CHAPTER VII.VENUS.

“Then, as the full orb poised upon the peak,There came a lovely vision of a maid,Who seemed to step as from a golden carOut of the low-hung moon.”Lewis Morris.

Diana, fully as enamored as he, could not bear to pass him by without a caress, and invariably left her car for a moment, as it touched the mountain peak, to run to him and snatch a hasty kiss.

“Chaste Artemis, who guides the lunar car,The pale nocturnal vigils ever keeping,Sped through the silent space from star to star,And, blushing, stooped to kiss Endymion sleeping.”Boyesen.

But, even when asleep, Endymion watched for her coming, and enjoyed the bliss of her presence; yet a spell seemed to prevent his giving any sign of consciousness.

Time passed thus. Diana, who could not bear to think of the youth’s beauty being marred by want, toil, and exposure, finally caused an eternal sleep to fall upon him, and bore him off to Mount Latmus, where she concealed him in a cave held sacred to her, and never profaned by human gaze. There each nightthe goddess paused to gaze enraptured upon his beloved countenance, and to press a soft kiss upon his unconscious lips. Such is the tale of Diana and her lowly sweetheart, which has inspired poets of all ages.

“Queen of the wide air; thou most lovely queenOf all the brightness that mine eyes have seen!As thou exceedest all things in thy shrine,So every tale, does this sweet tale of thine.”Keats.

Story of Orion.

Endymion was not, however, the only mortal loved by Diana, for mythologists report that her affections were also bestowed upon a young hunter by the name of Orion. All day long this youth scoured the forest, his faithful dog Sirius at his heels.

One day, in the dense shade of the forest, he met a group of Diana’s nymphs, the seven Pleiades, daughters of Atlas. These fair maidens needed but to be seen to be passionately loved, and Orion’s heart burned as he sought to approach them; but they were very coy, and, as he drew near and addressed them, turned and fled.

Afraid lest he should never see them again were he now to lose sight of them, he pursued them hotly; but the nymphs sped on, until, their strength failing, they called upon their patroness’s aid. Their prayer was no sooner heard than answered, and Orion, panting and weary, came up just in time to see seven snow-white pigeons wing their way up into the azure sky.

There a second transformation overtook the Pleiades, who were changed into a constellation, composed of seven bright stars, and there they shone undimmed for ages; but when Troy fell into the enemy’s hands, all grew pale with grief, and one, more timid and impressionable than the rest, withdrew from sight to hide her anguish from the curious eyes of men.

“And is there glory from the heavens departed?—O void unmark’d!—thy sisters of the skyStill hold their place on high,Though from its rank thine orb so long hath startedThou, that no more art seen of mortal eye!”Hemans.

Orion, like a fickle youth, was soon consoled for their disappearance, and loved Merope, daughter of Œnopion, King of Chios, who consented to their union on condition that his future son-in-law should win his bride by some heroic deed. Now, as Orion was anything but a patient man, the delay was very unwelcome indeed, and he made up his mind to abduct his bride instead of marrying her openly; but the plan was frustrated by Œnopion’s watchfulness, and Orion was punished by the loss not only of his bride, but also of his eyesight.

Blind, helpless, and alone, he now wandered from place to place, hoping to find some one capable of restoring his sight. At last he reached the Cyclopes’ cave, and one of them took pity on him, and led him to the Sun, from whose radiance he borrowed a store of light,—

“When, blinded by Œnopion,He sought the blacksmith at his forge,And, climbing up the mountain gorge,Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun.”Longfellow.

Happy once more, he resumed his favorite sport, and hunted from morn till eve. Diana met him in the forest, and, sharing his tastes, soon learned to love him; but this affection was viewed with great displeasure by Apollo, from whose piercing glance nothing that occurred by day could be hidden, and he resolved to put an end to his sister’s infatuation. He therefore summoned her to his side. To divert her suspicions, he began to talk of archery, and, under the pretext of testing her skill as a markswoman, bade her shoot at a dark speck rising and falling far out at sea.

Diana seized her bow, feathered her arrow, and sent it with such force and accurate aim, that she touched the point, and saw it vanish beneath the waves, little suspecting that the darkhead of Orion, who was refreshing himself by a sea bath, was given her as a target. When she discovered her error, she mourned his loss with many tears, vowed never to forget him, and placed him and his faithful dog Sirius as constellations in the sky.

