mastering the little brown creatures that pillage
from the fragrant, bright-hued flowers their most precious treasure.

PROSERPINE

"Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,
Thou from whose immortal bosom,
Gods, and men, and beasts have birth,
Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
Breathe thine influence most divine
On thine own child, Proserpine.

If with mists of evening dew
Thou dost nourish those young flowers
Till they grow, in scent and hue,
Fairest children of the hours,
Breathe thine influence most divine
On thine own child, Proserpine."

Shelley.

The story of Persephone--of Proserpine--is a story of spring. When the
sun is warming the bare brown earth, and the pale primroses look up
through the snowy blackthorns at a kind, blue sky, almost can we hear
the soft wind murmur a name as it gently sways the daffodils and
breathes through the honey sweetness of the gold-powdered catkins on
the grey willows by the river--"Persephone! Persephone!"

Now once there was a time when there was no spring, neither summer nor
autumn, nor chilly winter with its black frosts and cruel gales and
brief, dark days. Always was there sunshine and warmth, ever were
there flowers and corn and fruit, and nowhere did the flowers grow
with more dazzling colours and more fragrant perfume than in the fair
garden of Sicily.

To Demeter, the Earth Mother, was born a daughter more fair than any
flower that grew, and ever more dear to her became her child, the
lovely Proserpine. By the blue sea, in the Sicilian meadows,
Proserpine and the fair nymphs who were her companions spent their
happy days. Too short were the days for all their joy, and Demeter
made the earth yet fairer than it was that she might bring more
gladness to her daughter Proserpine. Each day the blossoms that the
nymphs twined into garlands grew more perfect in form and in hue, but
from the anemones of royal purple and crimson, and the riotous red of
geraniums, Proserpine turned one morning with a cry of gladness, for
there stood before her beside a little stream, on one erect, slim
stem, a wonderful narcissus, with a hundred blossoms. Her eager hand
was stretched out to pluck it, when a sudden black cloud overshadowed
the land, and the nymphs, with shrieks of fear, fled swiftly away. And
as the cloud descended, there was heard a terrible sound, as of the
rushing of many waters or the roll of the heavy wheels of