ship and no companions to speed me over the great gulf of the sea?"

Then the voice answered:

"Fear not! the gods can bring to pass even greater things than these. Go
from my house, and lie down to sleep in my holy ground, within the noise
of the wash of the waves. There sleep, and take thy rest! Thy strength
shall come back to thee, and before the setting of the new sun thou
shalt be sailing on the path to The World's Desire. But first drink from
the chalice on my altar. Fare thee well!"

The voice died into silence, like the dying of music. The Wanderer awoke
and lifted his head, but the light had faded, and the temple was grey in
the first waking of the dawn. Yet there, on the altar where no cup had
been, stood a deep chalice of gold, full of red wine to the brim. This
the Wanderer lifted and drained--a draught of Nepenthe, the magic cup
that puts trouble out of mind. As he drank, a wave of sweet hope went
over his heart, and buried far below it the sorrow of remembrance, and
the trouble of the past, and the longing desire for loves that were no
more.

With a light step he went forth like a younger man, taking the two
spears in his hand, and the bow upon his back, and he lay down beneath a
great rock that looked toward the deep, and there he slept.



III

THE SLAYING OF THE SIDONIANS