Then might I meet the lost nymph
Who beloved by a god was set as a star on high,
But fell from thence, and was lost in the snowy wilderness.”
“Taygeta!” said Crispin, who knew the song well. “Yes; she was one of the Pleiades, certainly; but I don’t think she was the lost Pleiad, nor do I think she had anything to do with yonder mountain. If you hunted there, Caliphronas, you would meet Bacchus and his crew, but no nymph.”
“I sing the song as ’twas sung to me,” said the Count blithely, balancing himself on one foot. “This is a land of fancy, not of fact; so why bring in your hard truths to destroy the glory of tradition? No; Taygeta haunts those hills, and if I wandered upward to the snows I would meet her.”
“If you saw a nymph you would go mad,” remarked Maurice, alluding to the old Greek superstition.
“I am mad now, Mr. Maurice,—mad with the scent of wind and wave and shore. Can you not smell the perfumes blowing from the land?”
“No; I’m sure I cannot, nor you either.”
“You are no believer. See, from the moonlit waters arise the Nereides to welcome us to the seas of Poseidon. Arethusa, Asia, and Leucothoe are all waving their white arms, and singing songs of the wondrous caves beneath the waves.”
“Ridiculous!” retorted Maurice stolidly.