United States or Saint Vincent and the Grenadines ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Arion, however, instead of being drowned, was taken up by a dolphin that had been charmed by his song, and was borne by him to Tænarus, which is the promontory formed by the southern extremity of the Peloponnesus. There Arion landed in safety. From Tænarus he proceeded to Corinth, wearing the same dress in which he had plunged into the sea.
His purpose was to have restored it to him that evening, as he reckoned himself sure of meeting with him, in consequence of Wayland's having to perform the part of Arion in the pageant.
The son was irritated at this, and threw Arion into prison. And Ptolemy sent for Hyrcanus, and told him that he wondered, when he was sent to him by his father, that he had not yet come into his presence, but had laid the steward in prison. And he gave order, therefore, that he should come to him, and give an account of the reason of what he had done.
We will give the story as Herodotus relates it, leaving the reader to judge for himself whether such tales were probably true, or were only introduced by Herodotus into his narrative to make his histories more entertaining to the Grecian assemblies to whom he read them. Arion was a celebrated singer.
Violet was gone. Her rooms were empty; her faithful little waiting-maid was dismissed; her dog's deep-toned thunder no longer sounded through the house, baying joyous welcome when his mistress came down for her early morning ramble in the shrubberies. Arion had been sent to grass, and was running wild in fertile pastures, shoeless and unfettered as the South American mustang on his native prairie.
Presently they surrounded him loud and mutinous, and said, "Arion, you must die! If you would have a grave on shore, yield yourself to die on this spot; but if otherwise, cast yourself into the sea." "Will nothing satisfy you but my life?" said he. "Take my gold, and welcome. I willingly buy my life at that price." "No, no; we cannot spare you. Your life will be too dangerous to us.
And he told Periander that his mother and father died before he could remember, and that he was brought up by an old goat-herd; until a traveling minstrel, who happened one day to hear him singing on the hills, took charge of him and taught him to play the lute. "That was one of his own songs I was singing," said Arion.
Periander listened attentively, and, when it was finished, remarked gravely, "Are you then so little satisfied with your victories over the musicians, Arion, that you have determined to be king of story-tellers also?" "Does your majesty intend to throw doubt on my story?" asked Arion. "Far be it from me!" answered Periander.
He told his wish to Periander, who besought him like a brother to give up the thought. "Pray stay with me," he said, "and be contented. He who strives to win may lose." Arion answered, "A wandering life best suits the free heart of a poet. The talent which a god bestowed on me, I would fain make a source of pleasure to others.
But this is Greek to you now, honest Lawrence, and in sooth learning is dry work. Hand me the pitcher once more." "In faith, if you drink more, Michael," said the warder, "you will be in sorry case either to play Arion or to wait on your master on such a solemn night; and I expect each moment to hear the great bell toll for the muster at Mortimer's Tower, to receive the Queen."
Word Of The Day