“The road before us is hard and long, my child, and no man can say when my soul shall find rest. The ways of the world are cruel, and men love not the cursed of the gods. As for thee, Heaven bless thee for thy love; but thou art too frail and tender a thing to eat of the bread and drink of the waters of sorrow.”
“Ah, father, thinkest thou that aught could be more bitter than to sit in the seat of kings while thou wanderest a beggar on the face of the earth? Nay, suffer me to go with thee, and stay thy steps in the days of thy trial.”
Nothing he could say would dissuade her. So they two set out alone upon their wanderings, the old man bowed down beneath the weight of sorrow, and the young girl in the freshness of youth andbeauty, with a great love in her heart—a bright, burning love which was the light by which she lived, and a light which never led her astray.
At first Œdipus was filled with shame and bitterness, and cursed the day of his birth and his evil fate; but as time went on he remembered the words of Teiresias—how at his death he should be a blessing to the land of his last resting-place; and the hope sprang up in his heart that the gods had not forsaken him, but would wipe out the stain of his sin, and make his name once more glorious among men. Daily this hope grew stronger and brighter, and he felt that the days of wandering and expiation were drawing to a close, and a mysterious power guided his steps he knew not whither, except that it was toward the goal of his release. And many a hero’s grave did they pass and many a sacred shrine, for all along that road men of old raised monuments to the undying glory of the dead and the heritage of honor which they left to unborn generations. And always Antigone tended the old man’s feeble steps, and lent him the light of her young eyes, till at length they came to white Colonus and the grove of the Eumenides. There she set him on a rock to rest his weary limbs. And the soft spring breezes played about them, and the clear waters of Cephisus flowed sparkling at their feet to the fertile plain below. In the dark coverts and green glades the nightingale trilled her sweet song, and the grass was bright with many a golden crocus and white narcissus bloom. As he sat there a great calm filled the old man’s heart, for he felt that the days of his wandering were done.
But while they were resting a man from the village happened to pass, and when he saw them he shouted out, “Ho! there, impious wanderers, know ye not that ye sit on sacred land and trespass on hallowed ground?”
Then Œdipus knew more surely than ever that the day of his release had come. “Oh, stranger!” he cried, “welcome is that which thou sayest. For here shall the words of the prophet be fulfilled, when he said that in a grove of sacred trees my spirit should find rest.”
But the man was not satisfied, and he called to a band of his countrymen who were in the fields close by. And they came up and spoke roughly to Œdipus, and asked his name and business. When he told them they were filled with horror, for all men had heard of the slaying of Laius, and they would have turned him out by force.
But Œdipus raised himself from the rock on which he was seated, and in spite of his beggar’s rags and sightless eyes, there was a majesty about his face and form that marked him as no common man. “Men of Colonus,” he said, “ye judge by the evil I have done, and not by the good. Have ye forgotten the days when the name of Œdipus was honored throughout the land? Of a truth the days of darkness came, and the stain of my sin found me out. But now is my wrathful spirit curbed, and the gods will make me once more a blessing to men. Go, tell your king Theseus, who rules in Athena’s sacred citadel, that Œdipus is here, and bid him come with all speed if he would win a guardian for this land, an everlasting safeguardfor his city in the days of storm and stress.”
So they sent off a messenger in hot haste, for there was a mysterious power about the aged wanderer that none could withstand. And soon Theseus arrived, himself a mighty hero, who had made Athens a great city and rid the country of many a foul pestilence. And he greeted Œdipus courteously and kindly, as befitted a great prince, and offered him hospitality.
But Œdipus said, “The hospitality I crave, O king, is for no brief sojourn in this land. Nay, ’tis an everlasting home I ask. For the hand of Heaven is upon me, and full well I know that this day my soul shall leave this frail and broken body. And to thee alone is it given to know where my bones shall rest—to thee and thy seed after thee. As long as my bones shall remain in the land, so long shall my spirit watch over it, and men shall call upon my name to turn the tide of battle and stay the flood of pestilence and war. Wilt thou come with me, O king, whither the gods shall lead, and learn the secret of my grave?”
Then Theseus bowed his head, and answered, “Show thou the way, and I will come.”
So Œdipus turned and led the way into the grove, and Theseus and Antigone followed after. For a mysterious power seemed to guide him, and he walked as one who could see, and his steps were strong and firm as those of a man in his prime. Straight into the grove did he go till they came to the heart of the wood, where there was a sacred well beneath a hollow pear-tree. Close by was agreat chasm going deep down into the bowels of the earth, and men called it the Gate of Hades, the Kingdom of the Dead.
When they reached the well, Œdipus sat down upon a rock and called his daughter to his side, and said, “Antigone, my child, thy hand hath ministered to me in exile, and smoothed the path for the wanderer’s feet. Go now, fetch water, and pour libation and drink-offering to the gods below. It is the last thing thou canst do for me on earth.”
So Antigone fetched water from the well, and dressed and tended him, and poured libation to the gods.
And when she had finished, Œdipus drew her to him and kissed her tenderly, and said, “Grieve not for me, my child. Well I know that thy heart will ache, for love hath made light the burden of toil. But for me life’s day is done, and I go to my rest. Do thou seek thy brethren, and be to them as thou hast been to me. My child, my child, hard is the way that lies before thee, and my soul yearneth over thee for the evil day that shall come. But look thou to thine own pure heart, on which the gods have set the seal of truth that changeth not with passing years, and heed not the counsels of men.”
And he held her closely to him, and she clung weeping about his neck. As they sat a hush fell upon the grove, and the nightingales ceased their song, and from the depths of the grove a voice was heard like the voice of distant thunder. “Œdipus, Œdipus, why dost thou tarry?”
When they heard it they were afraid. But Œdipus rose up and gently put his daughter fromhim, saying, “Lo! the voice of Zeus, who calleth me. Fare thee well, my child; thou canst go no further with me. For Theseus only is it meet to see the manner of my death, and he and I must go forward alone into the wood.”
With firm, unfaltering steps he led the way once more, and Theseus followed after. And what happened there none can tell, for Theseus kept the secret to his dying day. But men say that when he came out of the wood his face was as the face of one who had seen things passing mortal speech.
As for Œdipus, the great twin Brethren Sleep and Death carried his bones to Athens, where the people built him a shrine, and for many a long year they honored him as a hero in the land of Attica. For though the sin that he sinned in his wrath and ignorance was great and terrible, yet his life had brought joy to many men and prosperity to more lands than one. For with wisdom and love he guided his days, and with sorrow and tears he wiped out the stain of his sin, so that, in spite of all he suffered, men love to tell of the glory and wisdom of Œdipus, and of how he solved the riddle of the Sphinx.
