an, the golden asp, the ivory hand of equity, and among
them the votive ship itself, carved and gilt, and adorned bravely with
flags flying. Last of all walked the high priest; the people kneeling
as he passed to kiss his hand, in which were those well-remembered
roses.

Marius followed with the rest to the harbour, where the mystic ship,
lowered from the shoulders of the priests, was loaded with as much as
it could carry of the rich spices and other costly gifts, offered in
great profusion by the worshippers, and thus, launched at last upon the
water, left the shore, crossing the harbour-bar in the wake of a much
stouter vessel than itself with a crew of white-robed mariners, whose
[108] function it was, at the appointed moment, finally to desert it on
the open sea.

The remainder of the day was spent by most in parties on the water.
Flavian and Marius sailed further than they had ever done before to a
wild spot on the bay, the traditional site of a little Greek colony,
which, having had its eager, stirring life at the time when Etruria was
still a power in Italy, had perished in the age of the civil wars. In
the absolute transparency of the air on this gracious day, an
infinitude of detail from sea and shore reached the eye with sparkling
clearness, as the two lads sped rapidly over the waves--Flavian at work
suddenly, from time to time, with his tablets. They reached land at
last. The coral fishers had spread their nets on the sands, with a
tumble-down of quaint, many-hued treasures, below a little shrine of
Venus, fluttering and gay with the scarves and napkins and gilded
shells which these people had offered to the image. Flavian and Marius
sat down under the shadow of a mass of gray rock or ruin, where the
sea-gate of the Greek town had been, and talked of life in those old
Greek colonies. Of this place, all that remained, besides those rude
stones, was--a handful of silver coins, each with a head of pure and
archaic beauty, though a little cruel perhaps, supposed to represent
the Siren Ligeia, whose tomb was formerly shown here--only these, and
an ancient song, the very strain which Flavian [109] had recovered in
those last months. They were records which spoke, certainly, of the
charm of life within those walls. How strong must have been the tide
of men's existence in that little republican town, so small that this
circle of gray stones, of service now only by the moisture they
gathered for the blue-fl