safely by their friendly shore;and, presently, the mighty Cephalus,well known through all that nation for his deeds,addressed them as he landed, and declaredthe good will of his people. Him the sonsof Aeacus remembered well, althoughthey had not seen him for some untold years.They led him to their father's welcome home;and with him, also, his two comrades went,Clytus and Butes.Center of all eyes,the hero still retained his charm,the customary greetings were exchanged,the graceful hero, bearing in his handsa branch of olive from his native soil,delivered the Athenian message, whichrequested aid and offered for their thoughtthe treaty and the ancestral league betweentheir nations. And he added, Minos soughtnot only conquest of the Athenian statebut sovereignty of all the states of Greece.And when this eloquence had shown his cause;with left hand on his gleaming sceptre's hilt,King Aeacus exclaimed: “Ask not our aid,but take it, Athens; and count boldly yoursall of the force this island holds, and allthings which the state of my affairs supplies.My strength for this war is not light, and Ihave many soldiers for myself and formy enemy. Thanks to the Gods! the timesare happy, giving no excuse for myrefusal.” “May it prove so,” Cephalusreplied, “and may your city multiplyin men: just now as I was landing, Irejoiced to meet youths, fair and matched in age.And yet I miss among them many whomI saw before when last I visitedyour city.” Aeacus then groaned and withsad voice replied: “With weeping we began,but better fortune followed. Would that Icould tell the last of it, and not the first!Giving my heart command that simple wordsand briefly spoken may not long detain.Those happy youths who waited at your need,who smiled upon you and for whom you ask,because their absence grieves your noble mind,they've perished! and their bleaching bonesor scattered ashes, only may remain,sad remnants, impotent, of vanished power,so recently my hope and my resource.“Because this island bears a rival's name,a deadly pestilence was visitedon my confiding people, through the rageof jealous Juno flaming for revenge.This great calamity at first appeareda natural disease—but soon its powerbaffled our utmost efforts. Medicinesavailing not, a reign of terror sweptfrom shore to shore and fearful havoc raged.“Thick darkness, gathered from descending skies,enveloped our devoted land with heatand languid sickness, for the space of fullfour moons.—Four times the Moon increased her size.Hot south winds blew with pestilential breathupon us. At the same time the diseasedinfection reached our needed springs and pools,thousands of serpents crawling over ourdeserted fields, defiled our rivers withtheir poison. The swift power of the diseaseat first was limited to death of dogsand birds and cattle, or among wild beasts.The luckless plowman marvels when he seeshis strong bulls fall while at their taskand sink down in the furrow. Woolly flocksbleat feebly while their wool falls off withouta cause, and while their bodies pine away.The prized horse of high courage, and of greatrenown when on the race-course, has now lostvictorious spirit, and forgetting hisremembered glory groans in his shut stall,doomed for inglorious death. The boar forgetsto rage, the stag to trust his speed; and eventhe famished bear to fight the stronger herd.“Death seizes on the vitals of all life;and in the woods, and in the fields and roadsthe loathsome bodies of the dead corruptthe heavy-hanging air. Even the dogs,the vultures and the wolves refuse to touchthe putrid flesh, there in the sultry sunrotting upon the earth; emitting steams,and exhalations, with a baneful sweepincreasing the dread contagion's wide extent. So spreading, with renewed destruction gainedfrom its own poison, the fierce pestilenceappeared to leap from moulding carcasesof all the brute creation, till it struckthe wretched tillers of the soil, and thenextended its dominion over allthis mighty city.“Always it beganas if the patient's bowels were scorched with flames;red blotches on the body next appeared,and sharp pains in the lungs prevented breath.The swollen tongue would presently loll out,rough and discolored from the gaping mouth,wide-gasping to inhale the noxious air—and show red throbbing veins. The softest bed.And richest covering gave to none relief;but rather, the diseased would bare himselfto cool his burning breast upon the ground,only to heat the earth—and no reliefreturned. And no physician could be found;for those who ministered among the sickwere first to suffer from the dread disease—the cruel malady broke out uponthe very ones who offered remedies.The hallowed art of medicine becamea deadly snare to those who knew it best.“The only safety was in flight; and thosewho were the nearest to the stricken ones,and who most faithfully observed their wants,were always first to suffer as their wards.