A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

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helpless thing, brute or human, that it encounters, dealing out ruin and death, and proceeding superbly on to carry its trophies of disaster to the bosom of the Ocean Mother, very easy is it to see from whence came those old tales of cruelty, of irresistible strength, of desire. Many are the tales of sea-maidens who have stolen men's lives from them and sent their bodies to move up and down amidst the wrack, like broken toys with which a child has grown tired of playing and cast away in weariness. In an eighth-century chronicle concerning St. Fechin, we read of evil powers whose rage is "seen in that watery fury and their hellish hate and turbulence in the beating of the sea against the rocks." "The bitter gifts of our lord Poseidon" is the name given to them by one of the earliest poets of Greece[7] and a poet of our own time--poet of the sea, of running water, and of lonely places--quotes from the saying of a fisherman of the isle of Ulva words that show why simple minds have so many times materialised the restless, devouring element into the form of a woman who is very beautiful, but whose tender mercies are very cruel. "She is like a woman of the old tales whose beauty is dreadful," said Seumas, the islander, "and who breaks your heart at last whether she smiles or frowns. But she doesn't care about that, or whether you are hurt or not. It's because she has no heart, being all a wild water."[8] Treacherous, beautiful, remorseless, that is how men regard the sea and the rushing rivers, of whom the sirens and mermaids of old tradition have come to stand as symbols. Treacherous and pitiless, yet with a fascination that can draw even the moon and the stars to her breast: "Once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song; And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music." Shakespeare. Very many are the stories of the women of the sea and of the rivers, but that one who must forever hold her own, because Heine has immortalised her in song, is the river maiden of the Rhine--the Lorelei.
Near St. Goar, there rises out of the waters of the Rhine a perpendicular rock, some four hundred feet high. Many a boatman in bygone days there met his death, and the echo which it possesses is still a mournful one. Those who know the great river, under which lies hid the treasure of the Nibelungs, with its "gleaming towns by the river-side and the green vineyards combed along the hills," and who have felt the romance of the rugged crags, crowned by ruined castles, that stand like fantastic and very ancient sentries to guard its channel, can well understand how easy of belief was the legend of the Lorelei. Down the green waters came the boatman's frail craft, ever drawing nearer to the perilous rock. All his care and all his skill were required to avert a very visible danger. But high above him, from the rock round which the swirling eddies splashed and foamed, there came a voice. "Her voice was like the voice the stars Had when they sang together." And when the boatman looked up at the sound of such sweet music, he beheld a maiden more fair than any he had ever dreamed of. On the rock she sat, combing her long golden hair with a comb of red gold. Her limbs were white as foam and her eyes green like the emerald green of the rushing river. And her red lips smiled on him and her arms were held out to him in welcome, and the sound of her song thrilled through the heart of him who listened, and her eyes drew his soul to her arms. Forgotten was all peril. The rushing stream seized the little boat and did with it as it willed. And while the boatman still gazed upwards, intoxicated by her matchless beauty and the magic of her voice, his boat was swept against the rock, and, with the jar and crash, knowledge came back to him, and he heard, with broken heart, the mocking laughter of the Lorelei as he was dragged down as if by a thousand icy hands, and, with a choking sigh, surrendered his life to the pitiless river. To one man only was it granted to see the siren so near that he could hold her little, cold, white hands, and feel the wondrous golden hair sweep across his eyes. This was a young fisherman, who met her by the
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A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang The P
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and lost its beauty, there yet rema
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in any language. The writer will fe
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PYGMALION 11 PHAETON 16 ENDYMION 26
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Thus did Psyche lose her fear, and
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that was to be his heritage. Promet
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(Afterthought). For Epimethus it wa
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endure the torment of having a foul
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most perfect semblance of men and o
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had made sacred to Galatea. On the
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But at last she said to him, "Naugh
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From the courtyard of the Palace th
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wrought. That blazing chariot of th
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suburban garden. That unlettered sp
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[Illustration: SHE CHECKED HER HOUN
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deep, hidden meaning in each part o
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permission he sought, but solemnly
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night, but as that of evening when
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When the quest of the Argonauts was
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But as the first fierce storm that
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Once upon a time, so goes the tale,
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which the fame of the fair Psyche h
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arren rocks, the utter forsakenness
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deny anything to Psyche, and on the
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As a martyr walks to death, so did
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sprang from the high cliff on which
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And again the reeds murmured, "Bewa
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"Oh, foolish one," it said, "why do
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its ugly tomb in the dark soil, and
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and found, amazed, a fearless, whit
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"Aimed on the left side his well-ha
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ATALANTA Atalanta, daughter of the
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thou dost race with me, the goal is
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To Pallas Athené, goddess of craft
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them with pictures such as no skill
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shall fall--for oft by weathers tha
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dallying with Idas in the shadowy w