By Sir George W. Cox
Near the banks of the stream Kephisos, Erechtheus had built a city in a rocky and thin-soiled land. He was the father of a free and brave people; and though his city was proud and humble, yet Zeus by his wisdom foresaw that one day it would become the noblest of all cities throughout the wide earth, and there was a quarrel between Poseidon the lord of the sea and Athene the child of Zeus, to see by whose name the city of Erechtheus should be called. So Zeus appointed a day in the which he would judge between them in presence of the great gods who dwell on high Olympus.
When the day was come, the gods sat each on his golden throne on the banks of the stream Kephisos. High above all was the throne of Zeus, the great father of gods and men, and by his side sat Here the queen. This day even the sons of men might gaze upon them, for Zeus had laid aside his lightnings, and all the gods had come down in peace to listen to his judgment between Poseidon and Athene. There sat Phœbus Apollo with his golden harp in his hand. His face glistened for the brightness of his beauty; but there was no anger in his gleaming eyes, and idle by his side lay the unerring spear with which he smites all who dealfalsely and speak lies. There beside him sat Artemis, his sister, whose days were spent in chasing the beasts of the earth and in sporting with the nymphs on the reedy banks of Eurotas. There by the side of Zeus sat Hermes ever bright and youthful, the spokesman of the gods, with staff in hand to do the will of the great father. There sat Hephaistos the lord of fire, and Hestia who guards the hearth. There, too, was Ares, who delights in war; and Dionysos, who loves the banquet and the wine-cup, and Aphrodite, who rose from the sea-foam to fill the earth with laughter and woe.
Before them all stood the great rivals, awaiting the judgment of Zeus. High in her left hand, Athene held the invincible spear; and on her shield, hidden from mortal sight, was the face on which no man may gaze and live. Close beside her, proud in the greatness of his power, Poseidon waited the issue of the contest. In his right hand gleamed the trident with which he shakes the earth and cleaves the waters of the sea.
Then from his golden seat rose the spokesman Hermes, and his clear voice sounded over all the great council. “Listen,” he said, “to the will of Zeus, who judges now between Poseidon and Athene. The city of Erechtheus shall bear the name of that god who shall bring forth out of the earth the best gift for the sons of men. If Poseidon do this, the city shall be called Poseidonia; but if Athene brings the higher gift, it shall be called Athens.”
Then King Poseidon rose up in the greatness of his majesty, and with his trident he smote the earth where he stood. Straightway the hill wasshaken to its depths, and the earth split asunder, and forth from the chasm leaped a horse, such as never shall be seen again for strength and beauty. His body shone white all over as the driven snow; his mane streamed proudly in the wind as he stamped on the ground and scoured in very wantonness over hill and valley. “Behold my gift,” said Poseidon, “and call the city after my name. Who shall give aught better than the horse to the sons of man?”
But Athene looked steadfastly at the gods with her keen gray eye; and she stooped slowly down to the ground, and planted in it a little seed which she held in her right hand. She spake no word, but still gazed calmly on that great council. Presently they saw springing from the earth a little germ, which grew up and threw out its boughs and leaves. Higher and higher it rose, with all its thick green foliage, and put forth fruit on its clustering branches. “My gift is better, O Zeus,” she said, “than that of King Poseidon. The horse which he has given shall bring war and strife and anguish to the children of men; my olive tree is the sign of peace and plenty, of health and strength, and the pledge of happiness and freedom. Shall not, then, the city of Erechtheus be called after my name?” Then with one accord rose the voices of the gods in the air, as they cried out, “The gift of Athene is the best which may be given to the sons of men; it is the token that the city of Erechtheus shall be greater in peace than in war, and nobler in its freedom than its power. Let the city be called Athens.”
Then Zeus, the mighty son of Kronos, bowed his head in sign of judgment that the city should be called by the name of Athene. From his head the immortal locks streamed down, and the earth trembled beneath his feet as he rose from his golden throne to return to the halls of Olympus. But still Athene stood gazing over the land which was now her own; and she stretched out her spear toward the city of Erechtheus, and said: “I have won the victory and here shall be my home. Here shall my children grow up in happiness and freedom; and hither shall the sons of men come to learn of law and order. Here shall they see what great things may be done by mortal hands when aided by the gods who dwell on Olympus; and when the torch of freedom has gone out at Athens, its light shall be handed on to other lands, and men shall learn that my gift is still the best, and they shall say that reverence for law and the freedom of thought and deed has come to them from the city of Erechtheus, which bears the name of Athene.”
[2]In this Greek tale, the Greek names are preserved. In the Latin mythology Zeus is Jupiter, Poseidon is Neptune, Athene is Minerva, Artemis is Diana, Hermes is Mercury, Hephaistos is Vulcan, Dionysos is Bacchus, Hestia is Vesta, Ares is Mars, and Aphrodite is Venus.
[2]In this Greek tale, the Greek names are preserved. In the Latin mythology Zeus is Jupiter, Poseidon is Neptune, Athene is Minerva, Artemis is Diana, Hermes is Mercury, Hephaistos is Vulcan, Dionysos is Bacchus, Hestia is Vesta, Ares is Mars, and Aphrodite is Venus.
By Sir George W. Cox
In the vale of Tempe, where the stream of Peneios flows beneath the heights of Olympus towards the sea, the beautiful Daphne passed the days of her happy childhood. She climbed the crags to greet the first rays of the rising sun, and when he had driven his fiery horses over the sky, she watchedhis chariot sink behind the western mountains. Over hill and dale she roamed, free and light as the breeze of spring. Other maidens round her spoke each of her love, but Daphne cared not to listen to the voice of man, though many a one sought her to be his wife.
One day, as she stood on the slopes of Ossa in the glow of early morning, she saw before her a glorious form. The light of the new-risen sun fell on his face with a golden splendor, and she knew that it was Phœbus Apollo. Hastily he ran towards her, and said, “I have found thee, Child of the Morning. Others thou hast cast aside, but from me thou canst not escape. I have sought thee long, and now will I make thee mine.” But the heart of Daphne was bold and strong; and her cheek flushed and her eye sparkled with anger, as she said, “I know neither love nor bondage. I live free among the streams and hills; and to none will I yield my freedom.” Then the face of Apollo grew dark with anger, and he drew near to seize the maiden; but swift as the wind she fled away. Over hill and dale, over crag and river, the feet of Daphne fell lightly as falling leaves in autumn; but nearer yet came Phœbus Apollo, till at last the strength of the maiden began to fail. Then she stretched out her hands, and cried for help to the goddess Ceres; but she came not to her aid. Her head was dizzy, and her limbs trembled in utter feebleness as she drew near to the broad river which gladdens the plains of Thessaly. She almost felt the breath of Phœbus, and her robe was almost in his grasp. With a wild cry, she said, “FatherPeneios, receive thy child,” and she rushed into the stream, whose waters closed gently over her.
