"When I hear a note of music, can I not at once strike its chord?"
answered the philosopher: "Even as surely is there an everlasting
harmony between the soul of man and the visible forms of creation. If
there were no innocent hearts, there would be no white lilies."

A shadow passed over Aspasia's expressive countenance; for she was aware
that her own brilliant wreath contained not one purely white blossom.
But her features had been well-trained to conceal her sentiments; and
her usual vivacity instantly returned.

The remainder of the garlands were bestowed so rapidly, that there
seemed scarcely time for deliberate choice; yet Pericles wore the oak
leaves sacred to Zeus; and the laurel and olive of Phoebus rested on the
brow of Phidias.

A half mischievous smile played round Aspasia's lips, when she saw the
wreath of ivy and grape leaves placed on the head of Alcibiades. "Son of
Aristo," she exclaimed, "the Phoenician Magii have given you good skill
in divination. You have bestowed every garland appropriately."

"It needed little magic," replied Plato, "to know that the oaken leaves
belonged to one whose eloquence is so often called Olympian; or that the
laurel was due to him who fashioned Pallas Parthenia; and Alcibiades
would no doubt contend boldly with any man who professed to worship the
god of vineyards with more zeal than himself."

The gay Athenian answered this challenge by singing part of an
Anacreontic ode, often repeated during the festivities of the Dionysia:

"To-day I'll haste to quaff my wine,