Story of Actæon.

When Diana had finished her nightly journey in her moon car, she seized her bow and arrows, and, attended by her nymphs, was wont to sally forth to hunt the wild beasts in the forest.

One summer afternoon, after an unusually long and exciting pursuit, Diana and her followers came to one of the still mountain pools where they had often resorted to enjoy a plunge. The cool waters rippled so invitingly, that the goddess and her attendants hastened to divest themselves of their short hunting garments, and lave their heated limbs.

But unfortunately the goddess and her attendant nymphs had not been the only ones out hunting that day. Actæon, the huntsman, had risen at dawn to stalk the deer; and now, weary and parched with thirst, he too sought the well-known mountain spring,

“Deep in the cool recesses of the wood,Where the cold crystal of a mossy poolRose to the flowery marge, and gave againThe soft green lawn where ofttimes, overspent,I lay upon the grass and eager bathedMy limbs in the clear lymph.”Lewis Morris.

As he drew near the accustomed spot, Actæon fancied he heard bursts of silvery laughter: so he crept on very cautiously, and soon, gently parting the thick branches of the underbrush, beheld the sporting group.

At the selfsame moment Diana turned to ascertain the cause of the rustle which had caught her practiced ear, and met the admiring gaze of the astonished young hunter. Speechless with indignation that a mortal had beheld her thus, she caught somewater in her hollow palm, flung it in his face, and bade him go and declare, if he could, that he had seen Diana disrobed.

The glittering drops had no sooner touched the young man’s face, than he turned to obey her command, and found himself transformed into a stag, with slender, sinewy limbs, furry skin, and wide-branching antlers. Nothing remained of his former self except the woeful consciousness of his transformation; and as he stood there, motionless and dismayed, the distant baying of his hounds coming to join him fell upon his ear.

An electric thrill of fear shot through every vein, as, mindful of his new form, he bounded away through the forest. Alas! too late; for the pack had caught one glimpse of his sleek sides, and were after him in full cry.

In vain poor Actæon strained every muscle. His limbs refused their support, and, as he sank exhausted to the ground, the hounds sprang at his quivering throat.

“Nearer they came and nearer, baying loud,With bloodshot eyes and red jaws dripping foam;And when I strove to check their savagery,Speaking with words, no voice articulate came,Only a dumb, low bleat. Then all the throngLeapt swift on me, and tore me as I lay!”Lewis Morris.

Diana was widely worshiped, and temples without number were dedicated to her service; among others, the world-renowned sanctuary of Ephesus. The ancients also celebrated many festivals in honor of this fair goddess of the moon, who was ever ready to extend her protection over all deserving mortals.

Refer to captionVENUS DE MILO. (Louvre, Paris.)

VENUS DE MILO. (Louvre, Paris.)

Venus’ birth.

Venus(Dione, Aphrodite, Cytherea), the goddess of beauty, love, laughter, and marriage, is said by some mythologists to be the daughter of Jupiter and Dione, goddess of moisture: others report that she sprang from the foam of the sea.

“Look, look, why shineThose floating bubbles with such light divine?They break, and from their mist a lily formRises from out the wave, in beauty warm.The wave is by the blue-veined feet scarce press’d,Her silky ringlets float about her breast,Veiling its fairy loveliness; while her eyeIs soft and deep as the blue heaven is high.The Beautiful is born; and sea and earthMay well revere the hour of that mysterious birth.”Shelley.

The ocean nymphs were the first to discover her, cradled on a great blue wave; and they carried her down into their coral caves, where they tenderly nursed her, and taught her with the utmost care. Then, her education being completed, the sea nymphs judged it time to introduce her to the other gods, and, with that purpose in view, carried her up to the surface of the sea,—where Tritons, Oceanides, and Nereides all crowded around her, loudly expressing their ardent admiration,—and offered her pearls and choice bits of coral from the deep, as a tribute to her charms.

Refer to captionFOURTH HOUR OF THE NIGHT.—Raphael.

FOURTH HOUR OF THE NIGHT.—Raphael.

Then they pillowed her softly on a great wave, and intrusted her to the care of Zephyrus, the soft south wind, who blew a gentle breath, and wafted her to the Island of Cyprus.

The four beautiful Horæ (the Seasons), daughters of Jupiter and Themis, goddess of justice, stood there on the shore to welcome her.

