War falls upon thy lovely land and thee." Then the King smiled, and said, "So let it be, Well shalt thou serve me, doing far less than this, Nor for thy service due gifts shalt thou miss: Behold I take thy faith with thy right hand, Be thou true man unto this guarded land. Ho ye! take this my guest, find raiment meet Wherewith to clothe him; bathe his wearied feet, And bring him back beside my throne to feast." But to himself he said, "I am the least Of all Thessalians if this man was born In any earthly dwelling more forlorn Than a king's palace." Then a damsel slim Led him inside, nought loth to go with him, And when the cloud of steam had curled to meet Within the brass his wearied dusty feet, She from a carved press brought him linen fair, And a new-woven coat a king might wear, And so being clad he came unto the feast, But as he came again, all people ceased What talk they held soever, for they thought A very god among them had been brought; And doubly glad the king Admetus was At what that dying eve had brought to pass, And bade him sit by him and feast his fill. So there they sat till all the world was still, And 'twixt the pillars their red torches' shine Held forth unto the night a joyous sign. * * * * * So henceforth did this man at Pheræ dwell, And what he set his hand to wrought right well, And won much praise and love in everything, And came to rule all herdsmen of the King; But for two things in chief his fame did grow; And first that he was better with the bow Than any 'twixt Olympus and the sea, And then that sweet, heart-piercing melody He drew out from the rigid-seeming lyre, And made the circle round the winter fire More like to heaven than gardens of the May. So many a heavy thought he chased away From the King's heart, and softened many a hate, And choked the spring of many a harsh debate; And, taught by wounds, the snatchers of the wolds Lurked round the gates of less well-guarded folds. Therefore Admetus loved him, yet withal, Strange doubts and fears upon his heart did fall; For morns there were when he the man would meet, His hair wreathed round with bay and blossoms sweet, Gazing distraught into the brightening east, Nor taking heed of either man or beast, Or anything that was upon the earth. Or sometimes, midst the hottest of the mirth, Within the King's hall, would he seem to wake As from a dream, and his stringed tortoise take And strike the cords unbidden, till the hall Filled with the glorious sound from wall to wall, Trembled and seemed as it would melt away, And sunken down the faces weeping lay That erewhile laughed the loudest; only he Stood upright, looking forward steadily With sparkling eyes as one who cannot weep, Until the storm of music sank to sleep.