_For when she knew that the appointed day Was come, in river-water her white skin She bathed, and from the cedar chests took forth Vesture and jewels, and decked her gloriously, And stood before the hearth and prayed.... To all the altars through Admetus’ halls She went, with wreaths she hung them, and she prayed, Plucking the while the tresses of the myrtle, Tearless, unsighing, and the imminent fate Changed not the lovely rose-tint of her cheek. Then to her bower she rushed, fell on the bed, And there, O there she wept.... And the babes clinging to their mother’s robes Were weeping: and she clasped them in her arms, Fondling now this, now that, as one death-doomed. And all the servants ‘neath the roof were weeping, Pitying their lady. But to each she stretched Her right hand forth; and none there was so mean To whom she spake not and received reply._[29] The maid goes on to tell of Admetus’ grief. Clasping his wife in his arms, he begs her not to leave him. But she is growing rapidly weaker, and his entreaties hardly pierce the darkness that is settling down on mind and body. She craves for air and light, just to look once more on the glorious sun, and feel the breath of heaven. As Admetus carries her out, followed by their two young children, she utters one bitter cry of regret for all the beauty that she must leave: “_O Sun, and the day’s dear light, And ye clouds through the wheeling heaven in the race everlasting flying!... O Land, O stately height Of mine halls, and my bridal couch in Iolkos my fatherland lying!_“[29] Then the presence of imminent death rises on her fading sight. She sees the sinister Ferryman Charon beckoning with impatient finger, and she hears him calling her to hasten. “_Hades is near, and the night Is darkening down on my sight. Darlings, farewell: on the light Long may ye look:—I have blessed ye Ere your mother to nothingness fleet._“[29] There has been no word of farewell to Admetus yet; and now she gathers strength for the last thing that must be said to him. Perhaps she has been waiting, all through his evident grief and broken words of devotion, for some hint of awakening to a nobler spirit. Perhaps she has longed, in hope that she knew to be vain, for one word of remorse, one flash of protest, though it were too late, against the sacrifice that she is making. But Admetus gives no sign; he is absorbed in his own suffering; and we seem to hear, all through the solemn charge which the dying lips lay upon him, a note of pain.