cruelty of her bidding, was silent, and moved not her hand to the
inextricable heap. And there came [84] forth a little ant, which had
understanding of the difficulty of her task, and took pity upon the
consort of the god of Love; and he ran deftly hither and thither, and
called together the whole army of his fellows. "Have pity," he
cried, "nimble scholars of the Earth, Mother of all things!--have
pity upon the wife of Love, and hasten to help her in her perilous
effort." Then, one upon the other, the hosts of the insect people
hurried together; and they sorted asunder the whole heap of seed,
separating every grain after its kind, and so departed quickly out of
sight.

And at nightfall Venus returned, and seeing that task finished with
so wonderful diligence, she cried, "The work is not thine, thou
naughty maid, but his in whose eyes thou hast found favour." And
calling her again in the morning, "See now the grove," she said,
"beyond yonder torrent. Certain sheep feed there, whose fleeces
shine with gold. Fetch me straightway a lock of that precious stuff,
having gotten it as thou mayst."

And Psyche went forth willingly, not to obey the command of Venus,
but even to seek a rest from her labour in the depths of the river.
But from the river, the green reed, lowly mother of music, spake to
her: "O Psyche! pollute not these waters by self-destruction, nor
approach that terrible flock; for, as the heat groweth, they wax
fierce. Lie down under yon plane-tree, till the [85] quiet of the
river's breath have soothed them. Thereafter thou mayst shake down
the fleecy gold from the trees of the grove, for it holdeth by the
leaves."