“And many, certain of approaching death,indulged their wicked passions—recklesslyabandoned and without the sense of shame,promiscuously huddled by the wells,and rivers and cool fountains; but their thirstno water could assuage, and death alonewas able to extinguish their desire.Too weak to rise, they die in water theypollute, while others drink its death.“A madness seizing on them made their bedsbecome most irksome to their tortured nerves.Demented they could not endure the pain,and leaped insanely forth. Or if too weak,the wretches rolled their bodies on the ground,insistent to escape from hated homes—imagined sources of calamity;for, since the cause was hidden and unknown,the horrible locality was blamed.Suspicion seizes on each frail presenceas proof of what can never be resolved.“And many half-dead wretches staggered outon sultry roads as long as they could stand;and others weeping, stretched out on the ground,died in convulsions, as their rolling eyesgazed upwards at the overhanging clouds;under the sad stars they breathed out their souls.“And oh, the deep despair that seized on me,the sovereign of that wretched people! Iwas tortured with a passionate desireto die the same death—And I hated life.“No matter where my shrinking eyes were turned,I saw a multitude of gruesome formsin ghastly attitudes bestrew the ground,scattered as rotten apples that have droppedfrom moving branches, or as acorns thickaround a gnarled oak.“Lift up your eyes!Behold that holy temple! unto Jovelong dedicated!—What availed the prayersof frightened multitudes, or incense burnedon those devoted altars?—In the midstof his most fervent supplications,the husband as he pled for his dear wife,or the fond father for his stricken son,would suddenly, before a word prevailed,die clutching at the altars of his Gods,while holding in his stiffened hand, a sprayof frankincense still waiting for the fire.How often sacrificial bulls have beenbrought to those temples, and while white-robed priestwas pouring offered wine between their horns,have fallen without waiting for the stroke.“While I prepared a sacrifice to Jove,for my behalf, my country and three sons,the victim, ever moaning dismal sounds,before a blow was struck, fell suddenlybeside the altar; and his scanty bloodran thinly from the knives that slaughtered him.His entrails, wanting all the marks of truthwere so diseased, the warnings of the Godscould not be read—the baneful maladyhad penetrated to the heart of life.“And I have seen the carcases of menlie rotting at the sacred temple gates,or by the very altars, where they fell,making death odious to the living Gods.And often I have seen some desperate manend life by his own halter, and so cheatby voluntary death his fear of death,in mad haste to outrun approaching fate.“The bodies of the dead, indecentlywere cast forth, lacking sacred funeral ritesas hitherto the custom. All the gateswere crowded with processions of the dead.Unburied, they might lie upon the ground,or else, deserted, on their lofty pyreswith no one to lament their dismal end,dissolve in their dishonored ashes. Allrestraint forgotten, a mad rabble foughtand took possession of the burning pyres,and even the dead were ravished of their rest.—And who should mourn them wanting, all the soulsof sons and husbands, and of old and young,must wander unlamented: and the landsufficed not for the crowded sepulchers:and the dense forest was denuded of all trees.“Heart-broken at the sight of this great woe,I wailed, ‘O Jupiter! if truth were toldof your sweet comfort in Aegina's arms,if you were not ashamed of me, your son,restore my people, or entomb my corpse,that I may suffer as the ones I love.’—Great lightning flashed around me, and the soundof thunder proved that my complaint was heard.Accepting it, I cried, ‘Let these, Great Jove,the happy signs of your assent, be showngood omens given as a sacred pledge.’“Near by, a sacred oak tree grown from seedbrought thither from Dodona, spread abroadits branches thinly covered with green leaves;and creeping as an army, on the treewe saw a train of ants that carried grain,half-hidden in the deep and wrinkled bark.And while I wondered at the endless lineI said, ‘Good father, give me citizensof equal number for my empty walls.’Soon as I said those words, though not a windwas moving nor a breeze,—the lofty treebegan to tremble, and I heard a soundof motion in its branches. Wonder notthat sudden fear possessed me; and my hairbegan to rise; and I could hardly standfor so my weak knees tottered!—As I madeobeisance to the soil and sacred tree,perhaps I cherished in my heart a thought,that, not acknowledged, cheered me with some hope. “At night I lay exhausted by such thoughts,a deep sleep seized my body, but the treeseemed always present—to my gaze distinctwith all its branches—I could even seethe birds among its leaves; and from its boughs,that trembled in the still air, moving antswere scattered to the ground in troops below;and ever, as they touched the soil, they grewlarger and larger.