She was gone; and Apollo mourned for his madness in chasing thus the free maiden. And he said, “I have punished myself by my folly; the light of the morning is taken out of the day. I must go on alone till my journey shall draw towards its end.” Then he spake the word, and a laurel came up on the bank where Daphne had plunged into the stream; and the green bush with its thick clustering leaves keeps her name forever.
By Sir George W. Cox
In the cool evening time King Darius walked in his royal garden, and the noblest of the Persians were around him. Then came there a messenger from the western land in haste and said, “O king, the men of Athens with the sons of Javan have taken the city of Sardes, and the temple of the great goddess Kybele has been burnt.” And King Darius answered quickly and said, “What sayest thou, O messenger, that men of whom I have never heard the name, have come with my slaves against the land of the great king?” Then he bade them bring a bow and arrows; and while some one went for them, the Persians stood round him in silence, for they feared to speak while the king was angry. He took the bow, fitted an arrow to it and shot it up into the sky, and prayed, “O Jupiter,that dwellest in the high heavens, suffer me to be avenged upon the men of Athens. The sons of Javan are my slaves, and sorely shall they be smitten for the deeds which they have done.” Then he gave command, and each day, when the banquet was spread in the gilded hall and the king sat down to meat, there stood forth one who said with a loud voice, “O king, forget not the men of Athens.”
But Jupiter hearkened not to the prayer of the great king, for the ships were made ready, and his chieftains and warriors hastened away to the Athenian land and fought in Marathon. They fared not well in the battle, for the men of Athens strove mightily for their country. So in great fear the Persians fled to the seashore, while the men of Athens slew them on the land and in the water as they struggled to reach the ships. And when the fight was over, they spoiled the Persians who lay dead on the seashore and took rich plunder, for scattered about they found embroidered turbans and bright swords and daggers, and golden bits and bridles, and silken robes and jewels.
Thus sped the hosts of King Darius; and the messenger came again in haste, as he sat on his golden throne in Susa, while the nobles of Persia did obeisance before him. Then the king said, “Speak, O man, hast thou brought good tidings that my slaves have chastised the people of the strange city?” And the messenger answered, saying, “O King, the men of Athens have slain thy mighty men with the sword, and burned thy ships; and few come back of all the great army which thou didst send against them.”
Great and fierce was the wrath of King Darius when he heard the tidings, and he hastened to make ready ships and men and horses, that he might go forth himself against the men of Athens. Then in every city of the Persian land was heard the noise as of men who have a great work to do; and the armorers wrought spears and swords and shields, and in the harbors they built countless ships to sail over the dark sea. But Jupiter hearkened not yet to the prayer of the king; so Darius died, and Xerxes his son sat upon his throne, and the chief men of the Persians were gathered round him. Then the king spake and said, “Be ready, O Persians, every one of you, for I will go forth with all my great power, and make slaves of the men of Athens; and so may the gods do to me, and more also, if I burn not the temples of their gods with fire, and bring not hither the golden treasures which lie in the house of Phœbus Apollo at Delphi.”
Then, with all his great hosts, King Xerxes set forth from Susa, and his governors and warriors and slaves followed him, with a great multitude of every nation and people; and they crossed over from the land of Asia by a bridge which was built over the sea of Helle. Thus they journeyed on in pomp and glory, and King Xerxes thought that they had done great things when his host slew Leonidas and three hundred men of Sparta who guarded the passes of Thermopylæ. So his heart was filled with pride, and he chose out the bravest of his warriors, and charged the men of Thessaly to lead them to Delphi and the temple of Phœbus Apollo.
There was great fear and terror in Delphi. A messenger came and said, “The hosts of King Xerxes are coming to slay the men of this land and take away the treasures which lie in the house of King Apollo.” So the Delphians went in great sorrow to the temple, and bowed their heads to the earth and prayed, saying, “Child of the light, who dwellest here in thy holy temple, thieves and robbers are coming against us, and they are purposed to take away thy sacred treasures; tell us, then, what we shall do, for at thy bidding we are ready to bury them deep in the earth till the storm of war be overpast.” Then came there a voice from the inmost shrine, but it was not the voice of the priestess, for Phœbus Apollo himself came down to speak his will, and said, “Move them not, men of Delphi. I will guard my holy place, and none shall lay hand on my sacred things.”
So they went away in gladness of heart, and made ready for the coming of the Persians. All the men of Delphi left the city, saving only sixty men and the prophet Aceratos, and these sat down before the steps of the temple. In silence they waited till the Persians should come, and they marvelled at the great stillness on the earth and in the heaven. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the two peaks of Parnassus glistened in the blazing sunshine. Not a breath lifted the green leaves of the sacred laurels, not a bird sang in the breathless air. Presently, as he turned round to look, the prophet saw the sacred weapons of Phœbus, which no mortal man might touch, lying on the temple steps; and he said to the sixty men who tarriedwith him, “Lo, now will Phœbus fight for his holy temple, for his own hand hath made ready the weapons for the battle.”
Soon in the deep valley and along the bank of the Castalian stream were seen the hosts of the Persians, as they came on with their long spears flashing in the bright sunshine. Far away the men of Delphi saw the blaze of their burnished armor, and heard the tramp of their war-horses. Onward they came, and they said one to another, “The gods have fought for us, and the prize is won already. See, yonder is the home of Phœbus, and none remain of the men of Delphi to do battle for his holy temple.”
Still the sun shone without a cloud in the sky, and no breeze broke the stillness of the laurel groves. Still glistened the sacred arms as they lay on the steps of the temple, and the opened doors showed the golden treasures which were stored up within. There lay the throne of Midas, and the golden lion of Crœsus. There lay the mighty mixing bowl, all of pure gold, which at the bidding of Crœsus was wrought by the Samian Theodoros. There lay all the rich gifts which the men of Hellas had offered up to win the favor of the lord Apollo.
