Chapter CLXXIX: Book XV: The Captive Faints

_“Too quick despairer, wherefore wilt thou go?
Soon will the high Midsummer pomps come on.”

“Do you remember how you used to tell me that?” she whispered. “Hoping--always hoping!”

“And always young!” he added.

“How did I keep so?” she said, with wonder in her voice; and he read--

“Thou nearest the immortal chants--of old!--
Putting his sickle to the perilous grain
In the hot corn-field of the Phrygian king,
For thee the Lityerses-song again
Young Daphnis with his silver voice doth sing!”

Then a smile of mischief crossed her face, and she asked, “Which Daphnis?”_