enice, dropping softly in the woman's breast the stuff of
immortality.

Therefore, for thy delight, O thou of many names and many temples, doth
the daughter of Berenice, even Arsinoe, lovely as Helen, cherish Adonis
with all things beautiful.

Before him lie all ripe fruits that the tall trees' branches bear, and
the delicate gardens, arrayed in baskets of silver, and the golden
vessels are full of incense of Syria. And all the dainty cakes that
women fashion in the kneading tray, mingling blossoms manifold with the
white wheaten flour, all that is wrought of honey sweet, and in soft
olive oil, all cakes fashioned in the semblance of things that fly, and
of things that creep, Io, here they are set before him.

Here are built for him shadowy bowers of green, all laden with tender
anise, and children flit overhead--the little Loves--as the young
nightingales perched upon the trees fly forth and try their wings from
bough to bough.

O the ebony, O the gold, O the twin eagles of white ivory that carry to
Zeus, the son of Cronos, his darling, his cupbearer! O the purple
coverlet strewn above, more soft than sleep! So Miletus will say, and
whoso feeds sheep in Samos.

Another bed is strewn for beautiful Adonis, one bed Cypris keeps, and
one the rosy-armed Adonis. A bridegroom of eighteen or nineteen years is
he, his kisses are not rough, the golden down being yet upon his lips!
And now, good-night to Cypris, in the arms of her lover! But Io, in the
morning we will all of us gather with the dew, and carry him forth among
the waves that break upon the beach, and with locks unloosed, and ungirt
raiment falling to the ankles, and bosom bare, will we begin our shrill,
sweet song.

Thou only, dear Adonis, so men tell, thou only of the demigods, dost
visit both this world and the stream of Acheron. For Agamemnon had no
such lot, nor Aias, that mighty, lord of the terrible anger, nor Hector,
the eldest born of the twenty sons of Hecuba, nor Patroclus, nor
Pyrrhus, that returned out of Troy land, nor the heroes of yet more
ancient days, the Lapithae and Deucalion's sons, nor the sons of Pelops,
and the chiefs of Pelasgian Argos. Be gracious now, dear Adonis, and
propitious even in the coming year. Dear to us has thine advent been,
Adonis, and dear shall it be when thou comest again.

GORGO.--Praxinoe, the woman is cleverer than we fancied! Happy woman to
know so much, thrice happy to have so sweet a voice! Well, all the same,