Then the leaders of the Persians stretched forth their hands, as though all these things were given up to them by the god who had forsaken his people; but even as they came near his holy ground, the lightning flashed forth, and the crash of the thunder was heard in the blue heaven, and the dark cloud fell on the peaks of Parnassus. Like the roar of a raging torrent, the mighty wind burst forth.Down from the steps of the Delphian hill thundered the huge rocks, and trees uptorn from their roots were hurled on the hosts of the barbarians. Louder and fiercer grew the din. Cries and shoutings were heard from the Alean chapel, for the virgin Minerva fought against the men of Xerxes. Smitten by the fiery lightnings, they fell on the quaking earth. Suddenly there was heard a sound more fierce and terrible, and two cliffs were hurled down from the mountain-top. Underneath this huge mass the mightiest of the Persians lay still in the sleep of death; and all who yet lived fled with quaking hearts and trembling steps from the great wrath of the lord Apollo.
So fought the god for his holy temple. When from their hiding places the men of Delphi saw that the Persians fled they poured forth from the caves and thickets to slay them. They smote them as sheep are slain before the altar of sacrifice, for even the bravest of their warriors lifted not their arms against them. Long time they followed after them in hot haste; and among them were seen two giant forms, clothed in bright armor, smiting down the hosts of the enemy. Then they knew that Phylacos and Autonoös, the heroes of the place, had come forth to aid them, and they smote the Persians more fiercely till the going down of the sun.
So the fight was ended; and the stars came forth in the cloudless sky, and the laurel groves were stirred by the soft evening breeze. With songs of high thanksgiving the men of Delphi drew near to the temple, and saw that Phœbus had placed again within his shrine the sacred arms which no mortalman may handle. Then was there rich spoil gathered, and the holy place of Apollo shone with gifts of gold and silver, which the men of Delphi offered in gladness of heart for all the great things which he had done for them. And in every house of the Delphians were seen robes and turbans rich with gold and silver and embroidery. On their walls hung spears and shields and swords and daggers which the Persians bore when they came to Delphi.
In after days they told their children the wondrous tale how Phœbus Apollo smote down the hosts of Xerxes; and they showed them the spoils which they took by the aid of the bright heroes, and the two rocks, lying on the holy ground before his shrine, which Phœbus tore from the peaks of Parnassus in the day of his great vengeance.
By Sir George W. Cox
A long time ago, in the great city of Corinth, there lived a man whose name was Arion, and he made beautiful music on a golden harp, which all the people flocked to listen to. Men and women, boys and girls, all came to hear Arion play and sing; and when his songs were ended they gave him money, and Arion became a rich man. When he had lived for a long time in the house of Periandros, who was called the tyrant of Corinth, he thought that he would like to see some new places which he had never seen before. So he went intoa ship and asked the sailors to take him to Sicily and Italy. They sailed over the blue sea a long way for many days and weeks, and came to many towns, where Arion played and sang and got more money, till at last he came to Taras. There he stayed a long time, because it was a rich and beautiful city, and all the people who came to hear him gave him plenty of money.
By and by Arion thought that he had enough and he began to wish to see Corinth and his friend Periandros once more. He went down to the beach and said that he wanted a ship to take him back to Corinth, and that he would only go with Corinthians, because he thought the men of Corinth better than the men of any other place. Just then there was drawn up on the beach a ship which had come from Corinth, and the sailors told him that they were Corinthians, and would take him home again. So Arion promised to go with them, and he sent down his harp and all his boxes full of fine clothes and gold and silver, to be put on board the ship. When the sailors saw the boxes, and felt how heavy they were, they said to each other, “What a rich man he must be! would it not be pleasant to have only a little of all this money which has been given to Arion for playing on a harp?”
The next day Arion came down to the shore and went into the ship. It was a beautiful day; there was scarcely a cloud in the sky, and there was a fresh breeze just strong enough to fill the sails and move the ship gently through the water. The waves danced and shone like gold in the bright sunshine, while the ship tossed up the white foam asshe sailed merrily on towards Corinth. So they went on many days, for Arion sat at the head of the ship to see how it cut through the water, and as they passed one place after another, he thought that they would soon reach Corinth. But the sailors in the ship were wicked men. They had seen the large boxes full of money which Arion had brought with him into the ship, and now they made up their mind to kill him and take his gold and silver. So one day while he was sitting at the bow of the ship, and looking down on the dark blue sea, three or four of the sailors came up to him and said that they were going to kill him. Now Arion knew that they said this because they wanted his money; so he promised to give them all that he had if they would spare his life. But they would not. Then he asked them to let him play once more on his harp, and sing one of the songs which he loved the best, and he said that when it was finished he would leap into the sea. When they had given him leave to do this, Arion put on a beautiful dress, took his harp in his hand, and stood up to sing. And as he sang, the sailors began to feel sorry that they were going to kill him, because they would have no more of his sweet music when he was dead. But when they thought of all the gold and silver which Arion was taking to Corinth, they made up their minds that they would not let him live; and Arion took one last look at the bright and sunny sky, and then leaped into the sea, and the sailors saw him no more.
The ship sailed on merrily over the dark water, just as though it were not carrying so many wicked men to Corinth. But Arion was not drowned. Agreat fish called a dolphin was swimming by the ship when Arion leaped over; and it caught him on its back and swam away with him towards Corinth much faster than the ship could sail. On and on the great fish swam, cutting through the foam of the sea which was tossed up over Arion; and by and by he saw at a distance the high cliffs and peaks which he knew were the cliffs and peaks above Corinth. So presently the fish came close to the shore and left Arion on the beach, and swam away again into the deep sea.
Arion was cold and tired with being so long in the water, and he could hardly crawl up into the city as far as the house where Periandros the tyrant lived. At last he reached the house, and was taken into the great hall where Periandros was sitting. And when he saw Arion, Periandros rose up, and came to meet him, and said: “Why, Arion, what is all this? Your clothes are dripping with water; I thought you were coming to Corinth from Sicily in a ship, but you look more as if you had been in the sea than in a ship: did you swim here through the water?” Then Arion told him all the story; how he had left Taras in a ship with Corinthian men whom he had hired to bring him home, how they had tried to kill him that they might take his money, and how the dolphin had brought him to the shore when they made him leap from the ship into the sea. But Periandros did not believe the story, and said to Arion, “You cannot make me think that this strange tale is true: who ever swam on a dolphin’s back before?” So he told his servants to give Arion all that he wanted, but not tolet him go until the ship in which he had left Taras came to Corinth.
