The Wind overhead hushed his
whistling, as he shepherded his clouds toward the west; and the clouds
stood in mid blue, and listened dreaming, like a flock of golden sheep.
And as the heroes listened, the oars fell from their hands, and their
heads drooped on their breasts, and they closed their heavy eyes; and
they dreamed of bright still gardens, and of slumbers under murmuring
pines, till all their toil seemed foolishness, and they thought of their
renown no more.
Then one lifted his head suddenly, and cried, "What use in wandering
forever? Let us stay here and rest awhile." And another, "Let us row to
the shore, and hear the words they sing." And another, "I care not for
the words, but for the music. They shall sing me to sleep, that I may
rest."
And Butes, the son of Pandion, the fairest of all mortal men, leapt out
and swam toward the shore, crying, "I come, I come, fair maidens, to
live and die here, listening to your song."
Then Medeia clapped her hands together, and cried, "Sing louder,
Orpheus, sing a bolder strain; wake up these hapless sluggards, or none
of them will see the land of Hellas more."
Then Orpheus lifted his harp, and crashed his cunning hand across the
strings; and his music and his voice rose like a trumpet through the
still evening air; into the air it rushed like thunder, till the rocks
rang and the sea; and into their souls it rushed like wine, till all
hearts beat fast within their breasts.
Pages:
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335