feet to listen; how the rocks rose up at his bidding and followed him,
dancing, to build a town without hands; how he went to the dismal land
of the dead to seek his wife and with his clear lyre and sweet voice
drew tears from the iron heart of the king of hell and won back his
loved Eurydice and lost her again the same hour.

The boy, sitting there in the moonlight, went floating away on the song
until he felt himself straying through that fair garden of the dead with
singing lyre or riding with Artemis through the sky in her moon chariot.

When the song was ended, Glaucon said, "Come, little master, you have
fallen asleep. Let us go home."

And Charmides rose and went, still clutching his image of Hermes in his
hand and still holding the song fast in his heart.

In the morning the whole great camp was awake and moving long before
daylight. Every man and boy was in his fairest clothes. On every head
was a fresh fillet. Every hand bore some beautiful gift for the gods--a
vase, a plate of gold, an embroidered robe, a basket of silver. All were
pouring to the open gate in the sacred wall. Here a procession formed.
Young men led cattle with gilded horns and swinging garlands, or sheep
with clean, combed wool. Stately priests in long chitons paced to the
music of flutes. The judges glowed in their purple robes. Then walked
the athletes, their eyes burning with excitement. And last came all the
visitors with gift-laden hands. The slaves and foreigners crowded at
the gate to see the procession pass, for on this first holy day only
freedmen and Greeks of pure blood might visit the sacred shrines. When
Charmides passed through, his heart leaped. Here was no empty field with
a few altars. He had never seen a greater crowd in the busy market place