But this thing seemed the doubtfullest of all Unto the King, that should there chance to fall A festal day, and folk did sacrifice Unto the gods, ever by some device The man would be away: yet with all this His presence doubled all Admetus' bliss, And happy in all things he seemed to live, And great gifts to his herdsman did he give. But now the year came round again to spring, And southward to Iolchos went the King; For there did Pelias hold a sacrifice Unto the gods, and put forth things of price For men to strive for in the people's sight; So on a morn of April, fresh and bright, Admetus shook the golden-studded reins, And soon from windings of the sweet-banked lanes The south wind blew the sound of hoof and wheel, Clatter of brazen shields and clink of steel Unto the herdsman's ears, who stood awhile Hearkening the echoes with a godlike smile, Then slowly gat him foldwards, murmuring, "Fair music for the wooing of a King." But in six days again Admetus came, With no lost labour or dishonoured name; A scarlet cloak upon his back he bare A gold crown on his head, a falchion fair Girt to his side; behind him four white steeds, Whose dams had fed full in Nisæan meads; All prizes that his valiant hands had won Within the guarded lists of Tyro's son. Yet midst the sound of joyous minstrelsy No joyous man in truth he seemed to be; So that folk looking on him said, "Behold, The wise King will not show himself too bold Amidst his greatness: the gods too are great, And who can tell the dreadful ways of fate?" Howe'er it was, he gat him through the town, And midst their shouts at last he lighted down At his own house, and held high feast that night; And yet by seeming had but small delight In aught that any man could do or say: And on the morrow, just at dawn of day, Rose up and clad himself, and took his spear. And in the fresh and blossom-scented air Went wandering till he reach Boebeis' shore; Yet by his troubled face set little store By all the songs of birds and scent of flowers; Yea, rather unto him the fragrant hours Were grown but dull and empty of delight. So going, at the last he came in sight Of his new herdsman, who that morning lay Close by the white sand of a little bay The teeming ripple of Boebeis lapped; There he in cloak of white-wooled sheepskin wrapped Against the cold dew, free from trouble sang, The while the heifers' bells about him rang And mingled with the sweet soft-throated birds And bright fresh ripple: listen, then, these words Will tell the tale of his felicity, Halting and void of music though they be. SONG.