"There is one person," she exclaimed, "who must have seen my poor child, and can doubtless tell what has become of her.Why did not I think of him before? It is Phoebus.""What," said Hecate, "the young man that always sits in the sunshine? O, pray do not think of going near him.He is a gay, light, frivolous young fellow, and will only smile in your face.And besides, there is such a glare of the sun about him, that he will quite blind my poor eyes, which I have almost wept away already.""You have promised to be my companion," answered Ceres."Come, let us make haste, or the sunshine will be gone, and Phoebus along with it."Accordingly, they went along in quest of Phoebus, both of them sighing grievously, and Hecate, to say the truth, making a great deal worse lamentation than Ceres; for all the pleasure she had, you know, lay in being miserable, and therefore she made the most of it.By and by, after a pretty long journey, they arrived at the sunniest spot in the whole world.There they beheld a beautiful young man, with long, curling ringlets, which seemed to be made of golden sunbeams; his garments were like light summer clouds; and the expression of his face was so exceedingly vivid, that Hecate held her hands before her eyes, muttering that he ought to wear a black veil.Phoebus (for this was the very person whom they were seeking) had a lyre in his hands, and was making its chords tremble with sweet music; at the same time singing a most exquisite song, which he had recently composed.For, beside a great many other accomplishments, this young man was renowned for his admirable poetry.
As Ceres and her dismal companion approached him, Phoebus smiled on them so cheerfully that Hecate's wreath of snakes gave a spiteful hiss, and Hecate heartily wished herself back in her cave.But as for Ceres, she was too earnest in her grief either to know or care whether Phoebus smiled or frowned.
"Phoebus!" exclaimed she, "I am in great trouble, and have come to you for assistance.Can you tell me what has become of my dear child Proserpina?""Proserpina! Proserpina, did you call her name?" answered Phoebus, endeavoring to recollect; for there was such a continual flow of pleasant ideas in his mind, that he was apt to forget what had happened no longer ago than yesterday."Ah, yes, I remember her now.A very lovely child, indeed.I am happy to tell you, my dear madam, that I did see the little Proserpina not many days ago.You may make yourself perfectly easy about her.She is safe, and in excellent hands.""O, where is my dear child?" cried Ceres, clasping her hands, and flinging herself at his feet.
"Why," said Phoebus--and as he spoke he kept touching his lyre so as to make a thread of music run in and out among his words--"as the little damsel was gathering flowers (and she has really a very exquisite taste for flowers), she was suddenly snatched up by King Pluto, and carried off to his dominions.Ihave never been in that part of the universe; but the royal palace, I am told, is built in a very noble style of architecture, and of the most splendid and costly materials.
Gold, diamonds, pearls, and all manner of precious stones will be your daughter's ordinary playthings.I recommend to you, my dear lady, to give yourself no uneasiness.Proserpina's sense of beauty will be duly gratified, and even in spite of the lack of sunshine, she will lead a very enviable life.""Hush! Say not such a word!" answered Ceres, indignantly."What is there to gratify her heart? What are all the splendors you speak of without affection? I must have her back again.Will you go with me you go with me, Phoebus, to demand my daughter of this wicked Pluto?""Pray excuse me," replied Phoebus, with an elegant obeisance.
"I certainly wish you success, and regret that my own affairs are so immediately pressing that I cannot have the pleasure of attending you.Besides, I am not upon the best of terms with King Pluto.To tell you the truth, his three-headed mastiff would never let me pass the gateway; for I should be compelled to take a sheaf of sunbeams along with me, and those, you know, are forbidden things in Pluto's kingdom.""Ah, Phoebus," said Ceres, with bitter meaning in her words, "you have a harp instead of a heart.Farewell.""Will not you stay a moment," asked Phoebus, " nd hear me turn the pretty and touching story of Proserpina into extemporary verses?"But Ceres shook her head, and hastened away, along with Hecate.
Phoebus (who, as I have told you, was an exquisite poet)forthwith began to make an ode about the poor mother's grief;and, if we were to judge of his sensibility by this beautiful production, he must have been endowed with a very tender heart.
But when a poet gets into the habit of using his heartstrings to make chords for his lyre, he may thrum upon them as much as he will, without any great pain to himself.Accordingly, though Phoebus sang a very sad song, he was as merry all the while as were the sunbeams amid which he dwelt.
Poor Mother Ceres had now found out what had become of her daughter, but was not a whit happier than before.Her case, on the contrary, looked more desperate than ever.As long as Proserpina was above ground, there might have been hopes of regaining her.But now that the poor child was shut up within the iron gates of the king of the mines, at the threshold of which lay the three-headed Cerberus, there seemed no possibility of her ever making her escape.The dismal Hecate, who loved to take the darkest view of things, told Ceres that she had better come with her to the cavern, and spend the rest of her life in being miserable.Ceres answered, that Hecate was welcome to go back thither herself, but that, for her part, she would wander about the earth in quest of the entrance to King Pluto's dominions.And Hecate took her at her word, and hurried back to her beloved cave, frightening a great many little children with a glimpse of her dog's face as she went.
