But clear zephyrs from the west,
Singing round the streams of Ocean
Round the islands of the Blest.”
Was the pledge for Menelaus only?
The boats came, the boats went, on the blue bay. But as the spring grew warm, Hermione thought less of them, less almost of the last dread vision of Glaucon.
* * * * * * *
The cloud of the Persian hung ever darkening over Athens. [pg 200]Continual rumours made Xerxes’s power terrible even beyond fact. It was hard to go on eating, drinking, frequenting the jury or the gymnasium, when men knew to a certainty the coming summer would bring Athens face to face with slavery or destruction. Wise men grew silent. Fools took to carousing to banish care. But one word not the frailest uttered—“submission.” Worldly prudence forbade that. The women would have stabbed the craven to death with their bodkins. For the women were braver than the men. They knew the fate of conquered Ionia: for the men only merciful death, for the women the living death of the Persian harems and indignities words may not utter. Whether Hellas forsook her or aided, Athens had chosen her fate. Xerxes might annihilate her. Conquer her he could not.
Yet the early spring came back sweetly as ever. The warm breeze blew from Egypt. Philomela sang in the olive groves. The snows on Pentelicus faded. Around the city ran bands of children singing the “swallow’s song,” and beseeching the spring donation of honey cakes:—
“She is here, she is here, the swallow;
Fair seasons bringing,—fair seasons to follow.”