His beard was in the flowery bud
Touched, like his hair, with golds
And down beneath his shoulder blades
His tressés ran and rolled.

An earnest cheer was in his look;
And every human part,

His neck, his shoulders, hands, and breast,
Matched with the proudest art.

Such was his look and shape, to where
The nether form began;

Nor where he put the courser on,
Dishonoured he the man.

Ev'n Castor might have ridden him,
But for his double make;

So built with muscle was his chest,
So rideable his back.

And blacker was his noble hue
Than is the pitchy night;
Only a snowy tail and feet
Finished his look with light.

Many fair creatures of his kind
Besought his love; but he
Was borne away by only one,
The sole Hylonome.

No gentle woman-hearted thing
Of all the half-human race,
Carried about the shady woods
A more becoming grace.

With pretty natural blandishments,
And loving, and at last
Owning her love with rosy talk,

She bound the conqueror fast.

Her limbs, as much as in her lay.
She kept adorned with care,
And took especial pride to sleek
Her lightsome locks of hair.

With rosemary she wreathed them now,
With violets and the rose;

And now betwixt their glossy black,
Sparkled the lily snows.

No vest but of the choicest skin,
And suiting her, she wore,
About her shoulder crossing round
Beside her and before.

And twice a day, in lapsing wells
That from the woods came down,
She bathed her face; and twice a day,
She bathed from sole to crown.

Equal alike the beauty was,

Equal the love in either;

They roamed the mountains hand in hand,
And sheltered close together.

And thus did they attend that day
The Lapithean bride;

Thus came together, and thus fought,
Together, side by side.

A javelin from an unknown hand.
Came with too sure a dart,
And pierced in thee, poor Cyllarus,
Right to the very heart.

He drew the bitter weapon out,

And shuddering all over,

Fell against pale Hylonome,

Whose arms received her lover.

And with her hand she nursed the wound,

Of which he fast was dying,

And hurried mouth to mouth, and tried
To stop his soul from flying.

But when she found it all in vain,
And that her lord was dead,
She uttered something which the noise
Deafened about her head;

And falling with her wedded heart
On what had murdered his,
Gathered him blindly in her arms,

And smiled a dying kiss..

Orders received by the Newsmen, by the Booksellers, and by the Publisher, Joseph Appleyard. Printed by Joseph Appleyard, No, 19, Catherine-street, Strand,-Price ed.

THE INDICATOR.

There he arriving round about doth flie,
And takes survey with busie curious eye:
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly.

SPENSER.

No. XXVII.-WEDNESDAY, APRIL 12th, 1820.

THE ADVENTURES OF CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS.

CEPHALUS, the son of Deioneus, king of Thessaly, married Procris, daughter of Pandion, king of Athens. They bound each other by a vow never to love any one else. Cephalus, who was fond of hunting, suffered the wood-nymphs to be charming to no purpose; and Procris, waiting his return every day from the chace, scarcely had a civil answer for the most agreeable of the Wood-Gods.

Their security in each others exclusive attachment was increased, if possible, by a passion which was conceived for Cephalus by Aurora, the Goddess of Morning. To think that the beaming eyes and rosy blushes of so charming a deity were upon him every morning to no purpose, was a high exaltation to the proud confidence which each reposed in the other. Procris, whom the very particular vow which they had entered into had begun to render a little too apt to be jealous, concluded that if he could deny a goddess, she need have no fear of the nymphs. All that disturbed her was lest Aurora should grow angry. Cephalus, on the other hand, whatever airs he might occasionally give himself on the strength of his fidelity, held it to be utterly impossible, that his wife should for a moment forget the rejecter of a divinity.

t

Aurora however was not angry. She was too much in love. Cephalus began to feel a softer pride when he found that she still loved him secretly, and that she did all in her power to gratify him. The dawns in Thessaly had never been known to be so fine. Rosy little clouds, floating in yellow light, were sure to usher in the day, whatever it might turn out at noon. He had but to wish for more air, and it came streaming upon his face. Did he want light in a gloomy depth of the forest? Beams thrilled through the twisted thickets, and made the hunters start to see their faces so plainly. Some said, that a divine countenance was to be seen at these times, passing on the other side of the trees, and looking through. It is certain, that when Cephalus had lain down towards noon to rest himself in a solitary place, he would see, as he woke, a nymph suddenly departing from the spot, whose hair shook out a kind of sunshine. He knew that this was Aurora, and could not help being touched by so delicate an affection.

By degrees, Cephalus began to think that Procris might spare a little of so great a love; and as these wicked thoughts stole upon him, he found Aurora steal nearer. She came closer to him, as he pretended to sleep; and loitered more in going away. At length they conversed again; and the argument, which was uppermost in both their minds, soon got more and more explicit. We are bound to believe that a goddess could reason more divinely on the subject; but it must not be concealed, that the argument which made the greatest impression on Cephalus, was one, which has since been much in fashion, though we cannot say a great deal for it. All defences of love should proceed upon the kindest grounds, or on none. The moment it refers to any thing like retaliation, or even to a justice which hazards such feelings, it is trenching on the monstrous territory of hate. Be this however as it may, Aurora, one morning, did certainly condescend to finish a conversation with saying, that she would not look to have her love returned, unless Procris should first be found unfaithful.

