DEM. In all things even as they.--And sitting down One evening at Eleusis, by the well Under an olive-tree, likening myself Outwardly to some kindly-hearted matron, Whose wisdom and experience are of worth 750 Either where childhood clamorously speaks The engrossing charge of Aphrodite's gifts, Or merry maidens in wide-echoing halls Want sober governance;--to me, as there I sat, the daughters of King Keleos came, Tall noble damsels, as kings' daughters are, And, marking me a stranger, they drew from me A tale told so engagingly, that they Grew fain to find employment for my skill; --As men devise in mutual recompense, 760 Hoping the main advantage for themselves;-- And so they bad me follow, and I enter'd The palace of King Keleos, and received There on my knees the youngest of the house, A babe, to nurse him as a mother would: And in that menial service I was proud To outrun duty and trust: and there I liv'd Disguised among the maidens many months. CH. Often as have our guesses aim'd, dear Lady, Where thou didst hide thyself, oft as we wonder'd 770 What chosen work was thine, none ever thought That thou didst deign to tend a mortal babe. DEM. What life I led shall be for men to tell. But for this babe, the nursling of my sorrow, Whose peevish cry was my consoling care, How much I came to love him ye shall hear. CH. What was he named, Lady? DEM. Demophoön. Yea, ye shall hear how much I came to love him. For in his small epitome I read The trouble of mankind; in him I saw 780 The hero's helplessness, the countless perils In ambush of life's promise, the desire Blind and instinctive, and the will perverse. His petty needs were man's necessities; In him I nurst all mortal natur', embrac'd With whole affection to my breast, and lull'd Wailing humanity upon my knee. CH. We see thou wilt not now destroy mankind. DEM. What I coud do to save man was my thought. And, since my love was center'd in the boy, 790 My thought was first for him, to rescue him; That, thro' my providence, he ne'er should know Suffering, nor disease, nor fear of death. Therefore I fed him on immortal food, And should have gain'd my wish, so well he throve, But by ill-chance it hapt, once, as I held him Bathed in the fire at midnight (as was my wont),-- His mother stole upon us, and ascare At the strange sight, screaming in loud dismay Compel'd me to unmask, and leave for ever 800 The halls of Keleos, and my work undone. CH. 'Twas pity that she came!--Didst thou not grieve to lose The small Demophoön?--Coudst thou not save him?