In Abydos dwelt the manly Leander, who, as luck would have it, bethought himself one day of the festival of Venus in Sestos, and thither fared to do obeisance to the goddess. On this feast-day, - O cursèd day and hour! As after chanc'd, they did each other spy. Vail'd to the ground, veiling her eyelids close; Thence flew Love's arrow with the golden head; And thus Leander was enamourèd. Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gaz'd, Till with the fire, that from his countenance blaz'd, It lies not in our power to love or hate, When two are stript long e'er the course begin, And one especially do we affect Of two gold ingots, like in each respect: He kneel'd; but unto her devoutly prayed: Chaste Hero to herself thus softly said, 'Were I the saint he worships, I would hear him'; And, as she spake those words, came somewhat near him. He started up; she blush'd as one asham'd; Wherewith Leander much more was inflam'd. He touch'd her hand; in touching it she trembled: Love deeply grounded, hardly is dissembled. . . . ... So they conversed by touch of hands, till Leander, plucking up courage, began to plead with words, with sighs and tears. These arguments he us'd, and many more; Wherewith she yielded, that was won before. Then she told him of the turret by the murmuring sea where all day long she tended Venus' swans and sparrows: 'Come thither.' As she spake this, her tongue tripp'd, For unawares, Come thither,' from her slipp'd; And suddenly her former colour chang'd, And here and there her eyes through anger rang'd; And hands so pure, so innocent, nay, such As might have made Heaven stoop to have a touch, Vow'd spotless chastity; but all in vain; For a season all went well. Guided by a torch which his mistress reared upon the tower, he was wont of nights to swim the strait, that he might enjoy her company. But one night a tempest arose, and the sea was rough; his strength failed, and he was drowned. The waves bore his body to the European shore, where Hero became aware of his death, and in her despair cast herself into the sea and perished. A picture of the drowning Leander is thus described by Keats 1: : Come hither all sweet maidens soberly, Down looking aye, and with a chasten'd light, $97. Pygmalion and the Statue.2 Pygmalion saw so much to blame in women, that he came at last to abhor the sex and resolved to live unmarried. He was a sculptor, and had made with wonderful skill a statue of ivory, so beautiful that no living woman was to compare with it. It was indeed the perfect semblance of a maiden that seemed to be alive, and that was pre His art was so perfect vented from moving only by modesty. that it concealed itself, and its product looked like the workmanship of nature. Pygmalion at last fell in love with his counterfeit creation. Oftentimes he laid his hand upon it as if to assure himself whether it were living or not, and could not even then believe that it was only ivory. The festival of Venus was at hand, a festival celebrated with great pomp at Cyprus. Victims were offered, the altars smoked, and the odor of incense filled the air. When Pygmalion had 1 Sonnet: On a Picture of Leander. 2 Ovid, Metam. 10:243-297. performed his part in the solemnities, he stood before the altar and, according to one of our poets, timidly said: "O Aphrodite, kind and fair, That what thou wilt canst give, That clothe her cedar frame Ah, touch them with thy flame! And let her choose me, as I chose, And then an altar in thy court I'll offer, decked with gold; And there thy servants shall resort, Thy doves be bought and sold!" 1 According to another version of the story, he said not, "bid mine image live," but "one like my ivory virgin." At any rate, with such a prayer, he threw incense on the flame of the altar. Whereupon Venus, as an omen of her favor, caused the flame to shoot up thrice a fiery point into the air. When Pygmalion reached his home, to his amazement he saw before him his statue garlanded with flowers. Yet while he stood, and knew not what to do He trembled at the sight, for though her eyes, 1 Andrew Lang, The New Pygmalion. In that fair garment that the priests had laid Speechless he stood, but she now drew anear, And thus she spoke, 66 Wilt thou not come to me, O dear companion of my new found life, For I am called thy lover and thy wife? . . ... "My sweet," she said, "as yet I am not wise, "At last mine eyes could see a woman fair, A fuller account of Venus' address to the statue is the following: "O maiden, in mine image made! O grace that shouldst endure! Exchange this endless life of art For beauty that must die, And blossom with a beating heart Into mortality! Change, golden tresses of her hair, To gold that turns to gray; 1 From William Morris, Pygmalion and the Image, in The Earthly Paradise. |