L. MARIA CHILD.




PHILOTHEA:

A Grecian Romance.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.

AUTHOR OF LETTERS FROM NEW YORK, FLOWERS FOR CHILDREN, ETC




The intelligible forms of ancient poets,
The fair humanities of old religion,
The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty,
That had their haunts in dale or piny mountain.
Or forest by slow stream, or pabbly spring,
Or chasms and watery depths, all these have vanished--
They live no longer in the faith of Reason!
But still, the heart doth need a language--still
Doth the old instinct bring back the old names.
COLERIDGE.

A Spirit hung,
Beautiful region! o'er thy towns and farms,
Statues, and temples, and memorial tombs,
And _emanations_ were perceived.
WORDSWORTH.


A NEW AND CORRECTED EDITION.




To

MY BELOVED BROTHER,

Dr. Francis,

OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY,

To whose Early Influence I owe my Love of Literature

THIS VOLUME

IS RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.




PREFACE


This volume is purely romance; and most readers will consider it romance
of the wildest kind. A few kindred spirits, prone to people space "with
life and mystical predominance," will perceive a light _within_ the
Grecian Temple.

For such I have written it. To minds of different mould, who may think
an apology necessary for what they will deem so utterly useless, I have
nothing better to offer than the simple fact that I found delight in
doing it.




CHAPTER I.

Here let us seek Athenж's towers,
The cradle of old Cecrops' race,
The world's chief ornament and grace;
Here mystic fanes and rites divine,
And lamps in sacred splendour shine;
Here the gods dwell in marble domes,
Feasted with costly hecatombs,
That round their votive statues blaze,
Whilst crowded temples ring with praise;
And pompous sacrifices here
Make holidays throughout the year.
ARISTOPHANES.


The moon was moving through the heavens in silent glory; and Athens,
with all her beautiful variety of villas, altars, statues, and temples,
rejoiced in the hallowed light.

The white columns of the lofty Parthenon stood in distinct relief
against the clear blue sky; the crest and spear of Pallas Promachos
glittered in the refulgent atmosphere, a beacon to the distant mariner;
the line of brazen tripods, leading from the Theatre of Dionysus, glowed
like urns of fire; and the waters of the Illyssus glanced right
joyfully, as they moved onward to the ocean. The earth was like a
slumbering babe, smiling in its sleep, because it dreams of Heaven.

In the most ancient and quiet part of the city, not far from the gate
Diocharis, was the modest mansion of Anaxagoras; and at this tranquil
hour, the grand-daughter of the philosopher, with her beloved companion
Eudora, stood on the roof, enjoying the radiant