Ho ye! take this my guest, find raiment meet Wherewith to clothe him; bathe his wearied feet, And bring him back beside my throne to feast."

But to himself he said, "I am the least Of all Thessalians if this man was born In any earthly dwelling more forlorn Than a king's palace."

Then a damsel slim Led him inside, nought loth to go with him, And when the cloud of steam had curled to meet Within the bra.s.s his wearied dusty feet, She from a carved press brought him linen fair, And a new-woven coat a king might wear, And so being clad he came unto the feast, But as he came again, all people ceased What talk they held soever, for they thought A very G.o.d among them had been brought; And doubly glad the king Admetus was At what that dying eve had brought to pa.s.s, And bade him sit by him and feast his fill.

So there they sat till all the world was still, And 'twixt the pillars their red torches' shine Held forth unto the night a joyous sign.

So henceforth did this man at Pherae dwell, And what he set his hand to wrought right well, And won much praise and love in everything, And came to rule all herdsmen of the King; But for two things in chief his fame did grow; And first that he was better with the bow Than any 'twixt Olympus and the sea, And then that sweet, heart-piercing melody He drew out from the rigid-seeming lyre, And made the circle round the winter fire More like to heaven than gardens of the May.

So many a heavy thought he chased away From the King's heart, and softened many a hate, And choked the spring of many a harsh debate; And, taught by wounds, the s.n.a.t.c.hers of the wolds Lurked round the gates of less well-guarded folds.

Therefore Admetus loved him, yet withal, Strange doubts and fears upon his heart did fall; For morns there were when he the man would meet, His hair wreathed round with bay and blossoms sweet, Gazing distraught into the brightening east, Nor taking heed of either man or beast, Or anything that was upon the earth.

Or sometimes, midst the hottest of the mirth, Within the King's hall, would he seem to wake As from a dream, and his stringed tortoise take And strike the cords unbidden, till the hall Filled with the glorious sound from wall to wall, Trembled and seemed as it would melt away, And sunken down the faces weeping lay That erewhile laughed the loudest; only he Stood upright, looking forward steadily With sparkling eyes as one who cannot weep, Until the storm of music sank to sleep.

But this thing seemed the doubtfullest of all Unto the King, that should there chance to fall A festal day, and folk did sacrifice Unto the G.o.ds, ever by some device The man would be away: yet with all this His presence doubled all Admetus' bliss, And happy in all things he seemed to live, And great gifts to his herdsman did he give.

But now the year came round again to spring, And southward to Iolchos went the King; For there did Pelias hold a sacrifice Unto the G.o.ds, and put forth things of price For men to strive for in the people's sight; So on a morn of April, fresh and bright, Admetus shook the golden-studded reins, And soon from windings of the sweet-banked lanes The south wind blew the sound of hoof and wheel, Clatter of brazen shields and clink of steel Unto the herdsman's ears, who stood awhile Hearkening the echoes with a G.o.dlike smile, Then slowly gat him foldwards, murmuring, "Fair music for the wooing of a King."

But in six days again Admetus came, With no lost labour or dishonoured name; A scarlet cloak upon his back he bare A gold crown on his head, a falchion fair Girt to his side; behind him four white steeds, Whose dams had fed full in Nisaean meads; All prizes that his valiant hands had won Within the guarded lists of Tyro's son.

Yet midst the sound of joyous minstrelsy No joyous man in truth he seemed to be; So that folk looking on him said, "Behold, The wise King will not show himself too bold Amidst his greatness: the G.o.ds too are great, And who can tell the dreadful ways of fate?"

Howe'er it was, he gat him through the town, And midst their shouts at last he lighted down At his own house, and held high feast that night; And yet by seeming had but small delight In aught that any man could do or say: And on the morrow, just at dawn of day, Rose up and clad himself, and took his spear.

And in the fresh and blossom-scented air Went wandering till he reach Boebeis' sh.o.r.e; Yet by his troubled face set little store By all the songs of birds and scent of flowers; Yea, rather unto him the fragrant hours Were grown but dull and empty of delight.

So going, at the last he came in sight Of his new herdsman, who that morning lay Close by the white sand of a little bay The teeming ripple of Boebeis lapped; There he in cloak of white-wooled sheepskin wrapped Against the cold dew, free from trouble sang, The while the heifers' bells about him rang And mingled with the sweet soft-throated birds And bright fresh ripple: listen, then, these words Will tell the tale of his felicity, Halting and void of music though they be.

SONG.

