His reed pipe when applied to his
lips gave out no melody, but a dismal wail; the
sylvan and riparian intelligences no longer thronged
the thicket-side to listen, but fled from the sound,
as he knew by the stirred leaves and bent flowers.
He relaxed his vigilance and many of his sheep
strayed away into the hills and were lost. Those that
remained became lean and ill for lack of good pas-
turage, for he would not seek it for them, but con-
ducted them day after day to the same spot, through
mere abstraction, while puzzling about life and
death--of immortality he knew not.
One day while indulging in the gloomiest reflec-
tions he suddenly sprang from the rock upon which
he sat, and with a determined gesture of the right
hand exclaimed: 'I will no longer be a suppliant for
knowledge which the gods withhold. Let them look
to it that they do me no wrong. I will do my duty
as best I can and if I err upon their own heads
be it!'
Suddenly, as he spoke, a great brightness fell
about him, causing him to look upward, thinking
the sun had burst through a rift in the clouds; but
there were no clouds. No more than an arm's length
away stood a beautiful maiden. So beautiful she was
that the flowers about her feet folded their petals in
despair and bent their heads in token of submission;
so sweet her look that the humming-birds thronged
her eyes, thrusting their thirsty bills almost into
them, and the wild bees were about her lips.
Pages:
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223