wife, told in the history of Vespasian? Is there
anywhere a sweeter legend than that of the Halcyons,
the ice-birds, who love one another so tenderly that
when the male becomes enfeebled by age, his mate carries
him on her outspread wings whithersoever he will; and
the gods, desiring to reward such faithful love, cause
the sun to shine more kindly, and still the winds
and waves on the “Halcyon days” during
which these birds are building their nest and brooding
over their young? There can surely have been
no lack of romantic love in days when a used-up man
of the world, like Antony, could desire in his will
that wherever he died his body might be laid by the
side of his beloved Cleopatra: nor of the chivalry
of love when Berenice’s beautiful hair was placed
as a constellation in the heavens. Neither can
we believe that devotion in the cause of love could
be wanting when a whole nation was ready to wage a
fierce and obstinate war for the sake of one beautiful
woman. The Greeks had an insult to revenge,
but the Trojans fought for the possession of Helen.
Even the old men of Ilium were ready “to suffer
long for such a woman.” And finally is
not the whole question answered in Theocritus’
unparalleled poem, “the Sorceress?” We
see the poor love-lorn girl and her old woman-servant,
Thestylis, cowering over the fire above which the
bird supposed to possess the power of bringing back
the faithless Delphis is sitting in his wheel.
Simoetha has learnt many spells and charms from an
Assyrian, and she tries them all. The distant
roar of the waves, the stroke rising from the fire,
the dogs howling in the street, the tortured fluttering
bird, the old woman, the broken-hearted girl and
her awful spells, all join in forming a night scene
the effect of which is heightened by the calm cold
moonshine. The old woman leaves the girl, who
at once ceases to weave her spells, allows her pent-up
tears to have their way, and looking up to Selene the
moon, the lovers’ silent confidante, pours out
her whole story: how when she first saw the beautiful
Delphis her heart had glowed with love, she had seen
nothing more of the train of youths who followed him,
“and,” (thus sadly the poet makes her
speak)
“how
I gained my home
I
knew not; some strange fever wasted me.
Ten
days and nights I lay upon my bed.
O
tell me, mistress Moon, whence came my love!”
“Then” (she continues) when Delphis at
last crossed her threshold:
“I
Became
all cold like snow, and from my brow
Brake
the damp dewdrops: utterance I had none,
Not
e’en such utterance as a babe may make
That
babbles to its mother in its dreams;
But
all my fair frame stiffened into wax,—
O
tell me mistress Moon, whence came my love!”