Merciless was the great Earth Mother, who had been robbed of what she
held most dear.

"Give me back my child!" she said. "Gladly I watch the sufferings of
men, for no sorrow is as my sorrow. Give me back my child, and the
earth shall grow fertile once more."

Unwillingly Zeus granted the request of Demeter.

"She shall come back," he said at last, "and with thee dwell on earth
forever. Yet only on one condition do I grant thy fond request.
Persephone must eat no food through all the time of her sojourn in the
realm of Pluto, else must thy beseeching be all in vain."

Then did Demeter gladly leave Olympus and hasten down to the darkness
of the shadowy land that once again she might hold, in her strong
mother's arms, her who had once been her little clinging child.

But in the dark kingdom of Pluto a strange thing had happened. No
longer had the pale-faced god, with dark locks, and eyes like the
sunless pools of a mountain stream, any terrors for Proserpine. He was
strong, and cruel had she thought him, yet now she knew that the touch
of his strong, cold hands was a touch of infinite tenderness. When,
knowing the fiat of the ruler of Olympus, Pluto gave to his stolen
bride a pomegranate, red in heart as the heart of a man, she had taken
it from his hand, and, because he willed it, had eaten of the sweet
seeds. Then, in truth, it was too late for Demeter to save her child.
She "had eaten of Love's seed" and "changed into another."

"He takes the cleft pomegranate seeds:
'Love, eat with me this parting day;'
Then bids them fetch the coal-black steeds--
'Demeter's daughter, wouldst away?'
The gates of Hades set her free;
'She will return full soon,' saith he--
'My wife, my wife Persephone.'"

Ingelow.

Dark, dark was the kingdom of Pluto. Its rivers never mirrored a
sunbeam, and ever moaned low as an earthly river moans before a coming
flood, and the feet that trod the gloomy Cocytus valley were the feet
of those who never again would tread on the soft grass and flowers of
an earthly meadow. Yet when Demeter had braved all the shadows of
Hades, only in part was her end accomplished. In part only was
Proserpine now her child, for while half her heart was in the
sunshine, rejoicing in the beauties of earth, the other half was with
the god who had taken her down to the Land of Darkness and there had
won her for his own. Back to the flowery island of Sicily her mother
brought he