the heavenly powers who had made both, and rejoiced in the speed of both, were not willing that either should conquer. The javelin was destined to a sad office. It appears that Cephalus, when weary of the chase, was wont to stretch himself in a certain shady nook to enjoy the breeze. Sometimes he would say aloud, Come, gentle Aura, sweet goddess of the breeze, come and allay the heat that burns me." Some one, foolishly believing that he addressed a maiden, told the secret to Procris. Hoping against hope, she stole out after him the next morning, and concealed herself in the place which the informer had indicated. Cephalus, when tired with sport, stretched himself on the green bank, and summoned fair Aura, as usual. Suddenly he heard, or thought he heard, a sound as of a sob in the bushes. Supposing it to proceed from some wild animal, he threw his javelin at the spot. A cry told him that the weapon had too surely met its mark. He rushed to the place, and raised his wounded Procris from the earth. She, at last, opened her feeble eyes, and forced herself to utter these words: "I implore thee, if thou hast ever loved me, if I have ever deserved kindness at thy hands, my husband, grant me this last request; marry not that odious Breeze!" saying, she expired in her lover's arms. An altogether different story is the following: Procris, the nymph, had wedded Cephalus; He, till the spring had warmed to slow-winged days Named her his love; but now, in unknown ways, Turned from her own, and even farther ranged His woodland war; while she, in dull amaze, So, on a day, she rose and found him not. Alone, with wet, sad eye, she watched the shade Arrows of light through all the deep-leaved glade; 1 Austin Dobson, The Death of Procris. So Then, with weak hands, she knotted up the braid And all day long her slight spear devious flew, Before her ran the still unwounded game. And, lo! a hart that panted with the chase. Thinking, "I yet may chance unseen to see his face." Leaping he went, this hunter Cephalus, But in his hand his cornel bow he bare, But Procris lay among the white wind-flowers, To lie beside the sea, with many an uncouth tear. § 113. The son of Aurora and Cephalus was Phosphor, the Star of Morning. His son Ceyx, king of Trachis in Thessaly, had married Halcyone, daughter of Eolus. Their reign was happy until the brother of Ceyx met his death. The direful prodigies 1 Ovid, Metam. 11: 583-748. that followed this event made Ceyx feel that the gods were hostile to him. He thought best therefore to make a voyage to Claros in Ionia, to consult the oracle of Apollo. In spite of his wife's entreaties (for as daughter of the god of winds, she knew how dreadful a thing a storm at sea was), Ceyx set sail. He was shipwrecked and drowned. His last prayer was that the waves might bear his body to the sight of Halcyone, and that it might receive burial at her hands. In the meanwhile Halcyone counted the days till her husband's promised return. To all the gods she offered frequent incense, but more than all to Juno. The goddess, at last, could not bear to be further pleaded with for one already dead. Calling Iris, she enjoined her to approach the drowsy dwelling of Somnus, and bid him send a vision to Halcyone, in the form of Ceyx, to reveal the sad event. The Cave of Sleep. Iris puts on her robe of many colors, and tinging the sky with her bow, seeks the cave near the Cimmerian country, which is the abode of the dull god, Somnus. Here Phoebus dare not come. Clouds and shadows are exhaled from the ground, and the light glimmers faintly. The cock never there calls aloud to Aurora, nor watch-dog nor goose disturbs the silence. No wild beast, nor cattle, nor branch moved with the wind, nor sound of human conversation breaks the stillness. From the bottom of the rock the river Lethe flows, and by its murmur invites to sleep. Poppies grow before the door of the cave, from whose juices Night distils slumbers, which she scatters over the darkened earth. There is no gate to creak on its hinges, nor any watchman. In the midst, on a couch of black ebony, adorned with black plumes and black curtains, the god reclines, his limbs relaxed in sleep. Around him lie dreams, resembling all various forms, as many as the harvest bears stalks, or the forest leaves, or the seashore sandgrains. Brushing away the dreams that hovered around her, Iris lit up the cave, and delivered her message to the god, who, scarce opening his eyes, had great difficulty in shaking himself free from himself. Then Iris hasted away from the drowsiness creeping over her, and returned by her bow as she had come. But Somnus called one of his sons - Morpheus- the most expert in counterfeiting forms of men, to perform the command of Iris; then laid his head on his pillow, and yielded himself again to grateful repose. The Halcyon Birds. Morpheus flew, on silent wings, to the Hæmonian city, where he assumed the form of Ceyx. Pale like a dead man, naked and dripping, he stood before the couch of the wretched wife, and told her that the winds of the Ægean had sunk his ship; that he was dead. Weeping and groaning, Halcyone sprang from sleep, and, with the dawn, hastening to the seashore, descried an indistinct object washed to and fro by the waves. As it floated nearer, she recognized the body of her husband. In despair, leaping from the mole, she was changed instantly to a bird, and poured forth a song of grief as she flew. By the mercy of the gods Ceyx was likewise transformed. For seven days before and seven days after the winter solstice, Jove forbids the winds to blow. Then Halcyon broods over her nest; then the way is safe to seafarers. Æolus confines the winds that his grandchildren may have peace. § 114. Aurora and Tithonus.1— Aurora seems frequently to have been inspired with the love of mortals. Her greatest favorite, and almost her latest, was Tithonus, son of Laomedon, king of Troy. She stole him away, and prevailed on Jupiter to grant him immortality; but forgetting to have youth joined in the gift, after some time she began to discern, to her great mortification, that he was growing old. When his hair was white she left his society; but he still had the range of her palace, lived on ambrosial food, and was clad in celestial raiment. In time he lost the power of using his limbs; and then she shut him up in his chamber, whence 1 Homeric Hymn to Venus; Horace, Odes, 1: 22; 2: 16; Apollod. III. 12, § 4. his feeble voice might at times be heard. Finally she turned him into a grasshopper. The following is, according to the finest of poetic conceptions, the lament of the white-haired shadow: 1 "The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Me only cruel immortality Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, A white-haired shadow roaming like a dream Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn. "Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love, Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now, Close over us, the silver star, thy guide, Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears Where all should pause, as is most meet for all? "A soft air fans the cloud apart; there comes A glimpse of that dark world where I was born. Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals 1 Tennyson's Tithonus. |