And in the whisper of the waving oak
Hears still the Dryad's plaint, and, in the wind
That sighs through moonlit woodlands, knows the horn
Of Artemis, and silver shafts and bow.
Therefore if still around this broken vase,
Borne by rough hands, unworthy of their load,
Far from Cephisus and the wandering rills,
There cling a fragrance as of things once sweet,
Of honey from Hymettus' desert hill,
Take thou the gift and hold it close and dear;
For gifts that die have living memories--
Voices of unreturning days, that breathe
The spirit of a day that never dies.




ARGUMENT

Io, the daughter of Inachus, King of Argos, was beloved of Zeus. But
Hera was jealous of that love, and by her ill will was Io given over
to frenzy, and her body took the semblance of a heifer: and Argus, a
many-eyed herdsman, was set by Hera to watch Io whithersoever she
strayed. Yet, in despite of Argus, did Zeus draw nigh unto her in
the shape of a bull. And by the will of Zeus and the craft of Hermes
was Argus slain. Then Io was driven over far lands and seas by her
madness, and came at length to the land of Egypt. There was she
restored to herself by a touch of the hand of Zeus, and bare a child
called Epaphus. And from Epaphus sprang Libya, and from Libya, Belus;
and from Belus, Aegyptus and Danaus. And the sons of Aegyptus willed