{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_IX/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_IX","id":"wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_IX","license":"Public Domain / CC-BY-SA (see source)","rights_basis":"wikisource_site_inclusion_policy","source":"wikisource","source_url":"https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Age_of_Fable/Chapter_IX","summary":null,"tags":["Headers_applying_DefaultSort_key","Subpages"],"text":"CEYX AND HALCYONE: OR, THE HALCYON BIRDS\n\nCeyx was king of Thessaly, where he reigned in peace, without\nviolence or wrong. He was son of Hesperus, the Day-star, and the\nglow of his beauty reminded one of his father. Halcyone, the\ndaughter of \u00c6olus, was his wife, and devotedly attached to him.\nNow Ceyx was in deep affliction for the loss of his brother, and\ndireful prodigies following his brother's death made him feel as\nif the gods were hostile to him. He thought best, therefore, to\nmake a voyage to Carlos in Ionia, to consult the oracle of Apollo.\nBut as soon as he disclosed his intention to his wife Halcyone, a\nshudder ran through her frame, and her face grew deadly pale.\n\"What fault of mine, dearest husband, has turned your affection\nfrom me? Where is that love of me that used to be uppermost in\nyour thoughts? Have you learned to feel easy in the absence of\nHalcyone? Would you rather have me away?\" She also endeavored to\ndiscourage him, by describing the violence of the winds, which she\nhad known familiarly when she lived at home in her father's\nhouse,\u2014\u00c6olus being the god of the winds, and having as much as\nhe could do to restrain them. \"They rush together,\" said she,\n\"with such fury that fire flashes from the conflict. But if you\nmust go,\" she added, \"dear husband, let me go with you, otherwise\nI shall suffer not only the real evils which you must encounter,\nbut those also which my fears suggest.\"\n\nThese words weighed heavily on the mind of King Ceyx, and it was\nno less his own wish than hers to take her with him, but he could\nnot bear to expose her to the dangers of the sea. He answered,\ntherefore, consoling her as well as he could, and finished with\nthese words: \"I promise, by the rays of my father the Day-star,\nthat if fate permits I will return before the moon shall have\ntwice rounded her orb.\" When he had thus spoken, he ordered the\nvessel to be drawn out of the shiphouse, and the oars and sails to\nbe put aboard. When Halcyone saw these preparations she shuddered,\nas if with a presentiment of evil. With tears and sobs she said\nfarewell, and then fell senseless to the ground.\n\nCeyx would still have lingered, but now the young men grasped\ntheir oars and pulled vigorously through the waves, with long and\nmeasured strokes. Halcyone raised her streaming eyes, and saw her\nhusband standing on the deck, waving his hand to her. She answered\nhis signal till the vessel had receded so far that she could no\nlonger distinguish his form from the rest. When the vessel itself\ncould no more be seen, she strained her eyes to catch the last\nglimmer of the sail, till that too disappeared. Then, retiring to\nher chamber, she threw herself on her solitary couch.\n\nMeanwhile they glide out of the harbor, and the breeze plays among\nthe ropes. The seamen draw in their oars, and hoist their sails.\nWhen half or less of their course was passed, as night drew on,\nthe sea began to whiten with swelling waves, and the east wind to\nblow a gale. The master gave the word to take in sail, but the\nstorm forbade obedience, for such is the roar of the winds and\nwaves his orders are unheard. The men, of their own accord, busy\nthemselves to secure the oars, to strengthen the ship, to reef the\nsail. While they thus do what to each one seems best, the storm\nincreases. The shouting of the men, the rattling of the shrouds,\nand the dashing of the waves, mingle with the roar of the thunder.\nThe swelling sea seems lifted up to the heavens, to scatter its\nfoam among the clouds; then sinking away to the bottom assumes the\ncolor of the shoal\u2014a Stygian blackness.\n\nThe vessel shares all these changes. It seems like a wild beast\nthat rushes on the spears of the hunters. Rain falls in torrents,\nas if the skies were coming down to unite with the sea. When the\nlightning ceases for a moment, the night seems to add its own\ndarkness to that of the storm; then comes the flash, rending the\ndarkness asunder, and lighting up all with a glare. Skill fails,\ncourage sinks, and death seems to come on every wave. The men are\nstupefied with terror. The thought of parents, and kindred, and\npledges left at home, comes over their minds. Ceyx thinks of\nHalcyone. No name but hers is on his lips, and while he yearns for\nher, he yet rejoices in her absence. Presently the mast is\nshattered by a stroke of lightning, the rudder broken, and the\ntriumphant surge curling over looks down upon, the wreck, then\nfalls, and crushes it to fragments. Some of the seamen, stunned by\nthe stroke, sink, and rise no more; others cling to fragments of\nthe wreck. Ceyx, with the hand that used to grasp the sceptre,\nholds fast to a plank, calling for help,\u2014alas, in vain,\u2014upon his\nfather and his father-in-law. But oftenest on his lips was the\nname of Halcyone. To her his thoughts cling. He prays that the\nwaves may bear his body to her sight, and that it may receive\nburial at her hands. At length the waters overwhelm him, and he\nsinks. The Day-star looked dim that night. Since it could not\nleave the heavens, it shrouded its face with clouds.