Page:Modern Greek folklore and ancient Greek religion - a study in survivals.djvu/410

 Eight of her brethren will it not, but Constantine doth hearken: —'Nay, mother, send thine Areté, send her to that strange country, That country whither I too fare, that land wherein I wander, That I may find me comfort there, that I may find me lodging.' —'Prudent art thou, my Constantine, yet ill-conceived thy counsel: If there o'ertake me death, my son, if there o'ertake me sickness, If there hap bitterness or joy, who shall go bring her to me?' He made the Saints his witnesses, he gave her God for surety, If peradventure there come death, if haply there come sickness, If there hap bitterness or joy, himself would go and bring her. Now when they had sent Areté to wed in the strange country, There came a year of heaviness, a month of God's displeasure, And there befell the Pestilence, that the nine brethren perished; Lone as a willow in the plain, lone, desolate their mother. Over eight graves she beats her breast, o'er eight makes lamentation, But from the tomb of Constantine she tears the very grave-stones: —'Rise, I adjure thee, Constantine, 'tis Areté I long for; Thou madest the Saints thy witnesses, thou gavest me God for surety, If there hap bitterness or joy, thyself would'st go and bring her.' Forth from the mound that covered him the stern adjuring drave him; He takes the clouds to be his steed, the stars to be his bridle, The moon for escort on his road, and goes his way to bring her. He leaves the mountains in his wake, he gains the heights before him, He finds her 'neath the moonlight fair combing her golden tresses. E'en from afar he bids her hail, cries from afar his message: —'Up, Aretoúla, up and come, for lo! our mother needs thee.' —'Alack, alack, dear brother mine, what chance hath then befallen? If haply 'tis an hour of joy, let me go don my jewels, If bitterness, speak, I will come and tarry not for robing.' —'Up, Aretoúla, up and come, and tarry not for robing.' Beside the way whereon they passed, beside the road they travelled, They heard the singing of the birds, they heard the birds a-saying: —'Who hath e'er seen a maiden fair by a dead man escorted?' —'Didst hear, my brother Constantine, what thing the birds are saying? "Who hath e'er seen a maiden fair by a dead man escorted?"' —'Nay, foolish birds, let them sing on, nor heed their idle chatter.' Anon as they went faring on, yet other birds were calling: —'What woeful sight is this we see, so piteous and so plaintive, That lo! as comrades on their way, the dead escort the living?' —'Didst hear, my brother Constantine, what thing the birds are saying? "That lo! as comrades on their way, the dead escort the living."' —'Nay, what are birds? let them sing on, nor heed their idle chatter.' —'Ah, but I fear thee, brother mine, thou savourest of censing.' —'Nay, at the chapel of Saint John we gathered yester even, And the good father hallowed us with incense beyond measure.' And yet again as they fared on, yet other birds were crying: —'O God, great God omnipotent, great wonders art thou working; So gracious and so fair a maid with a dead man consorting!' —'Didst hear, my brother Constantine, what thing the birds are saying? Tell me, where are those locks of thine, thy trimly-set mustachio?' —'Twas a sore sickness fell on me, nigh unto death it brought me, And spoiled me of my golden locks, my trimly-set mustachio.' Lo! they are come; but locked their home, the door fast barred and bolted, And all the windows of their home in spider-webs enshrouded. —'Op'n, prithee, open, mother mine, 'tis Areté thy daughter.' —'An thou art Charon, go thy way, for I have no more children; My one, my little Areté, bides far in the strange country.'