One day, the muses twined the hands
Of infant love with flowery bands,
And gave the smiling captive boy
To be Celestial Beauty's joy.

ANACREON.

While Philothea remained at Lampsacus, awaiting the arrival of the galley, news came that Chrysippus, with a company of horsemen, had been to her former residence, under the pretext of paying funeral rites to his deceased relative. At the same time, several robes, mantles, and veils, were brought from Heliodora at Ephesus; with the request that they, as well as the silver tripod, should be considered, not as a dowry, but as gifts to be disposed of as she pleased. The priestess mentioned feeble health as a reason for not coming in person to bid the orphan farewell; and promised that sacrifices and prayers for her happines should be duly offered at the shrine of radiant Phoebus.

Philothea smiled to remember how long she had lived in Ionia without attracting the notice of her princely relatives, until her name became connected with the illustrious house of Pericles; but she meekly returned thanks and friendly wishes, together with the writings of Simonides, beautifully copied by her own hand.

The day of departure at length arrived. All along the shore might be seen smoke rising from the altars of Poseidon, Æolus, Castor and Polydeuces, and the sea-green Sisters of the Deep. To the usual danger of winds and storms was added the fear of encountering hostile fleets; and every power that presided over the destinies of sailors was invoked by the anxious mariners. But their course seemed more like an excursion in a pleasure barge, than a voyage on the ocean. They rowed along beneath a calm and sunny sky, keeping close to the verdant shores where, ever and anon, temples, altars, and statues, peeped forth amid groves of cypress and cedar; under the shadow of which many a festive train hailed the soft approach of spring, with pipe, and song, and choral dance.

The tenth day saw the good ship Halcyone safely moored in the harbour of Phalerum, chosen in preference to the more crowded and diseased port of the PirÆus. The galley having been perceived at a distance, Pericles and Clinias were waiting, with chariots, in readiness to convey Philothea and her attendants. The first inquiries of Pericles were concerning the health of Anaxagoras; and he seemed deeply affected, when informed that he would behold his face no more. Philothea's heart was touched by the tender solemnity of his manner when he bade her welcome to Athens. Plato anticipated the anxious question that trembled on her tongue; and a brief answer indicated that no important change had taken place in Paralus. Clinias kindly urged the claims of himself and wife to be considered the parents of the orphan; and they all accompanied her to his house, attended by boys burning incense, as a protection against the pestilential atmosphere of the marshy grounds.

When they alighted, Philothea timidly, but earnestly, asked to see Paralus without delay. Their long-cherished affection, the full communion of soul they had enjoyed together, and the peculiar visitation which now rested on him, all combined to make her forgetful of ceremony.

Pericles went to seek his son, and found him reclining on the couch where he had left him. The invalid seemed to be in a state of deep abstraction, and offered no resistance as they led him to the chariot. When they entered the house of Clinias, he looked around with a painful expression of weariness, until they tenderly placed him on a couch. He was evidently disturbed by the presence of those about him, but unmindful of any familiar faces, until Philothea suddenly knelt by his side, and throwing back her veil, said, "Paralus! dear Paralus! Do you not know me?" Then his whole face kindled with an expression of joy, so intense that Pericles for a moment thought the faculties of his soul were completely restored.

But the first words he uttered showed a total unconsciousness of past events. "Oh, Philothea!" he exclaimed, "I have not heard your voice since last night, when you came to me and sung that beautiful welcome to the swallows, which all the little children like so well."

On the preceding evening, Philothea, being urged by her maidens to sing, had actually warbled that little song; thinking all the while of the days of childhood, when she and Paralus used to sing it, to please their young companions. When she heard this mysterious allusion to the music, she looked at Plato with an expression of surprise; while Milza and the other attendants seemed afraid in the presence of one thus visited by the gods.

With looks full of beaming affection, the invalid continued: "And now, Philothea, we will again walk to that pleasant place, where we went when you finished the song."

In low and soothing tones, the maiden inquired, "Where did we go, Paralus?"

"Have you forgotten?" he replied. "We went hand in hand up a high mountain. A path wound round it in spiral flexures, ever ascending, and communicating with all above and all below. A stream of water, pure as crystal, flowed along the path, from the summit to the base. Where we stood to rest awhile, the skies were of transparent blue; but higher up, the light was purple and the trees full of doves. We saw little children leading lambs to drink at the stream, and they raised their voices in glad shouts, to see the bright waters go glancing and glittering down the sides of the mountain."

