In the pleasant land of Argos, now a place of unwholesome marshes,
once upon a time there reigned a king called Acrisius, the father of
one fair daughter. Danae was her name, and she was very dear to the
king until a day when he longed to know what lay hid for him in the
lap of the gods, and consulted an oracle. With hanging head he
returned from the temple, for the oracle had told him that when his
daughter Danae had borne a son, by the hand of that son death must
surely come upon him. And because the fear of death was in him more
strong than the love of his daughter, Acrisius resolved that by
sacrificing her he would baffle the gods and frustrate Death itself. A
great tower of brass was speedily built at his command, and in this
prison Danae was placed, to drag out her weary days.

But who can escape the designs of the gods? From Olympus great Zeus
himself looked down and saw the air princess sighing away her youth.
And, full of pity and of love, he himself entered the brazen tower in
a golden shower, and Danae became the bride of Zeus and happily passed
with him the time of her imprisonment.

To her at length was born a son, a beautiful and kingly child, and
great was the wrath of her father when he had tidings of the birth.
Did the gods in the high heavens laugh at him? The laugh should yet be
on his side. Down to the seashore he hurried Danae and her newly-born
babe, the little Perseus, put them in a great chest, and set them
adrift to be a plaything for winds and waves and a prey for the cruel
and hungry sea.

"When in the cunningly-wrought chest the raging blast
and the stirred billow and terror fell upon her, with
tearful cheeks she cast her arm around Perseus and
spake, 'Alas, my child, what sorrow is mine! But thou
slumberest, in baby-wise sleeping in this woeful ark;
midst the darkness of the brazen rivet thou shinest and
in the swart gloom sent forth; thou heedest not the deep
foam of the passing wave above thy locks nor the voice
of the blast as thou liest in thy purple covering, a
sweet face. If terror had terrors for thee, and thou
wert giving ear to my gentle words--I bid thee sleep, my
babe, and may the sea sleep and our measureless woe; and
may change of fortune come forth, Father Zeus, from
thee. For that I make my prayer in boldness and beyond
right, forgive me.'"

Simonides of Keos.

For days and nights the mother and