Some cried thus. More thought thus. All seemed more glad for beholding her.
Behind the peplus in less careful array went thousands of citizens of every age and station, all in festival dress, all crowned with flowers. They followed the car up the Dromos Street, across the cheering Agora, and around the southern side of the Acropolis, making a full circuit of the citadel. Those who watched saw Glaucon with Democrates and Cimon give their horses to slaves, and mount the bare knoll of Areopagus, looking down upon the western face of the Acropolis. As the procession swung about to mount the steep, Hermione lifted her glance to Areopagus, saw her husband gazing down on her, raised her hands in delighted gesture, and he answered her. It was done in the sight of thousands, and the thousands smiled with the twain.
“Justice! The beautiful salutes the beautiful.” And who thought the less of Hermione for betraying the woman beneath the mien of the goddess?
But now the march drew to an end. The procession halted, reformed, commenced the rugged way upward. [pg 122]Suddenly from the bastion of the Acropolis above wafted new music. Low, melancholy at first, as the pipers and harpers played in the dreamy Lydian mode, till, strengthening into the bolder Æolic, the strains floated down, inviting, “Come up hither,” then stronger still it pealed in the imperious crash of the Doric as the procession mounted steadily. Now could be seen great Lamprus, Orpheus’s peer, the master musician, standing on the balcony above the gate, beating time for the loud choral.
A chorus amongst the marchers and a second chorus in the citadel joined together, till the red crags shook,—singing the old hymn of the Homeridæ to Athena, homely, rude, yet dear with the memory of ages:—
“Pallas Athena, gray-eyed queen of wisdom,
Thy praise I sing!
Steadfast, all holy, sure ward of our city,
Triton-born rule whom High Zeus doth bring
Forth from his forehead.