O Dwellers on the lovely earth, Why will ye break your rest and mirth To weary us with fruitless prayer; Why will ye toil and take such care For children's children yet unborn, And garner store of strife and scorn To gain a scarce-remembered name, c.u.mbered with lies and soiled with shame?

And if the G.o.ds care not for you, What is this folly ye must do To win some mortal's feeble heart?

O fools! when each man plays his part, And heeds his fellow little more Than these blue waves that kiss the sh.o.r.e Take heed of how the daisies grow.

O fools! and if ye could but know How fair a world to you is given.

O brooder on the hills of heaven, When for my sin thou drav'st me forth, Hadst thou forgot what this was worth, Thine own hand had made? The tears of men, The death of threescore years and ten, The trembling of the timorous race-- Had these things so bedimmed the place Thine own hand made, thou couldst not know To what a heaven the earth might grow If fear beneath the earth were laid, If hope failed not, nor love decayed.

He stopped, for he beheld his wandering lord, Who, drawing near, heard little of his word, And noted less; for in that haggard mood Nought could he do but o'er his sorrows brood, Whate'er they were, but now being come anigh, He lifted up his drawn face suddenly, And as the singer gat him to his feet, His eyes Admetus' troubled eyes did meet, As with some speech he now seemed labouring, Which from his heart his lips refused to bring.

Then spoke the herdsman, "Master, what is this, That thou, returned with honour to the bliss, The G.o.ds have given thee here, still makest show To be some wretch bent with the weight of woe?

What wilt thou have? What help there is in me Is wholly thine, for in felicity Within thine house thou still hast let me live, Nor grudged most n.o.ble gifts to me to give."

"Yea," said Admetus, "thou canst help indeed, But as the spring shower helps the unsown mead.

Yet listen: at Iolchos the first day Unto Diana's house I took my way, Where all men gathered ere the games began, There, at the right side of the royal man, Who rules Iolchos, did his daughter stand, Who with a suppliant bough in her right hand Headed the band of maidens; but to me More than a G.o.ddess did she seem to be, Nor fit to die; and therewithal I thought That we had all been thither called for nought But that her bridegroom Pelias might choose, And with that thought desire did I let loose, And striving not with Love, I gazed my fill, As one who will not fear the coming ill: All, foolish were mine eyes, foolish my heart, To strive in such a marvel to have part!

What G.o.d shall wed her rather? no more fear Than vexes Pallas vexed her forehead clear, Faith shone from out her eyes, and on her lips Unknown love trembled; the Phoenician ships Within their dark holds nought so precious bring As her soft golden hair, no daintiest thing I ever saw was half so wisely wrought As was her rosy ear; beyond all thought, All words to tell of, her veiled body showed, As, by the image of the Three-formed bowed, She laid her offering down; then I drawn near The murmuring of her gentle voice could hear, As waking one hears music in the morn, Ere yet the fair June sun is fully born; And sweeter than the roses fresh with dew Sweet odours floated round me, as she drew Some golden thing from out her balmy breast With her right hand, the while her left hand pressed The hidden wonders of her girdlestead; And when abashed I sank adown my head, Dreading the G.o.d of Love, my eyes must meet The happy bands about her perfect feet.

"What more? thou know'st perchance what thing love is?

Kindness, and hot desire, and rage, and bliss, None first a moment; but before that day No love I knew but what might pa.s.s away When hot desire was changed to certainty, Or not abide much longer; e'en such stings Had smitten me, as the first warm day brings When March is dying; but now half a G.o.d The crowded way unto the lists I trod, Yet hopeless as a vanquished G.o.d at whiles, And hideous seemed the laughter and the smiles, And idle talk about me on the way.

"But none could stand before me on that day, I was as G.o.d-possessed, not knowing how The King had brought her forth but for a show, To make his glory greater through the land: Therefore at last victorious did I stand Among my peers, nor yet one well-known name Had gathered any honour from my shame.

For there indeed both men of Thessaly, Oetolians, Thebans, dwellers by the sea, And folk of Attica and Argolis, Arcadian woodmen, islanders, whose bliss Is to be tossed about from wave to wave, All these at last to me the honour gave, Nor did they grudge it: yea, and one man said, A wise Thessalian with a snowy head, And voice grown thin with age, 'O Pelias, Surely to thee no evil thing it was That to thy house this rich Thessalian Should come, to prove himself a valiant man Amongst these heroes; for if I be wise By dint of many years, with wistful eyes Doth he behold thy daughter, this fair maid; And surely, if the matter were well weighed, Good were it both for thee and for the land That he should take the damsel by the hand And lead her hence, for ye near neighbours dwell; What sayest thou, King, have I said ill or well?'

