only seek, in adoring her, a release. When, young Athenian, the moon
revealed herself in visions of light to Endymion, it was after a day
passed, not amongst the feverish haunts of men, but on the still
mountains and in the solitary valleys of the hunter.'

'Beautiful simile!' cried Glaucus; 'most unjust application! Exhaustion!
that word is for age, not youth. By me, at least, one moment of satiety
has never been known!'

Again the Egyptian smiled, but his smile was cold and blighting, and
even the unimaginative Clodius froze beneath its light. He did not,
however, reply to the passionate exclamation of Glaucus; but, after a
pause, he said, in a soft and melancholy voice:

'After all, you do right to enjoy the hour while it smiles for you; the
rose soon withers, the perfume soon exhales. And we, O Glaucus!
strangers in the land and far from our fathers' ashes, what is there
left for us but pleasure or regret!--for you the first, perhaps for me
the last.'

The bright eyes of the Greek were suddenly suffused with tears. 'Ah,
speak not, Arbaces,' he cried--'speak not of our ancestors. Let us
forget that there were ever other liberties than those of Rome! And
Glory!--oh, vainly would we call her ghost from the fields of Marathon
and Thermopylae!'

'Thy heart rebukes thee while thou speakest,' said the Egyptian; 'and in
thy gaieties this night, thou wilt be more mindful of Leoena than of
Lais. Vale!'