A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

of her bitter tears. At the grey dawning of the tenth day her elder
daughter, Hecate, stood beside her. Queen of ghosts and shades was she,
and to her all dark places of the earth were known.
"Let us go to the Sun God," said Hecate. "Surely he hath seen the god
who stole away the little Proserpine. Soon his chariot will drive across
the heavens. Come, let us ask him to guide us to the place where she is
hidden."
Thus did they come to the chariot of the glorious Apollo, and standing
by the heads of his horses like two grey clouds that bar the passage of
the sun, they begged him to tell them the name of him who had stolen
fair Proserpine.
"No less a thief was he," said Apollo, "than Pluto, King of Darkness
and robber of Life itself. Mourn not, Demeter. Thy daughter is safe in
his keeping. The little nymph who played in the meadows is now
Queen of the Shades. Nor does Pluto love her vainly. She is now in
love with Death."
No comfort did the words of the Sun God bring to the longing soul of
Demeter. And her wounded heart grew bitter. Because she suffered,
others must suffer as well. Because she mourned, all the world must
mourn. The fragrant flowers spoke to her only of Persephone, the
purple grapes reminded her of a vintage when the white fingers of her
child had plucked the fruit. The waving golden grain told her that
Persephone was as an ear of wheat that is reaped before its time.
Then upon the earth did there come dearth and drought and barrenness.
"The wheat Was blighted in the ear, the purple grapes Blushed no more
on the vines, and all the gods Were sorrowful ..."
Lewis Morris.
Gods and men alike suffered from the sorrow of Demeter. To her, in
pity for the barren earth, Zeus sent an embassy, but in vain it came.
Merciless was the great Earth Mother, who had been robbed of what