[Illustration: FIG. 142. THE SLEEPING ARIADNE] Gazing amain from the marge of the flood-reverberant Dia, Chafing with ire, indignant, exasperate,--lo, Ariadne, Lorn Ariadne, beholds swift craft, swift lover retreating. Nor can be sure she sees what things she sees of a surety, When upspringing from sleep, she shakes off treacherous slumber, Lone beholds herself on a shore forlorn of the ocean. Carelessly hastens the youth, meantime, who, driving his oar-blades Hard in the waves, consigns void vows to the blustering breezes. But as, afar from the sedge, with sad eyes still the Minoïd Mute as a Mænad in stone unmoving stonily gazes-- Heart o'erwhelmed with woe--ah, thus, while thus she is gazing,-- Down from her yellow hair slips, sudden, the weed of the fine-spun Snood, and the vesture light of her mantle down from the shoulders Slips, and the twisted scarf encircling her womanly bosom; Stealthily gliding, slip they downward into the billow, Fall, and are tossed by the buoyant flood at the feet of the fair one. Nothing she recks of the coif, of the floating garment as little, Cares not a moment then, whose care hangs only on Theseus,-- Wretched of heart, soul-wrecked, dependent only on Theseus,-- Desperate, woe-unselfed with a cureless sorrow incessant, Frantic, bosoming torture of thorns Erycina had planted.... Then, they say, that at last, infuriate out of all measure, Once and again she poured shrill-voicèd shrieks from her bosom; Helpless, clambered steeps, sheer beetling over the surges, Whence to enrange with her eyes vast futile regions of ocean;-- Lifting the folds, soft folds of her garments, baring her ankles, Dashed into edges of upward waves that trembled before her; Uttered, anguished then, one wail, her maddest and saddest,-- Catching with tear-wet lips poor sobs that shivering choked her:-- "Thus is it far from my home, O traitor, and far from its altars-- Thus on a desert strand,--dost leave me, treacherous Theseus? Thus is it thou dost flout our vow, dost flout the Immortals,-- Carelessly homeward bearest, with baleful ballast of curses? Never, could never a plea forfend thy cruelly minded Counsel? Never a pity entreat thy bosom for shelter?... Hence, let never a maid confide in the oath of a lover, Never presume man's vows hold aught trustworthy within them! Verily, while in anguish of heart his spirit is longing, Nothing he spares to assever, nor aught makes scruple to promise: But, an his dearest desire, his nearest of heart be accorded-- Nothing he recks of affiance, and reckons perjury,--nothing.