—As they raised themselves,they stood with upright bodies, and put offtheir lean shapes; and absorbed their many feet:and even as their dark brown color changed,their rounded forms took on a human shape.“When my strange dream departed, I awoke,the vision vanished, I complained to Heavenagainst the idle comfort of such dreams;but as I voiced my own lament, I hearda mighty murmur echoing through the hallsof my deserted palace, and a multitudeof voices in confusion; where the soundof scarce an echo had disturbed the stilldeserted chambers for so many days.“All this I thought the fancy of my dream,until my brave son Telamon, in hastethrew open the closed doorway, as he called,‘Come quickly father, and behold a sightbeyond the utmost of your fondest dreams!’I did go out, and there I saw such meneach in his turn, as I had seen transformedin that weird vision of the moving ants.“They all advanced, and hailed me as their king.So soon as I had offered vows to Jove,I subdivided the deserted farms,and dwellings in the cities to these menmiraculously raised —which now are calledmy Myrmidons, —the living evidenceof my strange vision. You have seen these men;and since that day, their name has been declared,‘Decisive evidence.’ They have retainedthe well-known customs of the days beforetheir transformation. Patiently they toil;they store the profits of their labor; whichthey guard with valiant skill. They'll follow youto any war, well matched in years and courage,and I do promise, when this east wind turns,this wind that favored you and brought you here,and when a south wind favors our design,then my brave Myrmidons will go with you.”
This narrative and many other taleshad occupied the day. As twilight fell,festivities were blended in the night—the night, in turn, afforded sweet repose.Soon as the golden Sun had shown his light,the east wind blowing still, the ships were stayedfrom sailing home. The sons of Pallas cameto Cephalus, who was the elder called;and Cephalus together with the sonsof Pallas, went to see the king. Deep sleepstill held the king; and Phocus who was sonof Aeacus, received them at the gate,instead of Telamon and Peleus whowere marshalling the men for war. Intothe inner court and beautiful apartmentsPhocus conducted the Athenians,and they sat down together. Phocus thenobserved that Cephalus held in his handa curious javelin with golden head,and shaft of some rare wood. And as they talked,he said; “It is my pleasure to explorethe forest in the chase of startled game,and so I've learned the nature of rare woods,but never have I seen the match of thisfrom which was fashioned this good javelin;it lacks the yellow tint of forest ash,it is not knotted like all corner-wood;although I cannot name the kind of wood,my eyes have never seen a javelin-shaftso beautiful as this.”To him replieda friend of Cephalus; “But you will findits beauty is not equal to its worth,for whatsoever it is aimed against,its flight is always certain to the mark,nor is it subject to the shift of chance;and after it has struck, although no handmay cast it back, it certainly returns,bloodstained with every victim.”Then indeed,was Phocus anxious to be told, whence cameand who had given such a precious gift.And Cephalus appeared to tell him all;but craftily was silent on one strangecondition of the fatal gift. As herecalled the mournful fate of his dear wife,his eyes filled up with tears. “Ah, pity me,”he said, “If Fate should grant me many years,I must weep every time that I regardthis weapon which has been my cause of tears;the unforgiven death of my dear wife—ah, would that I had never handled it!“My sweet wife, Procris!—if you could compareher beauty with her sister's—Orithyia's,(ravished by the blustering Boreas)you would declare my wife more beautiful.“'Tis she her sire Erectheus joined to me,'Tis she the god Love also joined to me.They called me happy, and in truth I was,and all pronounced us so until the Godsdecreed it otherwise. Two joyful monthsof our united love were almost passed,when, as the grey light of the dawn dispelled,upon the summit of Hymettus green,Aurora, glorious in her golden robes,observed me busy with encircling nets,trapping the antlered deer.“Against my willincited by desire, she carried meaway with her. Oh, let me not increaseher anger, for I tell you what is true,I found no comfort in her lovely face!And, though she is the very queen of light,and reigns upon the edge of shadowy spacewhere she is nourished on rich nectar-wine,adding delight to beauty, I could giveno heed to her entreaties, for the thoughtof my beloved Procris intervened;and only her sweet name was on my lips.“I told Aurora of our wedding joysand all refreshing joys of love — and myfirst union of my couch deserted now:“Enraged against me, then the goddess said:‘Keep to your Procris, I but trouble you,ungrateful clown! but, if you can be warned,you will no longer wish for her!’ And so,in anger, she returned me to my wife.