Preface -
Preface
When Pelion reared his height to form a bridal chamber with long-drawn arches, and his hospitable land could not contain so many gods; when Nereus, sire of the bride, and all the throng of her sisters strove to link day to day with feastings; when Chiron, lying at ease with his horse-flanks curled under him, offered the loving-cup to Jove; when Peneus turned his cold waters to nectar and frothing wine flowed down from Oeta's summit, Terpsichore struck her ready lyre with festive hand and led the girlish bands into the caves. The gods, the Thunderer himself, disdained not these songs, for they knew that lovers' vows ever harmonized with tender strains. Centaurs and Fauns would have none of it: what lyre could touch Rhoetus or move inhuman Pholus?
The seventh day had flamed in heaven, seven times had Hesperus relumed his lamp and seen the dances completed; then Phoebus touched his lyre with that nobler quill, wherewith he leads captive rocks and mountain-ashes, and sang to his sacred strings now the promised birth of Achilles, now the slaughter of the Trojans and the river Simois. The happy marriage-cry re-echoed o'er leafy Olympus, and Othrys and Ossa gave back their mistress Thetis' name.
When Pelion reared his height to form a bridal chamber with long-drawn arches, and his hospitable land could not contain so many gods; when Nereus, sire of the bride, and all the throng of her sisters strove to link day to day with feastings; when Chiron, lying at ease with his horse-flanks curled under him, offered the loving-cup to Jove; when Peneus turned his cold waters to nectar and frothing wine flowed down from Oeta's summit, Terpsichore struck her ready lyre with festive hand and led the girlish bands into the caves. The gods, the Thunderer himself, disdained not these songs, for they knew that lovers' vows ever harmonized with tender strains. Centaurs and Fauns would have none of it: what lyre could touch Rhoetus or move inhuman Pholus?
The seventh day had flamed in heaven, seven times had Hesperus relumed his lamp and seen the dances completed; then Phoebus touched his lyre with that nobler quill, wherewith he leads captive rocks and mountain-ashes, and sang to his sacred strings now the promised birth of Achilles, now the slaughter of the Trojans and the river Simois. The happy marriage-cry re-echoed o'er leafy Olympus, and Othrys and Ossa gave back their mistress Thetis' name.
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