led Lyra, or Orpheus, the
gods placed his lute, and to the place of his martyrdom came the
Muses, and with loving care carried the fragments of the massacred
body to Libetlera, at the foot of Mount Olympus, and there buried
them. And there, unto this day, more sweetly than at any other spot in
any other land, the nightingale sings. For it sings of a love that
knows no ending, of life after death, of a love so strong that it can
conquer even Death, the all-powerful.

FOOTNOTE:

[3] Kingsley.

APOLLO AND DAPHNE

Conqueror of all conquerable earth, yet not always victorious over the
heart of a maid was the golden-locked Apollo.

As mischievous Eros played one day with his bow and arrows, Apollo
beheld him and spoke to him mockingly.

"What hast thou to do with the weapons of war, saucy lad?" he said.
"Leave them for hands such as mine, that know full well how to wield
them. Content thyself with thy torch, and kindle flames, if indeed
thou canst, but such bolts as thy white young arms can drive will
surely not bring scathe to god nor to man."

Then did the son of Aphrodite answer, and as he made answer he laughed
aloud in his glee. "With thine arrows thou mayst strike all things
else, great Apollo, a shaft of mine shall surely strike thy heart!"

Carefully, then, did Eros choose two arrows from his quiver. One,
sharp-pointed and of gold, he fitted carefully to his bow, drew back
the string until it was taut, and then let fly the arrow, that did not
miss its mark, but flew straight to the heart of the sun-god. With the
other arrow, blunt, and tipped with lead, he smote the beautiful
Daphne, daughter of Peneus, the river-god. And then, full joyously did
the boy-god laugh, for his roguish heart knew well that to him who
was struck by the golden shaft must come the last pangs that have
proved many a man's and many a god's undoing, while that leaden-tipped
arrow meant to whomsoever it struck, a hatred of Love and an immunity
from all the heart weakness that Love can bring. Those were the days
when Apollo was young. Never before had he loved.

But as the first fierce storm that assails it bends the young, supple
tree with its green budding leaves before its furious blast, so did
the first love of Apollo bend low his adoring heart. All day as he
held the golden reins of his chariot, until evening when its fiery
wheels were cooled in the waters of the western seas, he thought of
Daphne. All night he dreamed of