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of her dreams, his voice was as the
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were life to one whose beauty had w
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overshadowed by the past, and even
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"And now from their fountains In En
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daily had to face, sailed the seas
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came empty-handed, and as he stood
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But Athené said Nay, at his mother
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"but no mortal can obtain it, for o
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living as that of a flower in sprin
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wife. No marriage feast so splendid
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"Surely this stranger comes from Ol
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sons, and each son is more than the
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But the gods laughed. Like a harsh
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Zephyrus, god of the South Wind, ha
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This is the story of Midas, one of
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But when Midas, with the healthy ap
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First of all Pan took his fragile r
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hiding-place. The trees and shrubs
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For the air was full of the clamoro
Page 113 and 114: around the cave lurked the long dar
Page 115 and 116: like a ship driven on by the long o
Page 117 and 118: In the fragrance of the blossom of
Page 119 and 120: Wind and the North Wind wrestle tog
Page 121 and 122: For, from the carcase of one of the
Page 123 and 124: so fair. She had only tasted the jo
Page 125 and 126: she held most dear. "Give me back m
Page 127 and 128: LATONA AND THE RUSTICS Through the
Page 129 and 130: defiled." As she spoke, a change, s
Page 131 and 132: smiling at the remembrance of her m
Page 133 and 134: Grief had slain the body of Echo. O
Page 135 and 136: Fourteen years only have passed sin
Page 137 and 138: at length they looked like the pini
Page 139 and 140: higher, higher still, and when he s
Page 141 and 142: and give stare for stare to golden-
Page 143 and 144: voice sang snatches of song of his
Page 145 and 146: shall not hide him, nor shall his d
Page 147 and 148: whose white arms against the greenw
Page 149 and 150: fashioned for himself an instrument
Page 151 and 152: spear-wound through it. With terrib
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Page 155 and 156: the river), 'The only way, since go
Page 157 and 158: at length she stood on the edge of
Page 159 and 160: and so, by the hands of his river,
Page 161 and 162: Milton. Pan was dead, and the gods
Page 163: unutterable woe upon any of the son
Page 167 and 168: [7] Archilochus of Paros. [8] Fiona
Page 169 and 170: to come was possessed by Beowulf. I
Page 171 and 172: And Odin, seeing himself outwitted
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Page 175 and 176: Thus Loki, taking upon himself the
Page 177 and 178: Matthew Arnold. Gladly Hermoder mad
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Page 181 and 182: took place those things that are to
Page 183 and 184: lack marshes, unknowing that in the
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Page 187 and 188: Grendel's scaly hide. Up and down t
Page 189 and 190: win, while he may, warlike fame in
Page 191 and 192: homeland and had told his kinsman t
Page 193 and 194: forth scorchingly, and its great mo
Page 195 and 196: FOOTNOTES: [9] Shakespeare (Julius
Page 197 and 198: would be allowed to retain his king
Page 199 and 200: "No one sent me," he said. "My moth
Page 201 and 202: "I had taken thee for another man,
Page 203 and 204: Leaving them behind with twenty tho
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Page 207 and 208: humbly confessing his sins and begg
Page 209 and 210: King of Heaven! * * * * * May thy f
Page 211 and 212: Charlemagne then returned to Aix, a
Page 213 and 214: their love. To them in course of ti
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what her servants had scorned to do
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he stood, and greeted him in the gl
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the shattered victims of the destro
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Then said her brothers: "In Him we
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And Kemoc answered: "It is truth."
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In many ancient manuscripts we get
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"You will have a little grave apart
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questions about Naoise, she met a s
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delivered his message, and when he
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e alive. We will go with her to ano
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ut on Loch Awe and Loch Fyne, Loch
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But Deirdrê said, very quickly: "N
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the pure sand. O that I might not d
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heart of the king. For when Lavarca
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And Ainle also craved that death mi
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[18] Inistrynich. [19] Dun Sween. [
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133, 139, 140, 141, 142, 145, 164,
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Belvidere, Apollo, 11 Ben Cruachan,
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Cerberus, 34 Ceyx, 144, 145, 146, 1
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Dædalus, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185,
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Dun Sween, 324 Durendala, 276, 284,
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Fergus, 321, 322, 323, 325, 326, 32
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Greece, 26, 71, 72, 74, 154, 192, 1
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Ibycus, 192, 194, 195, 196 Icarus,
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Lebynthos, 186 Leinster, Book of, 3
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Meleager, 69, 70, 72, 74, 75, 76, 7
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North Cape, 260 North Sea, 244 Norw
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Persephone, 80, 161, 164, 165, 167
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280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286,
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Sleipnir, 236 Socrates, 153 Somnus,
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Tyrian, 86 Uffizi Palace, 124 Ulste
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The author also used alternative sp
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ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.
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This eBook is for the use of anyone
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eceipt of the work. - You comply wi
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harmless from all liability, costs
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