pitied the whole Olympian cohort most sincerely, not so much for having
fallen as for having deserved to fall. She could not conceal from herself
how grievously they were one and all behind the age. It was impossible to
make Zeus comprehend how an idea could be a match for a thunderbolt. Apollo
spoke handsomely of Homer, yet evidently esteemed the Iliad and Odyssey
but lightly in comparison with the blind bard's hymn to himself. Ceres
candidly admitted that her mind was a complete blank on the subject of the
Eleusinian mysteries. Aphrodite's dress was admirable for summer, but in
winter seemed obstinate conservatism; and why should Pallas make herself a
fright with her Gorgon helmet, now that it no longer frightened anybody?
Where Elenko would fain have adored she found herself tolerating, excusing,
condescending. How many Elenkos are even now tenderly nursing ancient
creeds, whose main virtue is the virtue of their professors!

One autumn night all the principal gods were assembled under Prometheus's
roof, doing justice to the figs and mulberries, and wine cooled with
Taygetan snow. The guests were more than usually despondent. Prometheus was
moody and abstracted, his breast seemed labouring with thought. "So looked
my Pythoness," whispered Apollo to his neighbour, "when about to deliver an
oracle."

And the oracle came--in lyric verse, not to infringe any patent of
Apollo's--

When o'er the towers of Constantine
An Orient Moon begins to shine,
Waning nor waxing aught, and bright
In daytide as in deep of night:
Then, though the fane be brought
To wreck, the God shall find,