He remained silent and motionless for several minutes; and then continued: "But this path is dreary. I do not like this wide marsh, and these ruined temples. Who spoke then and told me it was Athens? But now I see the groves of Academus. There is a green meadow in the midst, on which rests a broad belt of sunshine. Above it, are floating little children with wings; and they throw down garlands to little children without wings, who are looking upward with joyful faces. Oh, how beautiful they are! Come, Philothea, let us join them."

The philosopher smiled, and inwardly hailed the words as an omen auspicious to his doctrines. All who listened were deeply impressed by language so mysterious.

The silence remained unbroken, until Paralus asked for music. A cithara being brought, Philothea played one of his favourite songs, accompanied by her voice. The well-remembered sounds seemed to fill him with joy beyond his power to express; and again his anxious parent cherished the hope that reason would be fully restored.

He put his hand affectionately on Philothea's head, as he said, "Your presence evidently has a blessed influence; but oh, my daughter, what a sacrifice you are making—young and beautiful as you are!"

"Nay, Pericles," she replied, "I deem it a privilege once more to hear the sound of his voice; though it speaks a strange, unearthly language."

When they attempted to lead the invalid from the apartment, and Philothea, with a tremulous voice, said, "Farewell, Paralus,"—an expression of intense gloom came over his countenance, suddenly as a sunny field is obscured by passing clouds. "Not farewell to Eurydice!" he said: "It is sad music—sad music."

The tender-hearted maiden was affected even to tears, and found it hard to submit to a temporary separation. But Pericles assured her that his son would probably soon fall asleep, and awake without any recollection of recent events. Before she retired to her couch, a messenger was sent to inform her that Paralus was in deep repose.

Clinias having removed from the unhealthy PirÆus, in search of purer atmosphere, Philothea found him in the house once occupied by Phidias; and the hope that scenes of past happiness might prove salutary to the mind of Paralus, induced Pericles to prepare the former dwelling of Anaxagoras for his bridal home. The friends and relations of the invalid were extremely desirous to have Philothea's soothing influence continually exerted upon him; and the disinterested maiden earnestly wished to devote every moment of her life to the restoration of his precious health. Under these circumstances, it was deemed best that the marriage should take place immediately.

The mother of Paralus had died; and Aspasia, with cautious delicacy, declined being present at the ceremony, under the pretext of ill health; but Phoenarete, the wife of Clinias, gladly consented to act as mother of the orphan bride.

Propitiatory sacrifices were duly offered to Artemis, Hera, Pallas, Aphrodite, the Fates, and the Graces. On the appointed day, Philothea appeared in bridal garments, prepared by Phoenarete. The robe of fine Milesian texture, was saffron-coloured, with a purple edge. Over this, was a short tunic of brilliant crimson, confined at the waist by an embroidered zone, fastened with a broad clasp of gold. Glossy braids of hair were intertwined with the folds of her rose-coloured veil; and both bride and bridegroom were crowned with garlands of roses and myrtle. The chariot, in which they were seated, was followed by musicians, and a long train of friends and relatives. Arrived at the temple of Hera, the priest presented a branch, which they held between them as a symbol of the ties about to unite them. Victims were sacrificed, and the omens declared not unpropitious. When the gall had been cast behind the altar, Clinias placed Philothea's hand within the hand of Paralus; the bride dedicated a ringlet of her hair to Hera; the customary vows were pronounced by the priest; and the young couple were presented with golden cups of wine, from which they poured libations. The invalid was apparently happy; but so unconscious of the scene he was acting, that his father was obliged to raise his hand and pour forth the wine.

The ceremonies being finished, the priest reminded Philothea that when a good wife died, Persephone formed a procession of the best women to scatter flowers in her path, and lead her spirit to Elysium. As he spoke, two doves alighted on the altar; but one immediately rose, and floated above the other, with a tender cooing sound. Its mate looked upward for a moment; and then both of them rose high in the air, and disappeared. The spectators hailed this as an auspicious omen; but Philothea pondered it in her heart, and thought she perceived a deeper meaning than was visible to them.