“An ethereal bandAre visible above: the Seasons four,—Green-kirtled Spring, flush Summer, golden storeIn Autumn’s sickle, Winter frosty hoar.”Keats.

And they were not alone to watch for her coming, for the three Charites (Graces, or Gratiæ) were also present.

“‘These three on men all gracious gifts bestow,Which decke the body or adorne the mynde,To make them lovely or well-favoured show;As comely carriage, entertainement kynde,Sweete semblaunt, friendly offices that bynde,And all the complements of curtesie:They teach us how to each degree and kyndeWe should our selves demeane, to low, to hie,To friends, to foes; which skill men call Civility.’”Spenser.

Daughters of Jupiter and Eurynome, these maidens, who bore the respective names of Aglaia, Euphrosyne, and Thalia, longed to show their love for their new mistress. When the wave upon which she reclined came nearer still, the “rosy-bosomed Hours, fair Venus’ train,” appeared. The wind finally brought the fair goddess in safety to the shore; and, as soon as her foot touched the white sand, all bent in homage to her surpassing beauty, and reverentially watched her dry her hair.

“Idalian Aphrodite beautiful,Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells,With rosy slender fingers backward drewFrom her warm brows and bosom her deep hairAmbrosial, golden round her lucid throatAnd shoulder: from the violets her light footShone rosy-white, and o’er her rounded formBetween the shadows of the vine bunchesFloated the glowing sunlights, as she moved.”Tennyson.

This hasty and somewhat primitive toilet completed, Venus and her followers set out for Mount Olympus, and on their way thither were joined by Himerus, god of the desire of love; Pothos, god of the amities of love; Suadela, god of the soft speech of love; and Hymen, god of marriage.

Venus and Vulcan.

A throne had been prepared for the expected goddess, and, when she suddenly appeared to take possession of it, the assembled gods could not restrain a rapturous murmur of admiration. Her beauty took them by storm, and her grace won their hearts; but, although they one and all expressed a desire to marry her, Venus scornfully rejected their proposals. Even the king of gods was slighted, and, to punish her for her pride, he decreed she should marry Vulcan, god of the forge, the most ill-favored of all the heavenly council.

This compulsory union was anything but a happy one; for Venus never showed any affection for her deformed consort, and, instead of being a faithful wife, soon deserted him, and openly declared she would please herself.

Story of Alectryon.

Her first fancy was for Mars, the handsome god of war, who was not slow in reciprocating the fair goddess’s affections, and many and sweet were the secret interviews they enjoyed. Yet, fearful lest some of the gods passing by should discover them together, Mars always placed his attendant Alectryon on guard, bidding him give due warning of any one’s approach, and especially to call him before the sun rose, as the lovers were particularly anxious that Apollo should not witness their parting caresses.

All prospered according to their desires, until one night the unfortunate Alectryon fell asleep; and so profound were hisslumbers, that he did not even stir when Aurora flung open the gates of the east, and Apollo flashed forth to receive the melodious greetings of the feathered denizens of the forest.

The sun god drove rapidly on, glancing right and left, and taking note of all he saw. Nothing escaped his bright and piercing eye, as it flashed its beams hither and thither, and he was soon aware of the sleeping watchman and of the guilty lovers. As fast as his fleet-footed steeds could carry him, Apollo hastened to Vulcan, to whom he vividly described the sight which had greeted his eyes.

The irate husband lost no time, but, seizing a net of linked steel, went in search of his runaway wife. Stealthily he approached the lovers’ bower, and deftly flung the net over both sleepers, who were caught in its fine meshes, and could not escape; and there he kept them imprisoned, in spite of their entreaties, until all the gods had seen their humiliating plight, and turned them into ridicule. But when he at last set them free, Mars darted away, vowing vengeance upon the negligent sentinel, who was still blissfully sleeping. Pouncing upon him, Mars awakened him roughly, administered a sharp reproof, changed him into a cock, banished him into the barnyard, and condemned him to give daily warning of the sun’s approach.

“And, from out a neighboring farmyard,Loud the cock Alectryon crowed.”Longfellow.

Venus’ children.