Two days afterwards, Arion was standing by the side of Periandros, and looking out over the sea. Presently he saw the white sails of a ship which was sailing into the harbor with a gentle breeze from the west. As it came nearer and nearer, Arion thought that it looked very like his own ship, until at last he was able to see from the colors on its prow that it was the very ship in which he had been sailing. Then he said to Periandros, “See, they are come at last, and now go and send for these sailors, and see whether I have not told you the truth.” So Periandros sent down fifty soldiers with swords and spears and shields, to bring up all the sailors from the ship.
The ship was sailing in merrily towards the shore, and the soft west wind filled out its white sails as it cut through the water. As they looked on the beautiful land to which they were coming, they thought of all the things which they should be able to buy with Arion’s gold and silver; and how they would do nothing but eat and drink and be merry, as soon as they got out of the ship. So when they came to the beach, they let down the sails, lowered the masts, and threw out ropes from the stern to fasten the ship to the shore. They never thought that the fifty soldiers whose spears and shields were shining gaily in the sunshine had been sent on purpose to take them; and they could not make out why it was that, as soon as they came out from the ship upon the dry land, the soldiers said that they must all go as quickly as they couldto the house of Periandros. Ten of the soldiers stayed behind to guard the ship, while the rest led the sailors to the palace. When they were brought before him, Periandros spoke to them kindly, and asked them from what place they had come; and the sailors said that they had come from Italy, from the great city of Taras. Then Periandros said, “If you have come from Italy, perhaps you can tell me something about my friend Arion. A long time ago he left Corinth, and said that he was going to Sicily and Italy; and I cannot think why he should be away so long, for if the people have given him as much money for his music as they did here, he must now be a very rich man.” Then the sailors said, “Yes, we can tell you all about Arion. We left him quite safe at Taras, where every one wanted to hear him sing; but he said that he should not come to Corinth, until they had given him more gold and silver and made him a richer man.” Just as they were telling this lie, the door of the room was opened, and Arion himself walked in; and Periandros turned round to the sailors, and said, “See, here is the man whom you left quite safe and well at Taras. How dare you tell me so great a lie? Now I know that Arion has told me the truth, and that you wished to kill him, and made him leap into the sea; but the dolphin caught him as he fell, and brought him here on its back. And now listen to me. Of all Arion’s gold and silver you shall have none; everything that was his you shall give back to him; and I shall take away your ship, and everything in it which belongs to you, because you wished to rob and kill Arion.” Then the soldiers came,and turned these wicked sailors into the street, and drove them on, calling to the people to come and see the men who had sought to murder Arion. And all came out of their houses, and hooted at the sailors as they passed by, until they were ready to sink down with fear and shame.
So Periandros took their ship, and gave back to Arion all his gold and silver, and what he loved better than his riches—his golden harp. And every one came to hear the wonderful tale of Arion and the dolphin; and Arion made a large statue out of stone to look like a man on a dolphin’s back, and placed it on Cape Tainaron, that the people might never forget how the dolphin saved Arion when he leaped into the sea.
By Sir George W. Cox
A thirsty mouse, who had just escaped from a weasel, was drinking from a pool of water, when a croaking frog saw him, and said, “Stranger, when hast thou come to our shore, and who is thy father? Tell me the truth, and deceive me not, for if thou deservest it, I will lead thee to my house and give thee rich and beautiful gifts. My name is Puffcheek, and I rule over the frogs who dwell in this lake, and I see that thou, too, art an excellent prince and a brave warrior. So make haste, and tell me to what race thou dost belong.”
The mouse answered him and said, “Friend, why dost thou ask me of my race? It is known to all the gods, and to men, and to all the birds of heaven. My name is Crumbfilcher and I am the son of the great-hearted Breadgnawer, and my mother is Lickmill, the daughter of King Hamnibbler. I was born in a hovel, and fed on figs and nuts and on all manner of good things. But how can we be friends? We are not at all like each other. You frogs live in the water; we feed on whatever is eaten by man. No dainty escapes my eye, whether it be bread, or cake, or ham, or new-made cheese, or rich dishes prepared for feasts. As to war, I have never dreaded its noise, but, going straight into it, have taken my place among the foremost warriors. Nor do I fear men, although they have large bodies; for at night I can bite a finger or nibble a heel without waking the sleeper from his pleasant slumber. But there are two things which I dread greatly—a mouse-trap and a hawk; but worse than these are the weasels, for they can catch us in our holes. What then am I to do? for I cannot eat the cabbages, radishes, and pumpkins, which furnish food to the race of frogs.”
Then Puffcheek answered with a smile, “My friend, thou art dainty enough, but we have fine things to show on the dry land and in the marsh, for the son of Cronos has given us the power to dwell on land or in the water as it may please us. If thou wouldst see these things, it is soon done. Get on my back and hold on well, so that thou mayest reach my house with a cheerful heart.” So he turned his bade to the mouse, who sprang lightlyon it and put his arms round his soft neck. Much pleased he was at first to swim on the back of Puffcheek, while the haven was near; but when he got out into midwater, he began to weep and to curse his useless sorrow. He tore his hair, and drew his feet tightly round the frog’s stomach. His heart beat wildly, and he wished himself well on shore, as he uttered a pitiful cry and spread out his tail on the water, moving it about like an oar. Then in the bitterness of his grief he said, “Surely it was not thus the bull carried the beautiful Europa on his back over the sea to Crete; surely—” But before he could say more, a snake, of which frogs and mice alike are afraid, lifted up his head straight above the water. Down dived Puffcheek, when he saw the snake, never thinking that he had left the mouse to die. The frog was safe at the bottom of the marsh, but the mouse fell on his back and screamed terribly. Many times he sank and many times he came up again, kicking hard; but there was no hope. The hair on his skin was soaked and weighed him down, and with his last breath he cried, “Puffcheek, thou shalt not escape for thy treachery. On the land I could have beaten thee in boxing, wrestling, or running; but thou hast beguiled me into the water, where I can do nothing. The eye of justice sees thee, and thou shalt pay a fearful penalty to the great army of the mice.”
So the Crumbfilcher died; but Lickplatter saw him as he sat on the soft bank, and uttering a sharp cry, went to tell the mice. Then was there great wrath among them, and messengers were sent to bid all come in the morning to the house of Breadgnawer,the father of the luckless Crumbfilcher, whose body could not even be buried, because it was floating in the middle of the pond. They came at dawn, and Breadgnawer, rising in grief and rage, said, “Friends, I may be the only one whom the frogs have sorely injured; but we all live a poor life, and I am in sad plight, for I have lost three sons. The first was slain by a hateful weasel who caught him outside his hole. The next one cruel men brought to his death by a newfangled device of wood, which they call a trap; and now my darling Crumbfilcher has been drowned. Come and let us arm ourselves for war and go forth to battle.”
