lover might be at hand. What was her dismay when she saw Pyramus
stretched lifeless on the ground. Kneeling down beside him, she washed
his wound with her tears, and kissed his cold lips, calling on him in
vain to speak. "Speak to me, Pyramus," she cried, "'tis your beloved
Thisbe that calls."

At the sound of her voice Pyramus opened his failing eyes, and gave
his love one last look, then he closed them for ever. When Thisbe saw
her own cloak and the empty sheath, she guessed that, thinking her
dead, he had sought death himself.

"'Twas by your own hand you fell," she cried, "a victim to love, and
love will give my hand strength to do the like. Since those who were
parted in life are united in death, perhaps our sorrowing parents will
grant us the boon of a common tomb. May we rest side by side, even as
we have fallen, and may this tree, which has witnessed our despair and
our death, bear the traces for evermore. Let its fruit be clothed in
mourning garb for the death of two hapless lovers."

With these words she threw herself on the sword of Pyramus. Her last
prayer was granted, for one urn held the ashes of the faithful pair.
And since that night the mulberry tree bears purple fruit to recall to
all generations of lovers the cruel fate of Pyramus and Thisbe.




ORPHEUS

ADAPTED BY ALICE ZIMMERN