Several beautiful children were born to Mars and Venus. Hermione, or Harmonia, their daughter, married Cadmus, King of Thebes; and Cupid (Cupido, Eros, Amor), their little son, was appointed god of love. Although nursed with tender solicitude, this second-born child did not grow as other children do, but remained a small, rosy, chubby child, with gauzy wings and roguish, dimpled face. Alarmed for his health, Venus consulted Themis, who oracularly replied, “Love cannot grow without Passion.”

In vain the goddess strove to catch the concealed meaning of this answer. It was only revealed to her when Anteros, god of passion, was born. When with his brother, Cupid grew and flourished, until he became a handsome, slender youth; but when separated from him, he invariably resumed his childish form and mischievous habits.

Venus and Adonis.

Venus, however, did not lavish all her love upon Mars, for she is said to have felt a tender passion for a young man named Adonis, a bold young hunter, whose rash pursuit of dangerous game caused Venus many anxious alarms. In vain she besought him to forego the pleasures of the chase and remain with her. He laughingly escaped, and continued to join the other hunters in his favorite sport. But, alas! one day, after an exciting pursuit, he boldly attacked a wild boar, which, goaded to madness, turned upon him, buried his strong tusk in the youth’s unprotected side, and trampled him to death.

“The white tusk of a boar has transpierced his white thigh.***“The youth lieth dead while his dogs howl around,And the nymphs weep aloud from the mists of the hill.”Bion(Mrs. Browning’s tr.).

Venus ran straight to the scene of his tragic death, rushing through underbrush and briers, tearing her delicate skin, and her blood tingeing all the white roses along her way to a faint pink. When she arrived, she found her beloved Adonis cold in death, and her passionate caresses met with no response. Then she burst into such a passion of tears, that the wood and water nymphs, the gods, men, and all nature in fact, joined with her to mourn the beloved youth.

“Her loss the Loves deplore:Woe, Venus, woe! Adonis is no more.”Bion(Elton’s tr.).

Refer to captionSLEEPING LOVE.—Perrault.

SLEEPING LOVE.—Perrault.

Very reluctantly Mercury at last appeared to lead the soul of the departed down into the Infernal Regions, where it waswelcomed by Proserpina, queen of the realm, and led to the place where pure and virtuous mortals enjoyed an eternity of bliss. Venus, still inconsolable, shed countless tears, which, as they dropped upon the ground, were changed to anemones, while the red drops which had fallen from Adonis’ side were transformed into red roses.

“As many drops as from Adonis bled,So many tears the sorrowing Venus shed:For every drop on earth a flower there grows:Anemones for tears; for blood the rose.”Bion(Elton’s tr.).

As time did not soften Venus’ grief, but, on the contrary, made it more and more unendurable, she went to Olympus, where she fell at Jupiter’s feet, imploring him to release Adonis from death’s embrace, or allow her to share his lot in Hades.

To allow Beauty to desert the earth was not possible, nor could he resist her pleading: so he finally decreed that Adonis should be restored to her longing arms. But Pluto, whose subject he had now become, refused to yield up Adonis; and after much dispute a compromise was agreed upon, by virtue of which Adonis was allowed to spend one half of the year on earth, providing he spent the remaining six months in the Elysian Fields.

In early spring, therefore, Adonis left the Lower World, and came with bounding tread to join his beloved. On his path the flowers bloomed and the birds sang, to show their joy at his coming. An emblem of vegetation, which rises from the ground in early spring to deck the earth with beautiful foliage and flowers, and cause the birds to sing for gladness, Adonis reluctantly returned to Hades, when Winter, the cruel boar, slew him again with his white tusk, and made nature again droop, and mourn his departure.

“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 forthAcross the gulf.”Lewis Morris.

Venus and Anchises.

The Goddess of Beauty also loved Anchises, Prince of Troy, but, ashamed of lavishing favors upon a mere mortal, extorted from him a promise that he would never reveal their secret marriage. Unfortunately, however, Anchises was of a boastful disposition, and ere long yielded to temptation and revealed the secret, incurring her wrath to such an extent, that some mythologists accuse her of borrowing one of Jupiter’s thunderbolts and slaying him. Others, however, report that Anchises lived to a ripe old age, and escaped from burning Troy on his son Æneas’ back. Venus’ love was, however, all transferred to her son Æneas, whom she signally protected throughout his checkered career.

Story of Hero and Leander.

Venus’ most ardent admirers and faithful worshipers were the young people, for she delighted in their youthful sentiments, and was ever ready to lend a helping hand to all true lovers when apparently insurmountable obstacles appeared on their path.