So they each put on his armor. For greaves around their legs they used the beans on which they fed at night, and their breastplates they made cunningly out of the skin of a dead weasel. For spears they carried skewers, and the shell of a nut for a helmet. So they stood in battle array, and the frogs, when they came to hear of it, rose from the water and summoned a council in a corner of the pond. As they wondered what might be the cause of these things, there came a messenger from the mice, who declared war against them and said, “Ye frogs, the mice bid you arm yourselves and come forth to battle, for they have seen Crumbfilcher, whom your king Puffcheek drowned, floating dead on the water.” Then the valiant frogs feared exceedingly, and blamed the deed of Puffcheek; but the king said, “Friends, I did not kill the mouse or see him die; of course he was drowned while he amused himself in the pond by trying to swim like a frog, and the wretches now bring acharge against me who am wholly guiltless. But come, let us take counsel how we may destroy these mice and this, I think, is the best plan. Let us arm ourselves and take our stand where the bank is steepest, and when they come charging against us, let us seize their helmets and drag them down into the pond. Thus we shall drown them all and set up a trophy for our victory.” So they each put on his armor. They covered their legs with mallow leaves, and carried radish leaves for shields, rushes for spears, snail-shells for helmets. Thus they stood in array on the high bank, brandishing their spears and shouting for battle.
But Jupiter summoned the gods to the starry heaven, and, pointing to the hosts of the frogs and mice, mighty as the armies of the Centaurs or the giants, he asked who would aid each side as it might be hard pressed in the strife; and he said to Minerva, “Daughter, thou wilt go surely to the aid of the mice, for they are always running about thy shrine, and delight in the fat and the morsels which they pick from the sacrifices.”
But Minerva said to the son of Cronos, “Father, I go not to help the mice, for they have done me grievous mischief, spoiling the garlands and the lamps for the sake of the oil. Nay, I have greater cause for anger, for they have eaten the robe which I wove from fine thread, and made holes in it; and the man who mended it charges a high price, and, worse still, I borrowed the stuff of which I wove it, and now I cannot pay it back. Yet neither will I aid the frogs, for they are not in their right senses. A little while ago, I came back tired from war andwanting sleep; but they never let me close my eyes with their clatter, and I lay sleepless with a headache till the cock crew in the morning. But, O ye gods, let us aid neither side, lest we be wounded with their swords or spears, for they are sharp and strong, even against gods; let us take our sport by watching the strife in safety.”
The gods did as Minerva bade them, and went all to one place. The gnats, with their great trumpets, gave the signal for battle, and Jupiter thundered out of the sky because of the woes that were coming. Mighty were the deeds that were done on both sides, and the earth and the pond were reddened with the blood of the slain. As the fight went on, Crumbstealer slew Garliceater before he came to land; and Mudwalker, seeing it, threw at him a clod of earth, and, hitting him on the forehead, almost blinded him. In his fury, Crumbstealer seized a great stone, and crushed the leg of the frog, so that he fell on his back in the dust. Then Breadgnawer wounded Puffcheek in the foot, and made him limp into the water.
But among the mice was a young hero, with whom none could be matched for boldness and strength, and his name was Bitstealer. On the bank of the pond he stood alone, and vowed a vow to destroy the whole race of frogs. And the vow would have been accomplished, for his might was great indeed, had not the son of Cronos pitied the frogs in their misery, and charged Minerva and Mars to drive Bitstealer from the battle. But Mars made answer and said, “O Jupiter, neither Minerva nor Mars alone can save the frogs from death.Let us all go and help them; and do thou, son of Cronos, wield thy mighty weapon with which thou didst slay the Titans, and the wild race of giants, for thus only can the bravest of them be slain.” So spake Mars; and Jupiter hurled his scathing thunderbolts, and the lightnings flashed from the sky, and Olympus shook with the earthquake. The frogs and mice heard and trembled; but the mice ceased not yet from the battle, and strove only the more to slay their enemies, until Jupiter, in his pity, sent a new army to aid the frogs.
Suddenly they came on the mice, with mailed backs and crooked claws, with limping gait, and mouths like shears. Their backs were hard and horny, their arms were long and lean, and their eyes were in their breasts. They had eight feet and two heads, and no hands. Men call them crabs. With their mouths they bit the tails and feet and hands of the mice, and broke their spears, and great terror came on all the mice, so that they turned and fled. Thus the battle was ended, and the sun went down.
By Sir George W. Cox
In the pleasant valleys of a country which was called Thessaly, there lived a man whose name was Orpheus. Every day he made soft music with his golden harp, and sang beautiful songs such as no one had ever heard before. And wheneverOrpheus sang, then everything came to listen to him, and the trees bowed down their heads to hear; even the clouds sailed along more gently and brightly in the sky when he sang, and the stream which ran close to his feet made a softer noise, to show how glad his music made it.
Now Orpheus had a wife who was called Eurydice, whom he loved very dearly. All through the winter when the snow was on the hills, and all through the summer when the sunshine made everything beautiful, Orpheus used to sing to her; and Eurydice sat on the grass by his side while the beasts came round to listen, and the trees bowed down their heads to hear him.
But one day when Eurydice was playing with some children on the banks of the river, she trod upon a snake in the long grass, and the snake bit her. And by and by she began to be very sick, and Eurydice knew that she must die. So she told the children to go to Orpheus (for he was far away) and say how sorry she was to leave him, and that she loved him always very dearly; and then she put her head down upon the soft grass, and fell asleep and died. Sad indeed was Orpheus when the children came to tell him that Eurydice was dead. He felt so wretched that he never played upon his golden harp, and he never opened his lips to sing; and the beasts that used to listen to him wondered why Orpheus sat all alone on the green bank where Eurydice used to sit with him, and why it was that he never made any more beautiful music. All day long he sat there, and his cheeks were often wet with tears. At last he said,“I cannot stay here any more; I must go and look for Eurydice. I cannot bear to be without her, and perhaps the king of the land where people go after they are dead will let her come back and live with me again.”
