Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
If son to Talbot, die at Talbot’s foot.
Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,
Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet:
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father’s side;
And, commendable proved, let’s die in pride.”
The tearful tale of Niobe, who that has read Ovid’s Metamorphoses (bk. vi. fab. 5) could not weep over it! Seven stalwart sons and seven fair daughters clustered round the haughty dame, and she gloried in their attendance upon her; but at an evil hour she dared to match herself with Latona, and at a public festival in honour of the goddess to be the only one refusing to offer incense and prayers. The goddess called her own children to avenge the affront and the impiety; and Apollo and Diana, from the clouds, slew the seven sons as they were exercising on the plain near Thebes. Yet the pride of Niobe did not abate, and Diana in like manner slew also the seven daughters. The mother’s heart was utterly broken; she wept herself to death, and was changed to stone. Yet, says the poet, Flet tamen,—“ Yet she weeps,”—
Liquitur, et lacrymas etiam nunc marmora manant,—
i.e.
“It melts, and even now the marble trickles down tears.”