This was the case with a lovely maiden by the name of Hero, who was dedicated by her parents to Venus’ service, and, as soon as old enough, spent all her time in the temple, ministering to the goddess, or in a lonely tower by the sea, where she dwelt alone with her aged nurse.

“Honey-sweet Hero, of a princely race,Was priestess to Queen Venus in that place;And at her father’s tower, by the sea set—Herself a Queen of Love, though maiden yet—Dwelt.”Edwin Arnold.

The maiden’s beauty increased with her years, until the fame of her loveliness spread throughout her native city Sestus, and even passed over the Hellespont and reached Abydus, whereLeander, the bravest and handsomest youth of the town, was fired with a desire to view the charming young priestess.

Just at that time a solemn festival in honor of Venus was to be celebrated at Sestus, to which all the youths and maidens were cordially invited. Under pretext of paying homage to the goddess, Leander entered her temple, and saw the young priestess, whose charms far surpassed all descriptions.

Venus, as has already been stated, was always deeply interested in young lovers; and when she saw these two, so well matched in beauty and grace, she bade Cupid pierce them with his love darts, which behest the mischief-loving god immediately obeyed.

“God Eros, setting notch to string,Wounded two bosoms with one shaft-shooting,A maiden’s and a youth’s—Leander he,And lovely Hero, Sestos’ sweetest, she;She of her town, and he of his, the boast;A noble pair!”Edwin Arnold.

An undying passion was thus simultaneously kindled in both young hearts; and, thanks to Venus’ assistance, Leander managed to exchange a few words with Hero, declared his love, implored her to view his suit kindly, and, above all, to grant him a private interview, or he would surely die.

The maiden listened to his pleading with mingled joy and terror, for she knew her parents would never consent to their union. Then, afraid lest some one should notice that she was talking to a stranger, she bade him depart; but he refused to go until he had learned where she lived, and proposed to swim across the Hellespont when the shades of night had fallen, and none could see his goal, and pay her a visit in her lonely tower.

“‘Sweet! for thy love,’ he cried, ‘the sea I’d cleave,Though foam were fire, and waves with flame did heave,I fear not billows if they bear to thee;Nor tremble at the hissing of the sea!And I will come—oh! let me come—each night,Swimming the swift flood to my dear delight:For white Abydos, where I live, doth frontThy city here, across our Hellespont.’”Edwin Arnold.

At last his prayers overcame the maiden’s scruples, and she arranged to receive him in her sea-girt tower, promising at a given hour to light a torch and hold it aloft to guide him safely across the sea. Then only he departed.

Night came on; darkness stole over the earth; and Leander impatiently paced the sandy shore, and watched for the promised signal, which no sooner appeared, than he exultantly plunged into the dark waves, and parted them with lusty strokes, as he hastened across the deep to join his beloved. At times the huge billows towered above his head; but when he had escaped their threatening depths, and rose up on their foamy crests, he could catch a glimpse of the torch burning brightly, and pictured to himself the shy, sweet blushes which would dye Hero’s cheek as he clasped her to his passionate heart.

“Leander had no fear—he cleft the wave—What is the peril fond hearts will not brave!”Landon.

Venus, from the top of “many-peaked Olympus,” smilingly viewed the success of her scheme, and nerved Leander’s arm to cleave the rapid current. At last he reached the tower steps, and was lovingly greeted by Hero, whose heart had throbbed with anxiety at the thought of the perils her lover was braving for the sake of seeing her once more.

It was only when the dawn began to whiten the east, that the lovers finished their interview and parted, he to return to Abydus, and she to prepare for the daily duties which would soon claim her attention. But separation by day was all these fond lovers could endure, and night after night, as soon as the first stars appeared, Hero lighted her torch, and Leander hastened to her, to linger by her side till dawn.

“Thus pass’d the summer shadows in delight:Leander came as surely as the night,And when the morning woke upon the sea,It saw him not, for back at home was he.”Hunt.

No one suspected their meetings; and all went well until the first fierce storms of winter swept down over the Hellespont. Hero, in the gray dawn of a winter’s morning, besought her lover not to leave her to battle against the waves, which beat so violently against the stone tower; but he gently laughed at her fears, and departed, promising to return at night as usual.