“Alas, as I retraced the weary way,long-brooding over all Aurora said,suspicion made me doubtful of my wife,so faithful and so fair.—But many thingsreminding me of steadfast virtue, Isuppressed all doubts; until the dreadful thoughtof my long absence filled my jealous mind:from which I argued to the criminaladvances of Aurora; for if she,so lovely in appearance, did concealsuch passion in the garb of innocenceuntil the moment of temptation, howcould I be certain of the purityof even the strongest when the best are frail?“So brooding—every effort I devisedto cause my own undoing. By the meansof bribing presents, favored by disguise,I sought to win her guarded chastity.Aurora had disguised me, and her guiledetermined me to work in subtle snares.“Unknown to all my friends, I paced the streetsof sacred Athens till I reached my home.I hoped to search out evidence of guilt:but everything seemed waiting my return;and all the household breathed an air of grief.“With difficulty I, disguised, obtainedan entrance to her presence by the useof artifices many: and when Ithere saw her, silent in her grief,—amazed,my heart no longer prompted me to testsuch constant love. An infinite desiretook hold upon me. I could scarce restrainan impulse to caress and kiss her. Palewith grief that I was gone, her lovely facein sorrow was more beautiful—the worldhas not another so divinely fair.“Ah, Phocus, it is wonderful to thinkof beauty so surpassing fair it seemsmore lovable in sorrow! Why relateto you how often she repulsed my feignedattempts upon her virtue? To each pleashe said: ‘I serve one man: no matter wherehe may be I will keep my love for one.’“Who but a man insane with jealousy,would doubt the virtue of a loving wife,when tempted by the most insidious wiles,whose hallowed honor was her husband's love?But I, not satisfied with proof complete,would not abandon my depraved desireto poison the pure fountain I should guard;—increasing my temptations, I caused herto hesitate, and covet a rich gift.“Then, angered at my own success I said,discarding all disguise, ‘Behold the manwhose lavish promise has established proof,the witness of your shameful treachery;your absent husband has returned to this!’“Unable to endure a ruined home,where desecration held her sin to view,despairing and in silent shame she fled;and I, the author of that wickednessran after: but enraged at my deceitand hating all mankind, she wandered farin wildest mountains; hunting the wild game.“I grieved at her desertion; and the firesof my neglected love consumed my health;with greater violence my love increased,until unable to endure such pain,I begged forgiveness and acknowledged fault:nor hesitated to declare that Imight yield, the same way tempted, if such greatgifts had been offered to me. When I had madeabject confession and she had avengedher outraged feelings, she came back to meand we spent golden years in harmony.“She gave to me the hound she fondly loved,the very one Diana gave to herwhen lovingly the goddess had declared,‘This hound all others shall excel in speed.’Nor was that gift the only one was givenby kind Diana when my wife was hers,as you may guess—this javelin I hold forth,no other but a goddess could bestow.“Would you be told the story of both giftsattend my words and you shall be amazed,for never such another sad eventhas added sorrow to the grieving world. “After the son of Laius,—Oedipus,—had solved the riddle of the monster-sphinx,so often baffling to the wits of men,and after she had fallen from her hill,mangled, forgetful of her riddling craft;not unrevenged the mighty Themis brookedher loss. Without delay that goddess raisedanother savage beast to ravage Thebes,by which the farmer's cattle were devoured,the land was ruined and its people slain.“Then all the valiant young men of the realm,with whom I also went, enclosed the field(where lurked the monster) in a meshof many tangled nets: but not a strandcould stay its onrush, and it leaped the crestof every barrier where the toils were set.“Already they had urged their eager dogs,which swiftly as a bird it left behind,eluding all the hunters as it fled.“At last all begged me to let slip the leashof straining Tempest; such I called the hound,my dear wife's present. As he tugged and pulledupon the tightened cords, I let them slip:no sooner done, then he was lost to sight;although, wherever struck his rapid feetthe hot dust whirled. Not swifter flies the spear,nor whizzing bullet from the twisted sling,nor feathered arrow from the twanging bow!“A high hill jutted from a rolling plain,on which I mounted to enjoy the sightof that unequalled chase. One moment caught,the next as surely free, the wild beast seemednow here now there, elusive in its flight;swiftly sped onward, or with sudden turndoubled in circles to deceive or gain.With equal speed pursuing at each turn,the rapid hound could neither gain nor lose.Now springing forward and now doubling back,his great speed foiled, he snapped at empty air.