Buried Cities, Complete - Pompeii, Olympia, Mycenae by Jennie Hall
page 66 of 107 (61%)
page 66 of 107 (61%)
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With my heart lifted up to begin my lay,
Cry aloud to Apollo, the lord of song. Then he sang of that lordliest of all minstrels, Orpheus--how the trees swung circling about to his music; how the savage beasts lay down at his 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 |
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