The storm, which had raged so fiercely already in the early morning, increased in violence as the day wore on, until the waves were lashed into foam, while the wind howled more and more ominously as the darkness came on again; but none of these signs could deter Leander from visiting Hero.

“There came one night, the wildest of the year,When the wind smote like edge of hissing spear,And the pale breakers thundered on the beach.”Edwin Arnold.

All day long Hero had hoped that her lover would renounce his nightly journey; but still, when evening came, she lighted her torch to serve as beacon, should he risk all to keep his word. The wind blew so fiercely, that the torch wavered and flickered, and nearly went out, although Hero protected its feeble flame by standing over it with outstretched robes.

At sight of the wonted signal, Leander, who had already once been beaten back by the waves, made a second attempt to cross the strait, calling upon the gods to lend him their aid. But this time his prayers were unheard, drowned in the fury of the storm; yet he struggled on a while longer, with Hero’s name on his lips.

Refer to captionHERO AND LEANDER.—Bodenhausen.

HERO AND LEANDER.—Bodenhausen.

At last, exhausted and ready to sink, he lifted his eyes once more to view the cheering light. It was gone, extinguished bya passing gust of wind. Like a stone Leander sank, once, twice, thrice, and the billows closed forever over his head.

Hero in the mean while had relighted her torch, and, quite unconscious of the tragedy which had taken place, stood on the tower, straining her eyes to pierce the darkness. All night long she waited and watched for the lover who did not come; and, when the first sunbeams shone over the tossing sea, she cast an anxious glance over the waters to Abydus. No one was in sight as far as she could see. She was about to descend to pursue her daily tasks, when, glancing at the foot of the tower, she saw her lover’s corpse heaving up and down on the waves.

“As shaken on his restless pillow,His head heaves with the heaving billow;That hand, whose motion is not life,Yet feebly seems to menace strife,Flung by the tossing tide on high,Then level’d with the wave.”Byron.

Hero’s heart broke at this sad sight, and she longed to die, too, that she might not be parted from Leander. To hasten their meeting, she threw herself into the sea, and perished in the waves, close by his side. Thus lived and died the faithful lovers, whose attachment has passed into a proverb.

Byron, the celebrated English bard, attempted Leander’s feat of swimming across the Hellespont, and, on his return from that dangerous venture, wrote the following lines, which are so familiar to all English-speaking people:—

“The winds are high on Helle’s wave,As on that night of stormy waterWhen Love, who sent, forgot to saveThe young, the beautiful, the brave,The lonely hope of Sestos’ daughter.Oh! when alone along the skyHer turret torch was blazing high,Though rising gale, and breaking foam,And shrieking sea-birds warn’d him home;And clouds aloft and tides below,With signs and sounds, forbade to go,He could not see, he would not hear,Or sound or sign foreboding fear;His eye but saw that light of love,The only star it hail’d above;His ear but rang with Hero’s song,‘Ye waves, divide not lovers long!’That tale is old, but love anewMay nerve young hearts to prove as true.”

Pyramus and Thisbe.

An equally loving and unfortunate pair were Pyramus and Thisbe. Although no waves divided them, and they had the good fortune to occupy adjoining houses in Babylon, their parents having quarreled, they were forbidden to see or speak to each other. This decree wrung their tender hearts; and their continuous sighs finally touched Venus, who prepared to give them her aid. Thanks to this goddess’s kind offices, a crack was discovered in the party wall, through which the lovers could peep at each other, converse, and even, it is said, exchange a kiss or two.

Sundry stolen interviews through this crack made them long for uninterrupted and unrestrained meetings: so they made an appointment to meet on a certain day and hour, under a white mulberry tree, just without the city gates.

Thisbe, anxious to see her lover, was the first to reach the trysting place, and, as she slowly paced back and forth to while away the time of waiting, she wondered what had happened to delay Pyramus. Her meditation was suddenly broken by a rustling sound in some neighboring bushes; and, thinking Pyramus was concealed there, she was about to call to him that he was discovered, when, instead of her lover, she saw a lion emerge from the thicket and come towards her, slowly lashing his sides with his tail, and licking his bloody jaws. With one terrified shriek the girl ran away, dropping her veil, which the lion caught in his bloody mouth and tore to shreds, before beating a retreat into the forest.