"With that must I, a fool, stand forth and ask If yet there lay before me some great task That I must do ere I the maid should wed, But Pelias, looking on us, smiled and said, 'O neighbour of Larissa, and thou too, O King Admetus, this may seem to you A little matter; yea, and for my part E'en such a marriage would make glad my heart; But we the blood of Salmoneus who share With G.o.dlike gifts great burdens also bear, Nor is this maid without them, for the day On which her maiden zone she puts away Shall be her death-day, if she wed with one By whom this marvellous thing may not be done, For in the traces neither must steeds paw Before my threshold, or white oxen draw The wain that comes my maid to take from me, Far other beasts that day her slaves must be: The yellow lion 'neath the lash must roar, And by his side unscared, the forest boar Toil at the draught: what sayest thou then hereto, O lord of Pherae, wilt thou come to woo In such a chariot, and win endless fame, Or turn thine eyes elsewhere with little shame?'

"What answered I? O herdsman, I was mad With sweet love and the triumph I had had.

I took my father's ring from off my hand, And said, 'O heroes of the Grecian land, Be witnesses that on my father's name For this man's promise, do I take the shame Of this deed undone, if I fail herein; Fear not, O Pelias, but that I shall win This ring from thee, when I shall come again Through fair Iolchos, driving that strange wain.

Else by this token, thou, O King, shalt have Pherae my home, while on the tumbling wave A hollow ship my sad abode shall be.'

"So driven by some hostile deity, Such words I said, and with my gifts hard won, But little valued now, set out upon My homeward way: but nearer as I drew To mine abode, and ever fainter grew In my weak heart the image of my love, In vain with fear my boastful folly strove; For I remembered that no G.o.d I was Though I had chanced my fellows to surpa.s.s; And I began to mind me in a while What murmur rose, with what a mocking smile Pelias stretched out his hand to take the ring.

Made by my drunkard's gift now twice a king: And when unto my palace-door I came I had awakened fully to my shame; For certainly no help is left to me, But I must get me down unto the sea And build a keel, and whatso things I may Set in her hold, and cross the watery way Whither Jove bids, and the rough winds may blow Unto a land where none my folly know, And there begin a weary life anew."

Eager and bright the herdsman's visage grew The while this tale was told, and at the end He said, "Admetus, I thy life may mend, And thou at lovely Pherae still may dwell; Wait for ten days, and then may all be well, And thou to fetch thy maiden home may go, And to the King thy team unheard-of show.

And if not, then make ready for the sea Nor will I fail indeed to go with thee, And 'twixt the halyards and the ashen oar Finish the service well begun ash.o.r.e; But meanwhile do I bid thee hope the best; And take another herdsman for the rest, For unto Ossa must I go alone To do a deed not easy to be done."

Then springing up he took his spear and bow And northward by the lake-sh.o.r.e 'gan to go; But the King gazed upon him as he went, Then, sighing, turned about, and homeward bent His lingering steps, and hope began to spring Within his heart, for some betokening He seemed about the herdsman now to see Of one from mortal cares and troubles free.

And so midst hopes and fears day followed day, Until at last upon his bed he lay When the grey, creeping dawn had now begun To make the wide world ready for the sun On the tenth day: sleepless had been the night And now in that first hour of gathering light For weariness he slept, and dreamed that he Stood by the border of a fair, calm sea At point to go a-shipboard, and to leave Whatever from his sire he did receive Of land or kingship; and withal he dreamed That through the cordage a bright light there gleamed Far off within the east; and nowise sad He felt at leaving all he might have had, But rather as a man who goes to see Some heritage expected patiently.

But when he moved to leave the firm fixed sh.o.r.e, The windless sea rose high and 'gan to roar, And from the gangway thrust the ship aside, Until he hung over a chasm wide Vocal with furious waves, yet had no fear For all the varied tumult he might hear, But slowly woke up to the morning light That to his eyes seemed past all memory bright, And then strange sounds he heard, whereat his heart Woke up to joyous life with one glad start, And nigh his bed he saw the herdsman stand, Holding a long white staff in his right hand, Carved with strange figures; and withal he said, "Awake, Admetus! loiter not a-bed, But haste thee to bring home thy promised bride, For now an ivory chariot waits outside, Yoked to such beasts as Pelias bade thee bring; Whose guidance thou shalt find an easy thing, If in thine hands thou holdest still this rod, Whereon are carved the names of every G.o.d That rules the fertile earth; but having come Unto King Pelias' well-adorned home, Abide not long, but take the royal maid, And let her dowry in thy wain be laid, Of silver and fine cloth and unmixed gold, For this indeed will Pelias not withhold When he shall see thee like a very G.o.d.

