em."

Forbidden things are charming, yet Xanthe rarely looked into this liquid
mirror, though she might have enjoyed gazing at it frequently, for her
figure was tall and slender as the trunk of a cypress, her thick fair
hair glittered like gold, the oval of her face was exquisitely rounded,
long lashes shaded the large blue eyes that could conceal no emotion
which stirred her soul, and when she was alone seemed to ask: "What have
the gods allotted for my future?" Yet in their gaze might often be read
the answer "Something delightful, surely."

And yet Xanthe did not come to the spring to paint pictures of her
future; on the contrary, she came to be sad, and shed tears unrebuked.
She did not weep passionately, but the big salt drops welled slowly from
her eyes and ran down her young cheeks, as drop after drop of shining
sap flows down the trunk of a wounded birch-tree.

Yes, Xanthe felt very sorrowful, yet everything that surrounded her was
so bright, and at her home laughter was rarely silent, while her
own often rang out no less merrily than that of lively Chloris and
dark-skinned Dorippe.

Her sick father, now slowly recovering, could refuse her nothing, and,
if Semestre tried to do so, Xanthe usually succeeded in having her own
way. There was no lack of festivals and joyous dances, and to none of
her companions did the youths present more beautiful ribbons, to no one
in the circle did they prefer to offer their hands. She was the fairest
of all the maidens far and near, and Ismene, Phryxus's wife, had said
that her laughter was gay enough to make a cripple dance. Ismene had a
daughter herself just Xanthe's age, so it must probably have been true.

Then why, in the name of all the gods, was Xanthe sad?

Is any cause required to explain it?

Must a maiden have met with misfortune, to make her feel a longing to
weep? Certainly not.

Nay, the gayest rattle-brain is the least likely to escape such a
desire.

When the sky has long shone with unclouded splendor, and the air is
so wonderfully clear that even the most distant mountain-peaks are
distinctly visible, rain is not long delayed; and who can laugh heartily
a long time without finally shedding tears like a mourner?

Whoever endures a severe though not the deepest affliction, whoever
is permitted to reach the topmost summit of joy, and a girl who feels
love-these three Heaven favors with the blessing of tears.

Had Eros's arrow struck Xanthe's young heart