HOW THE ROSE BECAME RED. 81 
while he bent her fingers, and felt her pulse, and en¬ 
deavored, by a hundred endearments and tender expres¬ 
sions, to restore her. And how, when she pretended 
to recover, she paid him back again with unnumbered 
kisses, whilst he, wearied with opposing her, no longer 
offered any resistance; and how, at last, he broke 
from her fair arms, and, darting down the “dark lawn,” 
left her seated alone upon the ground. 
As picture after picture rose before her of what had 
been, and every close pressure of the cold, inanimate, 
but still dearly-loved form, told her what the hand of 
death had done, and that those very “hopes and fears 
which are akin to love,” were now forever darkened 
and extinguished, she burst forth into such a loud, 
wailing lamentation, that the sound found its way unto 
Olympus, and fell upon the ever-open ear of Jove, who, 
in a moment, dashed the golden nectar cup upon the 
ground, which he was about uplifting to his lips, and 
sprang upon his feet. There was a sound of hurrying 
to and fro over the mountain-summits, which sloped 
down to the edge of the forest—of gods and goddesses 
passing through the air—of golden chariots, that went 
whistling along like the wind, as they cleft their rapid 
way—and the flapping of dark, immortal wings, be- 