Then let thy beasts, ruled by this carven rod, Turn round to Pherae; yet must thou abide Before thou comest to the streamlet's side That feed its d.y.k.es; there, by the little wood Wherein unto Diana men shed blood, Will I await thee, and thou shalt descend And hand-in-hand afoot through Pherae wend; And yet I bid thee, this night let thy bride Apart among the womenfolk abide; That on the morrow thou with sacrifice For these strange deeds may pay a fitting price."

But as he spoke with something like to awe, His eyes and much-changed face Admetus saw, And voiceless like a slave his words obeyed; For rising up no more delay he made, But took the staff and gained the palace-door Where stood the beasts, whose mingled whine and roar Had wrought his dream; there two and two they stood, Thinking, it might be, of the tangled wood, And all the joys of the food-hiding trees, But harmless as their painted images 'Neath some dread spell; then, leaping up, he took The reins in hand and the bossed leather shook, And no delay the conquered beasts durst make But drew, not silent; and folk just awake When he went by, as though a G.o.d they saw, Fell on their knees, and maidens come to draw Fresh water from the fount sank trembling down, And silence held the babbling wakened town.

So 'twixt the dewy hedges did he wend, And still their noise afar the beasts did send, His strange victorious advent to proclaim, Till to Iolchos at the last he came, And drew anigh the gates, whence in affright The guards fled, helpless at the wondrous sight; And through the town news of the coming spread Of some great G.o.d so that the scared priests led Pale suppliants forth; who, in unmeet attire And hastily-caught boughs and smouldering fire Within their censers, in the market-place Awaited him with many an upturned face, Trembling with fear of that unnamed new G.o.d; But through the midst of them his lions trod With noiseless feet, nor noted aught their prey, And the boars' hooves went pattering on the way, While from their churning tusks the white foam flew As raging, helpless, in the trace they drew.

But Pelias, knowing all the work of fate, Sat in his brazen-pillared porch to wait The coming of the King; the while the maid In her fair marriage garments was arrayed, And from strong places of his treasury Men brought fine scarlet from the Syrian sea, And works of bra.s.s, and ivory, and gold; But when the strange yoked beasts he did behold Come through the press of people terrified, Then he arose and o'er the clamour cried, "Hail, thou, who like a very G.o.d art come To bring great honour to my damsel's home;"

And when Admetus tightened rein before The gleaming, brazen-wrought, half-opened door.

He cried to Pelias, "Hail, to thee, O King; Let me behold once more my father's ring, Let me behold the prize that I have won, Mine eyes are wearying now to look upon."

"Fear not," he said, "the Fates are satisfied; Yet wilt thou not descend and here abide, Doing me honour till the next bright morn Has dried the dew upon the new-sprung corn, That we in turn may give the honour due To such a man that such a thing can do, And unto all the G.o.ds may sacrifice?"

"Nay," said Admetus, "if thou call'st me wise, And like a very G.o.d thou dost me deem, Shall I abide the ending of the dream And so gain nothing? nay, let me be glad That I at least one G.o.dlike hour have had At whatsoever time I come to die, That I may mock the world that pa.s.ses by, And yet forgets it." Saying this, indeed, Of Pelias did he seem to take small heed, But spoke as one unto himself may speak, And still the half-shut door his eyes did seek, Wherethrough from distant rooms sweet music came, Setting his over-strained heart a-flame, Because amidst the Lydian flutes he thought From place to place his love the maidens brought.

Then Pelias said, "What can I give to thee Who fail'st so little of divinity?

Yet let my slaves lay these poor gifts within Thy chariot, while my daughter strives to win The favour of the spirits of this place, Since from their altars she must turn her face For ever now; hearken, her flutes I hear, From the last chapel doth she draw anear."

Then by Admetus' feet the folk 'gan pile The precious things, but he no less the while Stared at the door ajar, and thought it long Ere with the flutes mingled the maidens' song, And both grew louder, and the scarce-seen floor Was fluttering with white raiment, and the door By slender fingers was set open wide, And midst her damsels he beheld the bride Ungirt, with hair unbound and garlanded: Then Pelias took her slender hand and said, "Daughter, this is the man that takes from thee Thy curse midst women, think no more to be Childless, unloved, and knowing little bliss; But now behold how like a G.o.d he is, And yet with what prayers for the love of thee He must have wearied some divinity, And therefore in thine inmost heart be glad That thou 'mongst women such a man hast had."