“I then turned to my javelin's aid; and whileI poised it in my right hand, turned awaymy gaze a moment as I sought to twinemy practiced fingers in the guiding thongs;but when again I lifted up my eyes,to cast the javelin where the monster sped,I saw two marble statues standing there,transformed upon the plain. One statue seemedto strain in attitude of rapid flight,the other with wide-open jaws was changed,just in the act of barking and pursuit.Surely some God—if any god controls—decreed both equal, neither could succeed.”Now after these miraculous events,it seemed he wished to stop, but Phocus said.“What charge have you against the javelin?”And Cephalus rejoined; “I must relatemy sorrows last; for I would tell you firstthe story of my joys—'Tis sweet to think,upon the gliding tide of those few yearsof married life, when my dear wife and Iwere happy in our love and confidence.No woman could allure me then from her;and even Venus could not tempt my love;all my great passion for my dearest wifewas equalled by the passion she returned.“As early as the sun, when golden raysfirst glittered on the mountains, I would risein youthful ardor, to explore the fieldsin search of game. With no companions, hounds,nor steeds nor nets, this javelin was alonemy safety and companion in my sport.“And often when my right hand felt its weight,a-wearied of the slaughter it had caused,I would come back to rest in the cool shade,and breezes from cool vales—the breeze I wooed,blowing so gently on me in the heat;the breeze I waited for; she was my restfrom labor. I remember, ‘Aura come,’I used to say, ‘Come soothe me, come intomy breast most welcome one, and yes indeed,you do relieve the heat with which I burn.’“And as I felt the sweet breeze of the morn,as if in answer to my song, my fate impelledme further to declare my joy in song;“ ‘You are my comfort, you are my delight!Refresh me, cherish me, breathe on my face!I love you child of lonely haunts and trees!’“Such words I once was singing, not awareof some one spying on me from the trees,who thought I sang to some beloved Nymph,or goddess by the name of Aura—soI always called the breeze.—Unhappy man!The meddling tell-tale went to Procris witha story of supposed unfaithfulness,and slyly told in whispers all he heard.True love is credulous; (and as I heardthe story) Procris in a swoon fell down.When she awakened from her bitter swoon,she ceased not wailing her unhappy fate,and, wretched, moaned for an imagined woe.“So she lamented what was never done!Her woe incited by a whispered tale,she feared the fiction of a harmless name!But hope returning soothed her wretched state;and now, no longer willing to believesuch wrong, unless her own eyes saw it, sherefused to think her husband sinned.“When dawnhad banished night, and I, rejoicing, rangedthe breathing woods, victorious in the huntpaused and said, ‘Come Aura—lovely breeze—relieve my panting breast!’ It seemed I heardthe smothered moans of sorrow as I spoke:but not conceiving harm, I said again;“ ‘Come here, oh my delight!’ And as those wordsfell from my lips, I thought I heard a softsound in the thicket, as of moving leaves;and thinking surely 'twas a hidden beast,I threw this winged javelin at the spot.—“It was my own wife, Procris, and the shaftwas buried in her breast—‘Ah, wretched me!’She cried; and when I heard her well-known voice,distracted I ran towards her,—only to findher bathed in blood, and dying from the woundof that same javelin she had given to me:and in her agony she drew it forth,—ah me! alas! from her dear tender side.“I lifted her limp body to my own,in these blood-guilty arms, and wrapped the woundwith fragments of my tunic, that I torein haste to staunch her blood; and all the whileI moaned, ‘Oh, do not now forsake me—slainby these accursed hands!’“Weak with the lossof blood, and dying, she compelled herselfto utter these few words, ‘It is my death;but let my eyes not close upon this lifebefore I plead with you! — By the dear tiesof sacred marriage; by your god and mine;and if my love for you can move your heart;and even by the cause of my sad death,—my love for you increasing as I die,—ah, put away that Aura you have called,that she may never separate your soul,—your love from me.’“So, by those dying wordsI knew that she had heard me call the nameof Aura, when I wished the cooling breeze,and thought I called a goddess,—cause of allher jealous sorrow and my bitter woe“Alas, too late, I told her the sad truth;but she was sinking, and her little strengthswiftly was ebbing with her flowing blood.As long as life remained her loving gazewas fixed on mine; and her unhappy lifeat last was breathed out on my grieving face.It seemed to me a look of sweet contentwas in her face, as if she feared not death.”In tears he folds these things; and, as they weptin came the aged monarch, Aeacus,and with the monarch his two valiant sons,and troops, new-levied, trained to glorious arms.