So he took his harp in his hand, and went to look for Eurydice in the land where the sun goes down into his golden cup before the night comes on. He went on and on a very long way, till at last he came to a high and dark gateway. It was barred across with iron bars, and was bolted and locked so that nobody could open it. It was a wretched and gloomy place, because the sunshine never came there, and it was covered with clouds and mist. In front of this great gateway there sat a monstrous dog, with three heads, six eyes, and three tongues; and everything was dark around, except his eyes, which shone like fire, and which saw every one that dared to come near. Now when Orpheus came looking for Eurydice, the dog raised his three heads, opened his three mouths, and gnashed his teeth at him, and roared terribly; but when Orpheus came nearer, the dog jumped up on his feet ready to fly at him and tear him to pieces. Then Orpheus took down his harp and began to play upon its golden strings. And the dog Cerberus (for that was his name) growled and snarled and showed the great white teeth in his three mouths; but he could not help hearing the sweet music, and he wondered why it was that he no longer wished to tear Orpheus in pieces. Soon the music made him quiet and still, and at last it lulled him to sleep. Then Orpheus passed by him andcame up to the gate, and found it wide open, for it had come open of its own accord while he was singing. He was glad when he saw this, for he thought that now he should see Eurydice.
So he went on and on a long way, until he came to the palace of the king; and there were guards placed before the door who tried to keep him from going in; but Orpheus played upon his harp, and they could not help letting him pass.
So he went into the great hall, where he saw the king and queen sitting on a throne; and as he came near, the king called out to him with a loud and terrible voice, “Who are you, and how dare you to come here? Do you not know that no one is allowed to come here till after he is dead? I will have you chained and placed in a dungeon, from which you will never be able to get out.” Orpheus said nothing; but took his golden harp in his hand and began to sing more sweetly and gently than ever. And as he sang, the face of the king began to look almost glad, and his anger passed away. Then the king said, “You have made me feel happy with your sweet music, although I have never felt happy before; and now tell me why you have come, because you must want something, for, otherwise, no one would come, before he was dead, to this sad and gloomy land of which I am the king.” Then Orpheus said, “O king, give me back my dear Eurydice, and let her go from this gloomy place and live with me on the bright earth again.” So the king said that she could go. And the king said to Orpheus, “I have given you what you wanted, because you sang so sweetly; and when you goback to the earth from this place, your wife whom you love shall go up after you: but remember that you must never look back until she has reached the earth, for if you do, Eurydice will be brought back here, and I shall not be able to give her to you again, even if you should sing more sweetly and gently than ever.”
Now Orpheus was longing to see Eurydice, and he hoped that the king would let him see her at once; but when the king said that he must not try to see her till she had reached the earth, he was quite content, for he said, “Shall I not wait patiently a little while, that Eurydice may come and live with me again?” So he promised the king that he would go up to the earth without stopping to look behind and see whether Eurydice was coming after him.
Then Orpheus left the palace of the king, and he passed through the dark gateway, and the dog Cerberus did not bark or growl, for he knew that Orpheus would not have been allowed to come back, if the king had not wished it. So he went on and on a long way; and he became impatient, and longed more and more to see Eurydice. At last he came near to the land of living men, and he saw just a little streak of light, where the sun was going to rise from the sea; and presently the sky became brighter, and he saw everything before him so clearly that he could not help turning round to look at Eurydice. But, ah! she had not yet quite reached the earth, and so he lost her again. He saw something pale and white, which looked like his own dear wife; and he just heard a soft and gentle voice, which sounded like the voice of Eurydice,and then it all melted away. And still he thought that he saw that pale white face, and heard that soft voice, which said, “O Orpheus, Orpheus, why did you look back? How dearly I love you, and how glad I should have been to live with you again; but now I must go back, because you have broken your promise to the king, and I must not even kiss you, and say how much I love you.”
Orpheus sat down at the place where Eurydice was taken from him; he could go no further. There he stayed day after day, and his cheeks became paler, and his body weaker and weaker, till at last he knew that he must die. And Orpheus was not sorry; for although he loved the bright earth, with all its flowers and grass and sunny streams, he knew that he could not be with Eurydice again until he had left it. So at last he laid his head upon the earth, and fell asleep, and died: and then he and Eurydice saw each other in the land which is far away, where the sun goes down at night into his golden cup, and were never parted again.
By Thomas Bulfinch
Niobe, the Queen of Thebes, had much to be proud of; but it was not her husband’s fame, nor her own beauty, nor their great descent, nor the power of their kingdom that elated her. It was her children; and truly the happiest of motherswould Niobe have been if only she had not claimed to be so.
It was on occasion of the annual celebration in honor of Latona and her offspring, Apollo and Diana—when the people of Thebes were assembled, their brows crowned with laurel, bearing frankincense in the altars and paying their vows—that Niobe appeared among the crowd. Her attire was splendid with gold and gems, and her aspect beautiful as the face of an angry woman can be. She stood and surveyed the people with haughty looks. “What folly,” said she, “is this!—to prefer beings whom you never saw to those who stand before your eyes! Why should Latona be honored with worship, and none be paid to me? My father was Tantalus, who was received as a guest at the table of the gods; my mother was a goddess. My husband built and rules this city, Thebes, and Phrygia is my paternal inheritance. Wherever I turn my eyes I survey the elements of my power; nor is my form and presence unworthy of a goddess. To all this let me add I have seven sons and seven daughters, and look for sons-in-law and daughters-in-law of pretensions worthy of my alliance. Have I not cause for pride? Will you prefer to me this Latona, the Titan’s daughter, with her two children? I have seven times as many. Fortunate indeed am I, and fortunate I shall remain! Will any one deny this? My abundance is my security. I feel myself too strong for Fortune to subdue. She may take from me much; I shall still have much left. Were I to lose some of my children, I should hardly be left as poor as Latona with hertwo only. Away with you from these solemnities—put off the laurel from your brows—have done with this worship!” The people obeyed, and left the sacred services uncompleted.
The goddess was indignant. On the Cynthian mountain top where she dwelt she thus addressed her son and daughter: “My children, I who have been so proud of you both, and have been used to hold myself second to none of the goddesses except Juno alone, begin now to doubt whether I am indeed a goddess. I shall be deprived of my worship altogether unless you protect me.”
She was proceeding in this strain, but Apollo interrupted her. “Say no more,” said he; “speech only delays punishment.”
So said Diana also. Darting through the air, veiled in clouds, they alighted on the towers of the city. Spread out before the gates was a broad plain, where the youth of the city pursued their warlike sports. The sons of Niobe were there with the rest—some mounted on spirited horses richly caparisoned, some driving gay chariots.