Then she with wondering eyes that strange team saw A moment, then as one with gathering awe Might turn from Jove's bird unto very Jove, So did she raise her grey eyes to her love, But to her brow the blood rose therewithal, And she must tremble, such a look did fall Upon her faithful eyes, that none the less Would falter aught, for all her shamefastness, But rather to her lover's hungry eyes Gave back a tender look of glad surprise, Wherein love's flame began to flicker now.

Withal, her father kissed her on the brow, And said, "O daughter, take this royal ring, And set it on the finger of the King, And come not back; and thou, Admetus, pour This wine to Jove before my open door, And glad at heart take back thine own with thee."

Then with that word Alcestis silently, And with no look cast back, and ring in hand, Went forth, and soon beside her love did stand, Nor on his finger failed to set the ring; And then a golden cup the city's King Gave to him, and he poured and said, "O thou, From whatsoever place thou lookest now, What prayers, what gifts unto thee shall I give That we a little time with love may live?

A little time of love, then fall asleep Together, while the crown of love we keep."

So spake he, and his strange beasts turned about, And heeded not the people's wavering shout That from their old fear and new pleasure sprung, Nor noted aught of what the damsels sung, Or of the flowers that after them they cast, But like a dream the guarded city pa.s.sed, And 'twixt the song of birds and blossoms' scent It seemed for many hundred years they went, Though short the way was unto Pherae's gates; Time they forgat, and G.o.ds, and men, and fates, However nigh unto their hearts they were; The woodland boars, the yellow lords of fear No more seemed strange to them, but all the earth With all its changing sorrow and wild mirth In that fair hour seemed new-born to the twain, Grief seemed a play forgot, a pageant vain, A picture painted, who knows where or when, With soulless images of restless men; For every thought but love was now gone by, And they forgot that they should ever die.

But when they came anigh the sacred wood, There, biding them, Admetus' herdsman stood, At sight of whom those yoke-fellows unchecked Stopped dead and little of Admetus recked Who now, as one from dreams not yet awake, Drew back his love and did his wain forsake, And gave the carven rod and guiding bands Into the waiting herdsman's outstretched hands, But when he would have thanked him for the thing That he had done, his speechless tongue must cling Unto his mouth, and why he could not tell.

But the man said, "No words! thou hast done well To me, as I to thee; the day may come When thou shalt ask me for a fitting home, Nor shalt thou ask in vain; but hasten now, And to thine house this royal maiden show, Then give her to thy women for this night.

But when thou wakest up to thy delight To-morrow, do all things that should be done, Nor of the G.o.ds, forget thou any one, And on the next day will I come again To tend thy flocks upon the gra.s.sy plain.

"But now depart, and from thine home send here Chariot and horse, these gifts of thine to bear Unto thine house, and going, look not back Lest many a wished-for thing thou com'st to lack."

Then hand in hand together, up the road The lovers pa.s.sed unto the King's abode, And as they went, the whining snort and roar From the yoked beasts they heard break out once more And then die off, as they were led away, But whether to some place lit up by day, Or, 'neath the earth, they knew not, for the twain Went hastening on, nor once looked back again.

But soon the minstrels met them, and a band Of white-robed damsels flowery boughs in hand, To bid them welcome to that pleasant place.

Then they, rejoicing much, in no long s.p.a.ce Came to the brazen-pillared porch, whereon From 'twixt the pa.s.ses of the hills yet shone The dying sun; and there she stood awhile Without the threshold, a faint tender smile Trembling upon her lips 'twixt love and shame, Until each side of her a maiden came And raised her in their arms, that her fair feet The polished brazen threshold might not meet, And in Admetus' house she stood at last.

But to the women's chamber straight she pa.s.sed Bepraised of all,--and so the wakeful night Lonely the lovers pa.s.sed e'en as they might.

But the next day with many a sacrifice, Admetus wrought, for such a well-won prize, A life so blest, the G.o.ds to satisfy, And many a matchless beast that day did die Upon the altars; nought unlucky seemed To be amid the joyous crowd that gleamed With gold and precious things, and only this Seemed wanting to the King of Pherae's bliss, That all these pageants should be soon past by, And hid by night the fair spring blossoms lie.