The husband, in whose mind this suggestion seemed to awaken all his exclusive tenderness for his wife, readily accepted the alternative. But how was Procris to be tried? Aurora soon found an expedient. She changed the appearance of Cephalus to that of a young Phoenician merchant; filled his pockets with gold and jewels; hung the rarest gems from Ormus and the Red Sea in his turban; and seating him in a Sidonian ear, drawn by white fawns, with a peacock standing beside him on the edge, sent him to offer all these bribes to Procris for her love. Cephalus turned a little pale at sight of the fawns; but his colour and even his gaiety returned in a minute; and taking a respectful farewell of the Goddess, he shook the reins, and set off down the grassy valley that led to his home.

The fawns, with a yearning yet easy swiftness, wound along down the sides of the hill. Their snowy figures flashed in and out of the trees; the peacock's tail trailed along the air; the jewels sparkled in the stranger's turban. Procris, looking out of the window for her husband, wondered what illustrious unknown was coming. He is evidently coming towards her abode. It is the only one in the valley. He arrives, and making a respectful obeisance, alights and enters. He makes no request for admittance, but yet no fault is to be found with his easy gravity. He says indeed that he could not but come in, whether he would or no, for the fame of Procris's beauty and sweetness had reached him in Phoenicia; and as his father's great riches allowed him to travel at his leisure, he had brought a few trifles, not as a return for the few hours' hospitality which he should presume upon;-by no means;-but solely as he had not wit or attraction enough of his own, to leave any other memorial of his visit and homage. All this was somewhat too elaborate for the people in those days; but Cephalus, in his confidence, had become a little over-ingenious; and when he had done speaking, and had presented his splendid credentials, Procris thought that the accomplished stranger undervalued himself. A little obstacle presented itself. On giving her the peacock, the handsome stranger stooped his face with an air of confident but respectful pleasure, and was about to kiss her. "How is this?" said

Procris. "We always do so in Phoenicia," said he, "when presents are received ;" and without more ado, he kissed her in a sort of formal and cabalistic manner, first on one cheek, then on the other, and lastly on the forehead. Procris submitted, purely because she did not know how to object to a Phoenician custom. But on his presenting a casket full of gold, she demurred. He seemed to take no notice of this, but stooped as before, and kissed her, not only on the cheeks ́and forehead, but on the lips. Procris blushed, and looked displeased. "We always do so in Phoenicia ;" said he, in a tone, as if all offence must be done away by that explanation. Another casket succeeded, full of jewels, and much more precious than the last. Procris wondered whether any additional ceremony was to take place in return, and was about to decline the third present in some alarm, when the stranger, with as brief an indifference of voice as his gallantry could. assume, observed, that all that was to be done for the third gift, was to have the kiss returned,-slightly, it was true; but still returned:— it was always the way in Phoenicia. And he had scarcely spoken the word when he stooped as before, and kissed her. Procris would sincerely have objected to returning the salute; but as she said afterwards, she really had not time to consider. Besides, she persuaded herself that she felt relieved at thinking the casket was to be the last present; and so,-giving a short glance at the window, the kiss was returned. A very odd, and not comfortable expression passed over the face of the stranger, but very quickly. The only reason that Procris could conceive why he should look so, was, that the salute might have been too slight. "He is very generous, I own," thought she; "but these Phoenicians are strange people." The stranger had now a totally different air. It was that of an excessive gaiety, in which respect was nevertheless strongly mingled. "Having honoured me so far with your acquaintance," said he, "nothing remains but to close our Phoenician ceremonies of introduction with this trifle from the Red Sea." So saying, he took a most magnificent ruby from the front of his turban, and hitched it on the collar of her vest. "The hook, "said he, "is of Phoenician chrystal.” Procris's ears fairly tingled with the word Phoenician. She was bewildered; the ceremonies were indeed about to close; and this word somewhat relieved her; but she was going to demur in a more peremptory manner, when he said that all that was to be done on this final occasion was just to embrace him-slightly—in a sisterly way;" It is not always done," said he :-" the Tyre people, for instance, do not do it; but the Sido nians do; and generally speaking, it is the closing custom in Phoenici-”—and the final syllable was lost in a new kiss, against which she found it out of her power to remonstrate. In giving her at the same time a brief but affectionate embrace, he contrived to bring her arms about himself. He then bowed in the most respectful and grateful manner imaginable, and handed her to a seat.

Procris, with whom the ice had been thus broken, and who already thought herself half faithless to the strictness of her vow, scarcely knew whether to feel more angry at the warmth, or piqued at the ceremonious indifference, of the stranger. A sense however of gra