\n\nIn the meanwhile Halcyone, ignorant of all these horrors, counted\nthe days till her husband's promised return. Now she gets ready\nthe garments which he shall put on, and now what she shall wear\nwhen he arrives. To all the gods she offers frequent incense, but\nmore than all to Juno. For her husband, who was no more, she\nprayed incessantly: that he might be safe; that he might come\nhome; that he might not, in his absence, see any one that he would\nlove better than her. But of all these prayers, the last was the\nonly one destined to be granted. The goddess, at length, could not\nbear any longer to be pleaded with for one already dead, and to\nhave hands raised to her altars that ought rather to be offering\nfuneral rites. So, calling Iris, she said, \"Iris, my faithful\nmessenger, go to the drowsy dwelling of Somnus, and tell him to\nsend a vision to Halcyone in the form of Ceyx, to make known to\nher the event.\"\n\nIris puts on her robe of many colors, and tingeing the sky with\nher bow, seeks the palace of the King of Sleep. Near the Cimmerian\ncountry, a mountain cave is the abode of the dull god Somnus. Here\nPh\u0153bus dares not come, either rising, at midday, or setting.\nClouds and shadows are exhaled from the ground, and the light\nglimmers faintly. The bird of dawning, with crested head, never\nthere calls aloud to Aurora, nor watchful dog, nor more sagacious\ngoose disturbs the silence. No wild beast, nor cattle, nor branch\nmoved with the wind, nor sound of human conversation, breaks the\nstillness. Silence reigns there; but from the bottom of the rock\nthe River Lethe flows, and by its murmur invites to sleep. Poppies\ngrow abundantly before the door of the cave, and other herbs, from\nwhose juices Night collects slumbers, which she scatters over the\ndarkened earth. There is no gate to the mansion, to creak on its\nhinges, nor any watchman; but in the midst a couch of black ebony,\nadorned with black plumes and black curtains. There the god\nreclines, his limbs relaxed with sleep. Around him lie dreams,\nresembling all various forms, as many as the harvest bears stalks,\nor the forest leaves, or the seashore sand grains.\n\nAs soon as the goddess entered and brushed away the dreams that\nhovered around her, her brightness lit up all the cave. The god,\nscarce opening his eyes, and ever and anon dropping his beard upon\nhis breast, at last shook himself free from himself, and leaning\non his arm, inquired her errand,\u2014for he knew who she was. She\nanswered, \"Somnus, gentlest of the gods, tranquillizer of minds\nand soother of care-worn hearts, Juno sends you her commands that\nyou despatch a dream to Halcyone, in the city of Trachine,\nrepresenting her lost husband and all the events of the wreck.\"\n\nHaving delivered her message, Iris hasted away, for she could not\nlonger endure the stagnant air, and as she felt drowsiness\ncreeping over her, she made her escape, and returned by her bow\nthe way she came. Then Somnus called one of his numerous sons,\u2014\nMorpheus,\u2014the most expert in counterfeiting forms, and in\nimitating the walk, the countenance, and mode of speaking, even\nthe clothes and attitudes most characteristic of each. But he only\nimitates men, leaving it to another to personate birds, beasts,\nand serpents. Him they call Icelos; and Phantasos is a third, who\nturns himself into rocks, waters, woods, and other things without\nlife. These wait upon kings and great personages in their sleeping\nhours, while others move among the common people. Somnus chose,\nfrom all the brothers, Morpheus, to perform the command of Iris;\nthen laid his head on his pillow and yielded himself to grateful\nrepose.\n\nMorpheus flew, making no noise with his wings, and soon came to\nthe Haemonian city, where, laying aside his wings, he assumed the\nform of Ceyx. Under that form, but pale like a dead man, naked, he\nstood before the couch of the wretched wife. His beard seemed\nsoaked with water, and water trickled from his drowned locks.\nLeaning over the bed, tears streaming from his eyes, he said, \"Do\nyou recognize your Ceyx, unhappy wife, or has death too much\nchanged my visage? Behold me, know me, your husband's shade,\ninstead of himself. Your prayers, Halcyone, availed me nothing. I\nam dead. No more deceive yourself with vain hopes of my return.\nThe stormy winds sunk my ship in the Aegean Sea, waves filled my\nmouth while it called aloud on you. No uncertain messenger tells\nyou this, no vague rumor brings it to your ears. I come in person,\na shipwrecked man, to tell you my fate. Arise! give me tears, give\nme lamentations, let me not go down to Tartarus unwept.