THE HALCYON 



107 



Halcyons are beloved by the sea-green Nereids above all the birds which take 

 their prey from the waters. — Theocritus. 



Chaerophon. " What sound is that, Socrates, from the shore ? How 

 sweet it was. 



Socrates. It is a sea-bird, Chaerophon, called the Halcyon ; a bird given 

 over to grief and tears. . . . They say this bird was once a woman, daughter 

 of Aeolus, and that, grieving over the husband of her girlhood, Ceyx, son of 

 the Morning Star, fair son of a fair father, whose death robbed her of 

 love, she, by the will of the Gods, grew wings, and in the shape of a bird flits 

 over the sea seeking her husband. . . . 



Chaerophon. Truly a mournful sound. What size is the bird, Socrates ? 



Socrates. Not large ; but large is the reward her love hath won from 

 the Gods. For when these birds are nesting, the world, too, enjoys those 

 days called halcyonides, notable for their brightness . . . See ! How calm is 

 the air, how waveless and still the sea, like to a mirror . . . 



Chaerophon Truly a halcyon-day ; but how can we have faith in 



these old stories, Socrates? . . . such things are impossible. 



Socrates. . . . We are but dull-eyed judges altogether of the possible and 

 the impossible ... we test all things by our human power which does not 

 know, nor trust, nor see. . . . Do you not then think it a greater and harder 

 task to bring about this bright calm from tempest, and restore the whole 

 world to peace, than to change the form of a woman into the form of a 

 bird ? " — Lucian's Halcyon. 



" Then Zeus gives the wisdom of calm to fourteen days, and the people 

 of the land call it the Hour of Wind-hiding." — Simonides. 



But how now stands the wind 



Into what corner peers my halcyon's bill. — Marlowe. 



HE world could ill spare its halcyon-days ! 

 Those days when neither north wind nor 

 south, east nor west, drives the soul to some 

 fore-ordained goal ; when peace laps the 

 whole world round, and as we lie in the 

 meadow grass or on the spent spines of the 

 fir-trees we feel the great unity of Life and know ourselves as 

 all things are around us. When the mailed beetle, creeping 



