Within a lovely valley, watered well With flowery streams, the July feast befell, And there within the Chief-priest's fair abode They cast aside their trouble's heavy load, Scarce made aweary by the sultry day. The earth no longer laboured; shaded lay The sweet-breathed kine, across the sunny vale, From hill to hill the wandering rook did sail, Lazily croaking, midst his dreams of spring, Nor more awake the pink-foot dove did cling Unto the beech-bough, murmuring now and then; All rested but the restless sons of men And the great sun that wrought this happiness, And all the vale with fruitful hopes did bless. So in a marble chamber bright with flowers, The old men feasted through the fresher hours, And at the hottest time of all the day When now the sun was on his downward way, Sat listening to a tale an elder told, New to his fathers while they yet did hold The cities of some far-off Grecian isle, Though in the heavens the cloud of force and guile Was gathering dark that sent them o'er the sea To win new lands for their posterity. THE SON OF CROESUS. ARGUMENT. Croesus, King of Lydia, dreamed that he saw his son slain by an iron weapon, and though by every means he strove to avert this doom from him, yet thus it happened, for his son was slain by the hand of the man who seemed least of all likely to do the deed. Of Croesus tells my tale, a king of old In Lydia, ere the Mede fell on the land, A man made mighty by great heaps of gold, Feared for the myriads strong of heart and hand That 'neath his banners wrought out his command, And though his latter ending happed on ill, Yet first of every joy he had his fill. Two sons he had, and one was dumb from birth; The other one, that Atys had to name, Grew up a fair youth, and of might and worth, And well it seemed the race wherefrom he came From him should never get reproach or shame: But yet no stroke he struck before his death, In no war-shout he spent his latest breath. Now Croesus, lying on his bed anight Dreamed that he saw this dear son laid a-low, And folk lamenting he was slain outright, And that some iron thing had dealt the blow; By whose hand guided he could nowise know, Or if in peace by traitors it were done, Or in some open war not yet begun. Three times one night this vision broke his sleep, So that at last he rose up from his bed, That he might ponder how he best might keep The threatened danger from so dear a head; And, since he now was old enough to wed, The King sent men to search the lands around, Until some matchless maiden should be found;