\" To these\nwords Morpheus added the voice, which seemed to be that of her\nhusband; he seemed to pour forth genuine tears; his hands had the\ngestures of Ceyx.\n\nHalcyone, weeping, groaned, and stretched out her arms in her\nsleep, striving to embrace his body, but grasping only the air.\n\"Stay!\" she cried; \"whither do you fly? let us go together.\" Her\nown voice awakened her. Starting up, she gazed eagerly around, to\nsee if he was still present, for the servants, alarmed by her\ncries, had brought a light. When she found him not, she smote her\nbreast and rent her garments. She cares not to unbind her hair,\nbut tears it wildly. Her nurse asks what is the cause of her\ngrief. \"Halcyone is no more,\" she answers, \"she perished with her\nCeyx. Utter not words of comfort, he is shipwrecked and dead. I\nhave seen him, I have recognized him. I stretched out my hands to\nseize him and detain him. His shade vanished, but it was the true\nshade of my husband. Not with the accustomed features, not with\nthe beauty that was his, but pale, naked, and with his hair wet\nwith sea-water, he appeared to wretched me. Here, in this very\nspot, the sad vision stood,\"\u2014and she looked to find the mark of\nhis footsteps. \"This it was, this that my presaging mind\nforeboded, when I implored him not to leave me, to trust himself\nto the waves. Oh, how I wish, since thou wouldst go, thou hadst\ntaken me with thee! It would have been far better. Then I should\nhave had no remnant of life to spend without thee, nor a separate\ndeath to die. If I could bear to live and struggle to endure, I\nshould be more cruel to myself than the sea has been to me. But I\nwill not struggle, I will not be separated from thee, unhappy\nhusband. This time, at least, I will keep thee company. In death,\nif one tomb may not include us, one epitaph shall; if I may not\nlay my ashes with thine, my name, at least, shall not be\nseparated.\" Her grief forbade more words, and these were broken\nwith tears and sobs.\n\nIt was now morning. She went to the seashore, and sought the spot\nwhere she last saw him, on his departure. \"While he lingered here,\nand cast off his tacklings, he gave me his last kiss.\" While she\nreviews every object, and strives to recall every incident,\nlooking out over the sea, she descries an indistinct object\nfloating in the water. At first she was in doubt what it was, but\nby degrees the waves bore it nearer, and it was plainly the body\nof a man. Though unknowing of whom, yet, as it was of some\nshipwrecked one, she was deeply moved, and gave it her tears,\nsaying, \"Alas! unhappy one, and unhappy, if such there be, thy\nwife!\" Borne by the waves, it came nearer. As she more and more\nnearly views it, she trembles more and more. Now, now it\napproaches the shore. Now marks that she recognizes appear. It is\nher husband! Stretching out her trembling hands towards it, she\nexclaims, \"O dearest husband, is it thus you return to me?\"\n\nThere was built out from the shore a mole, constructed to break\nthe assaults of the sea, and stem its violent ingress. She leaped\nupon this barrier and (it was wonderful she could do so) she flew,\nand striking the air with wings produced on the instant, skimmed\nalong the surface of the water, an unhappy bird. As she flew, her\nthroat poured forth sounds full of grief, and like the voice of\none lamenting. When she touched the mute and bloodless body, she\nenfolded its beloved limbs with her new-formed wings, and tried to\ngive kisses with her horny beak. Whether Ceyx felt it, or whether\nit was only the action of the waves, those who looked on doubted,\nbut the body seemed to raise its head. But indeed he did feel it,\nand by the pitying gods both of them were changed into birds. They\nmate and have their young ones. For seven placid days, in winter\ntime, Halcyone broods over her nest, which floats upon the sea.\nThen the way is safe to seamen. Aeolus guards the winds and keeps\nthem from disturbing the deep. The sea is given up, for the time,\nto his grandchildren.\n\n\u00a0\n\nThe following lines from Byron's \"Bride of Abydos\" might seem\nborrowed from the concluding part of this description, if it were\nnot stated that the author derived the suggestion from observing\nthe motion of a floating corpse:\n\n\"As shaken on his restless pillow,\n\nHis head heaves with the heaving billow,\n\nThat hand, whose motion is not life,\n\nYet feebly seems to menace strife,\n\nFlung by the tossing tide on high,\n\nThen levelled with the wave ...\"\n\nMilton in his \"Hymn on the Nativity,\" thus alludes to the fable of\nthe Halcyon:\n\n\"But peaceful was the night\n\nWherein the Prince of light\n\nHis reign of peace upon the earth began;\n\nThe winds with wonder whist\n\nSmoothly the waters kist\n\nWhispering new joys to the mild ocean,\n\nWho now hath quite forgot to rave\n\nWhile birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.\"\n\nKeats, also, in \"Endymion,\" says:\n\n\"O magic sleep! O comfortable bird\n\nThat broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind\n\nTill it is hushed and smooth.\"","title":"The Age of Fable/Chapter IX","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":2655}