Yet on the morrow-morn Admetus came, A haggard man oppressed with grief and shame Unto the spot beside Boebeis' sh.o.r.e Whereby he met his herdsman once before, And there again he found him flushed and glad, And from the babbling water newly clad, Then he with downcast eyes these words began, "O thou, whatso thy name is, G.o.d or man, Hearken to me; meseemeth of thy deed Some dread immortal taketh angry heed.

"Last night the height of my desire seemed won, All day my weary eyes had watched the sun Rise up and sink, and now was come the night When I should be alone with my delight; Silent the house was now from floor to roof, And in the well-hung chambers, far aloof, The feasters lay; the moon was in the sky, The soft spring wind was wafting lovingly Across the gardens fresh scents to my sweet, As, troubled with the sound of my own feet, I pa.s.sed betwixt the pillars, whose long shade Black on the white red-veined floor was laid: So happy was I that the briar-rose, Rustling outside within the flowery close, Seemed but Love's odorous wing--too real all seemed For such a joy as I had never dreamed.

"Why do I linger, as I lingered not In that fair hour, now ne'er to be forgot While my life lasts?--Upon the gilded door I laid my hand; I stood upon the floor Of the bride-chamber, and I saw the bride, Lovelier than any dream, stand by the side Of the gold bed, with hands that hid her face: One cry of joy I gave, and then the place Seemed changed to h.e.l.l as in a hideous dream.

"Still did the painted silver pillars gleam Betwixt the scented torches and the moon; Still did the garden shed its odorous boon Upon the night; still did the nightingale Unto his brooding mate tell all his tale: But, risen 'twixt my waiting love and me, As soundless as the dread eternity, Sprung up from nothing, could mine eyes behold A huge dull-gleaming dreadful coil that rolled In changing circles on the pavement fair.

Then for the sword that was no longer there My hand sank to my side; around I gazed, And 'twixt the coils I met her grey eyes, glazed With sudden horror most unspeakable; And when mine own upon no weapon fell, For what should weapons do in such a place, Unto the dragon's head I set my face, And raised bare hands against him, but a cry Burst on mine ears of utmost agony That nailed me there, and she cried out to me, 'O get thee hence; alas, I cannot flee!

They coil about me now, my lips to kiss.

O love, why hast thou brought me unto this?'

"Alas, my shame! trembling, away I slunk, Yet turning saw the fearful coil had sunk To whence it came, my love's limbs freed I saw, And a long breath at first I heard her draw As one redeemed, then heard the hard sobs come, And wailings for her new accursed home.

But there outside across the door I lay, Like a scourged hound, until the dawn of day; And as her gentle breathing then I heard As though she slept, before the earliest bird Began his song, I wandered forth to seek Thee, O strange man, e'en as thou seest me, weak With all the torment of the night, and shamed With such a shame as never shall be named To aught but thee--Yea, yea, and why to thee Perchance this ends all thou wilt do for me?-- What then, and have I not a cure for that?

Lo, yonder is a rock where I have sat Full many an hour while yet my life was life, With hopes of all the coming wonder rife.

No sword hangs by my side, no G.o.d will turn This cloudless hazy blue to black, and burn My useless body with his lightning flash; But the white waves above my bones may wash, And when old chronicles our house shall name They may leave out the letters and the shame, That make Admetus, once a king of men-- And how could I be worse or better then?"

As one who notes a curious instrument Working against the maker's own intent, The herdsman eyed his wan face silently, And smiling for a while, and then said he,-- "Admetus, thou, in spite of all I said, Hast drawn this evil thing upon thine head, Forgetting her who erewhile laid the curse Upon the maiden, so for fear of worse Go back again; for fair-limbed Artemis Now bars the sweet attainment of thy bliss; So taking heart, yet make no more delay But worship her upon this very day, Nor spare for aught, and of thy trouble make No semblance unto any for her sake; And thick upon the fair bride-chamber floor Strew dittany, and on each side the door Hang up such poppy-leaves as spring may yield; And for the rest, myself may be a shield Against her wrath--nay, be thou not too bold To ask me that which may not now be told.

Yea, even what thou deemest, hide it deep Within thine heart, and let thy wonder sleep, For surely thou shalt one day know my name, When the time comes again that autumn's flame Is dying off the vine-boughs, overturned, Stripped of their wealth. But now let gifts be burned To her I told thee of, and in three days Shall I by many hard and rugged ways Have come to thee again to bring thee peace.

Go, the sun rises and the shades decrease."

Then, thoughtfully, Admetus gat him back, Nor did the altars of the Huntress lack The fattest of the flocks upon that day.