Ismenos, the first-born, as he guided his foaming steeds, struck with an arrow from above, cried out, “Ah, me!” dropped the reins, and fell lifeless. Another, hearing the sound of the bow—like a boatman who sees the storm gathering and makes all sail for the port—gave the reins to his horses and attempted to escape. The arrow overtook him as he fled. Two younger boys, just from their tasks, had gone to the playground to have a game of wrestling. As they stood breast to breast, one arrow pierced them both. They uttered a cry together,cast a parting look around them, and together breathed their last. Alphenor, an elder brother, seeing them fall, hastened to the spot to render assistance, and fell stricken in the act.
One only was left, Ilioneus. He raised his arms to heaven to try whether prayer might not vail. “Spare me, ye gods!” he cried, addressing all; and Apollo would have spared him, but the arrow had already left the string, and it was too late.
The terror of the people and grief of the attendants soon made Niobe acquainted with what had taken place. She could hardly think it possible; she was indignant that the gods had dared, and amazed that they had been able, to do it. Her husband, Amphion, overwhelmed with the blow, destroyed himself.
Alas! how different was this Niobe from her who had so lately driven away the people from the sacred rites, and held her stately course through the city, the envy of her friends, now the pity even of her foes! She knelt over the lifeless bodies, and kissed now one, now another of her dead sons. Raising her pallid arms to heaven, “Cruel Latona,” said she, “feed full your rage with my anguish! Satiate your hard heart, while I follow to the grave my seven sons. Yet where is your triumph? Bereaved as I am, I am still richer than you, my conqueror.”
Scarce had she spoken, when the bow sounded and struck terror into all hearts except Niobe’s alone. She was brave from excess of grief. The sisters stood in garments of mourning over the biers of their dead brothers. One fell, struck by an arrow,and died on the corpse she was bewailing. Another, attempting to console her mother, suddenly ceased to speak, and sank lifeless to the earth. A third tried to escape by flight, a fourth by concealment, another stood trembling, uncertain what course to take. Six were now dead, and only one remained, whom the mother held clasped in her arms, and covered as it were with her whole body. “Spare me one, and that the youngest! O spare me one of so many!” she cried; and while she spoke, that one fell dead. Desolate she sat, among sons, daughters, husband, all dead, stunned with grief. The breeze moved not her hair, no color was on her cheek, her eyes glared fixed and immovable, there was no sign of life about her. Her very tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She was changed to stone. Yet tears continued to flow; and borne on a whirlwind to her native mountain, she still remains, a mass of rock, from which a trickling stream flows, the tribute of her never-ending grief.
By Thomas Bulfinch
Pyramus was the handsomest youth, and Thisbe the fairest maiden, in all Babylon, where Semiramis reigned. Their parents occupied adjoining houses, and acquaintance ripened into love. They would gladly have married, but their parents forbade. One thing, however, they couldnot forbid—that love should glow with equal ardor in the hearts of both. They conversed by signs and glances, and the fire burned more intensely for being covered up. In the wall that separated the two houses there was a crack. No one had remarked it before, but the lovers discovered it. It afforded a passage to the voice, and messages used to pass backward and forward through the gap. “Cruel wall,” they said, “why do you keep us apart? But we will not be ungrateful. We owe you the privilege of transmitting loving words to willing ears.” Such words they uttered on different sides of the wall; and when night came and they must say farewell, they pressed their lips upon the wall, she on her side, he on his, as they could come no nearer.
Next morning, when the sun had melted the frost from the grass, they met at the accustomed spot. Then, after lamenting their hard fate, they agreed that next night, when all was still, they would slip away from watchful eyes, leave their dwellings and walk out into the fields; and to insure a meeting, repair to a well-known edifice standing without the city’s bounds, called the Tomb of Ninus, and that the one who came first should await the other at the foot of a certain tree. It was a white mulberry tree, and stood near a cool spring. All was agreed on, and they waited impatiently for the sun to go down beneath the waters and night to rise up from them. Then cautiously Thisbe stole forth, unobserved by the family, her head covered with a veil, made her way to the monument and sat down under the tree. As she sat alonein the dim light of the evening she descried a lioness, her jaws stained with recent slaughter, approaching the fountain to slake her thirst. Thisbe fled at the sight, and sought refuge in the hollow of a rock. As she fled she dropped her veil. The lioness after drinking at the spring turned to retreat to the woods, and seeing the veil on the ground, tossed and rent it with her bloody mouth.
Pyramus, having been delayed, now approached the place of meeting. He saw in the sand the footsteps of the lion, and the color fled from his cheeks at the sight. Presently he found the veil all rent and bloody. “O hapless girl,” said he, “I have been the cause of thy death! Thou, more worthy of life than I, hast fallen the first victim. I will follow. I am the guilty cause, in tempting thee forth to a place of such peril, and not being myself on the spot to guard thee. Come forth, ye lions, from the rocks, and tear this guilty body with your teeth.” He took up the veil, carried it with him to the appointed tree, and covered it with kisses and with tears. “Myblood also shall stain your texture,” said he, and drawing his sword plunged it into his heart. The blood spurted from the wound, and tinged the white mulberries of the tree all red; and sinking into the earth reached the roots, so that the red color mounted through the trunk to the fruit.
By this time Thisbe, still trembling with fear, yet wishing not to disappoint her lover, stepped cautiously forth, looking anxiously for the youth, eager to tell him the danger she had escaped. When she came to the spot and saw the changed color of the mulberries she doubted whether it was the sameplace. While she hesitated she saw the form of one struggling in the agonies of death. She started back, a shudder ran through her frame as a ripple on the face of the still water when a sudden breeze sweeps over it. But as soon as she recognized her lover, she screamed, beat her breast, and embraced the lifeless body. “O Pyramus,” she cried, “what has done this? Answer me, Pyramus; it is Thisbe that speaks. Hear me, dearest, and lift that drooping head!” At the name of Thisbe Pyramus opened his eyes, then closed them again. She saw her veil stained with blood and the scabbard empty of its sword. “Thy own hand has slain thee, and for my sake,” she said. “I too can be brave for once, and my love is as strong as thine. I will follow thee in death, for I have been the cause; and death which alone could part us shall not prevent my joining thee. And ye, unhappy parents of us both, deny us not our united request. As love and death have joined us, let one tomb contain us. And thou, tree, retain the marks of slaughter. Let thy berries still serve for memorials of our blood.” So saying she plunged the sword into her breast. Her parents ratified her wish, the gods also ratified it. The two bodies were buried in one sepulchre, and the tree ever after brought forth purple berries, as it does to this day.