Shortly after, Pyramus came rushing up, out of breath, and full of loving excuses for Thisbe, who was not there, however, to receive them. Wondering at her absence, Pyramus looked around, and after a short investigation discerned the lion’s footprints and the mangled veil. These signs sufficed to convince him that Thisbe had perished, and in a fit of despair he drew his dagger from its sheath and thrust it into his heart.

A few minutes later, Thisbe cautiously drew near, peering anxiously about to discover whether the lion were still lurking near. Her first glance showed her Pyramus stretched dead beneath the mulberry tree, with her bloody veil pressed convulsively to his lips. With a cry of terror she flew to his side, and tried to revive him; but, when assured that all her efforts were in vain, she drew the dagger from his breast, and, plunging it into her own bosom, fell beside him quite lifeless.

“In her bosom plunged the sword,All warm and reeking from its slaughtered lord.”Ovid(Eusden’s tr.).

Since that ominous day the fruit of the mulberry tree, which had been white, assumed a blood-like hue, dyed by the blood which flowed from the death wounds of Pyramus and Thisbe.

Echo and Narcissus.

The lovely and talkative nymph Echo lived free from care and whole of heart until she met Narcissus, hunting in the forest. This frivolous young lady no sooner beheld the youth, than she fell deeply in love with him, and was proportionately grieved when she saw that he did not return her affections.

All her blandishments were unavailing, and, in her despair at his hard-heartedness, she implored Venus to punish him by making him suffer the pangs of unrequited love; then, melancholy and longing to die, she wandered off into the mountains, far from the haunts of her former companions, and there, brooding continually over her sorrow, pined away until there remained naught of her but her melodious voice.

The gods, displeased at her lack of proper pride, condemned her to haunt rocks and solitary places, and, as a warning to other impulsive maidens, to repeat the last sounds which fell upon her ear.

“But her voice is still living immortal,—The same you have frequently heardIn your rambles in valleys and forests,Repeating your ultimate word.”Saxe.

Venus alone had not forgotten poor Echo’s last passionate prayer, and was biding her time to punish the disdainful Narcissus. One day, after a prolonged chase, he hurried to a lonely pool to slake his thirst.

“In some delicious ramble, he had foundA little space, with boughs all woven round;And in the midst of all, a clearer poolThan e’er reflected in its pleasant coolThe blue sky here, and there, serenely peepingThrough tendril wreaths fantastically creeping.”Keats.

Quickly he knelt upon the grass, and bent over the pellucid waters to take a draught; but he suddenly paused, surprised. Down near the pebbly bottom he saw a face so passing fair, that he immediately lost his heart, for he thought it belonged to some water nymph gazing up at him through the transparent flood.

With sudden passion he caught at the beautiful apparition; but, the moment his arms touched the water, the nymph vanished. Astonished and dismayed, he slowly withdrew to a short distance, and breathlessly awaited the nymph’s return.

The agitated waters soon resumed their mirrorlike smoothness; and Narcissus, approaching noiselessly on tiptoe, and cautiously peeping into the pool, became aware first of curly, tumbled locks, and then of a pair of beautiful, watchful, anxious eyes. Evidently the nymph had just concluded to emerge from her hiding place to reconnoiter.

More prudent this time, the youth gradually bent further over the pool; and, reassured by his kindly glances, the nymph’s whole head appeared. In gentle tones the youth now addressed her; and her ruby lips parted and moved as if she were answering, though not a sound came to his ear. In his excitement he began to gesticulate, whereupon two snowy arms repeated his every gesture; but when, encouraged by her loving glances and actions, he tried once more to clasp her in his arms, she vanished as rapidly as the first time.

Time and again the same pantomime was enacted, and time and again the nymph eluded his touch; but the enamored youth could not tear himself away from the spot haunted by this sweet image, whose sensitive face reflected his every emotion, and who grew as pale and wan as he,—evidently, like him, a victim to love and despair.

Even the shades of night could not drive Narcissus away from his post, and, when the pale moonbeams illumined his retreat, he bent over the pool to ascertain whether she too were anxious and sleepless, and saw her gazing longingly up at him.

There Narcissus lingered day and night, without eating or drinking, until he died, little suspecting that the fancied nymph was but his own image reflected in the clear waters. Echo was avenged; but the gods of Olympus gazed compassionately down upon the beautiful corpse, and changed it into a flower bearing the youth’s name, which has ever since flourished beside quiet pools, wherein its pale image is clearly reflected.

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