As the company returned, with the joyful sound of music, many a friendly hand threw garlands from the housetops, and many voices pronounced a blessing.

In consideration of the health of Paralus, the customary evening procession was dispensed with. An abundant feast was prepared at the house of Clinias. The gentle and serious bride joined with her female friends in the apartments of the women; but no bridegroom appeared at the banquet of the men.

As the guests seated themselves at table, a boy came in covered with thorn-boughs and acorns, bearing a golden basket filled with bread, and singing, "I have left the worse and found the better." As he passed through the rooms, musicians began to play on various instruments, and troops of young dancers moved in airy circles to the sound.

At an early hour, Philothea went to the apartment prepared for her in the home of her childhood. Phoenarete preceded her with a lighted torch, and her female attendants followed, accompanied by young Pericles, bearing on his head a vase of water from the Fountain of CallirhÖe, with which custom required that the bride's feet should be bathed. Music was heard until a late hour, and epithalamia were again resumed with the morning light.

The next day, a procession of women brought the bridal gifts of friends and relatives, preceded by a boy clothed in white, carrying a torch in one hand, and a basket of flowers in the other. Philothea, desirous to please the father of her husband, had particularly requested that this office might be performed by the youthful Pericles—a beautiful boy, the only son of Aspasia. The gifts were numerous; consisting of embroidered sandals, perfume boxes of ivory inlaid with gold, and various other articles, for use or ornament. Pericles sent a small ivory statue of Persephone gathering flowers in the vale of Enna; and Aspasia a clasp, representing the Naiades floating with the infant Eros, bound in garlands. The figures were intaglio, in a gem of transparent cerulean hue, and delicately painted. When viewed from the opposite side, the effect was extremely beautiful; for the graceful nymphs seemed actually moving in their native element Alcibiades presented a Sidonian veil, of roseate hue and glossy texture. Phoenarete bestowed a ring, on which was carved a dancing Oread; and Plato a cameo clasp, representing the infant Eros crowning a lamb with a garland of lilies.

On the third day, custom allowed every relative to see the bride with her face unveiled; and the fame of her surpassing beauty induced the remotest connections of the family to avail themselves of the privilege. Philothea meekly complied with these troublesome requisitions; but her heart was weary for quiet hours, that she might hold free communion with Paralus, in that beautiful spirit-land, where his soul was wandering before its time.

Music, and the sound of Philothea's voice, seemed the only links that connected him with a world of shadows; but his visions were so blissful, and his repose so full of peace, that restless and ambitious men might well have envied a state thus singularly combining the innocence of childhood with the rich imagination of maturer years.

Many weeks passed away in bright tranquillity; and the watchful wife thought she at times perceived faint indication of returning health. Geta and Milza, in compliance with their own urgent entreaties, were her constant assistants in nursing the invalid; and more than once she imagined that he looked at them with an earnest expression, as if his soul were returning to the recollections of former years.

Spring ripened into summer. The olive-garlands twined with wool, suspended on the doors during the festival of Thargelia, had withered and fallen; and all men talked of the approaching commemoration of the Olympic games.

Hippocrates had been informed that Tithonus, the Ethiopian, possessed the singular power of leading the soul from the body, and again restoring it to its functions, by means of a soul-directing wand; and the idea arose in his mind, that this process might produce a salutary effect on Paralus.

The hopes of the anxious father were easily kindled; and he at once became desirous that his son should be conveyed to Olympia; for it was reported that Tithonus would be present at the games.

Philothea sighed deeply, as she listened to the proposition; for she had faith only in the healing power of perfect quiet, and the free communion of congenial souls. She yielded to the opinion of Pericles with characteristic humility; but the despondency of her tones did not pass unobserved.

"It is partly for your sake that I wish it, my poor child," said he. "If it may be avoided, I will not see the whole of your youth consumed in anxious watchings."

The young wife looked up with a serene and bright expression, as she replied, "Nay, my father, you have never seen me anxious, or troubled. I have known most perfect contentment since my union with your son."

Pericles answered affectionately, "I believe it, my daughter; and I have marvelled at your cheerfulness. Assuredly, with more than Helen's beauty, you have inherited the magical Egyptian powder, whereby she drove away all care and melancholy."