"Nay,"  cried  Glaucus,  "no  cold  and  trite  director  for  us:
no  dictator  of  th^  banquet;  no  rex  convivii.  Have  not  the
Komans  ^worn  never  to  obey  a  king?  Shall  we  be  less  free
than  your  ancestors?  Ho!  musicians,  let  us  have  the  song
I  composed  the  other  night;  it  has  a  verse  on  this  subject,
*The  Bacchic  Hymn  of  the  Hours.'  "

The  musicians  struck  their  instruments  to  a  wild  Ionic
air,  whilst  the  youngest  voices  in  the  band  chanted  forth,
in  Greek  words,  as  numbers,  the  following  strain : —


THE  EVENING  HYMN  OF  THE  HOURS.
'  Tbroagh  the  summer  day,  through  the  weary  day,
We  have  glided  long ;
Ere  we  speed  to  the  Night  through  her  portals  gray,
Hail  us  with  song  I —
With  song,  with  song,

With  a  bright  and  Joyous  song ;
Such  as  the  Cretan  maid,
While  the  twilight  made  her  bolder,
Woke,  high  through  the  ivy  shade,

When  the  wine -god  first  consoled  her.
From  the  hush'd,  low -breathing  skies.
Half- shut  look'd  their  starry  eyes,
And  all  around,
With  a  loving  sound.
The  jEgean  waves  were  creeping :
On  her  lap  lay  the  lynx's  head ;
Wild  thyme  was  her  bridal  bed ;
And  aye  through  each  tiny  space.
In  the  green  vine's  green  embrace.
The  Fauns  were  slily  peeping ; —
The  Fauns,  the  prying  Fauns—
The  arch,  the  laughing  Fauns—
The  Fauns  were  ^lily  peeping  |


1


64  THE  LABT  DAYS  OF  POMPEII.
n.
Flagging  and  faint  are  we
With  our  ceaseless  flight,
And  dull  shall  our  journey  be
Through  the  realm  of  night.
