“There is but one such spot; from heaven Apollo

Beheld; and chose it for his earthly shrine!”

Aubrey de Vere.

Instead of returning immediately to Athens, following the expulsion of the Persians, Zopyrus and his new-found friend, Cimon, turned their faces northward. Tempted by the beauty of the starry nights and the absence of wayfarers, the two usually journeyed after the golden orb of the sun had disappeared beyond the watery horizon of the Corinthian Gulf. Along this road that skirted the gulf, the hordes of Xerxes had marched.

The contrast between his journey southward and northward filled Zopyrus’ heart with stirring emotions, and in the dewy silence of the nights that followed their departure from Platæa, Zopyrus revealed to Cimon his peculiar identity and laid bare to this sympathetic friend the emotions that had at first stirred and finally swayed his soul from the time that he had left his native Sardis up to the present moment.
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Cimon was a sympathetic and wondering listener. This young man’s experiences were so antipodal to his own that they interested him exceedingly. A week passed in this pleasant exchange of ideas and confidences until toward sundown of the eighth day, the purple crown of Mt. Helicon loomed in the distance and the two knew that in another day their journey would be completed.

“I do not believe that Melpomene sits alone on Mt. Parnassus now,” remarked Zopyrus meditatively, more to himself than to his companion, as the two caught their first glimpse of the lofty dwelling place of the Muses.

“What did you say?” asked Cimon, puzzled.

“Oh,” replied the other with a short laugh to cover his confusion, “I was just giving expression to an extremely fanciful idea that occurred to me when I passed through this gorge on my way to Athens. I imagined that surely in the face of an invading foe, no Muse but the sorrowful Melpomene could occupy yonder height.”

“You were surely mistaken, friend Zopyrus,” said the other with a seriousness that proved how highly he esteemed this young man’s opinions. “Would not Clio, for instance, have been there to record events that will go down in history, and surely you can not imagine that Callio was in hiding when Aeschylus wrote his inspired verse so soon after the victory of Salamis! Aye, and Thalia too, had a vision of the future and knew that ere a year had passed, two friends, one who had helped in his infinitesimal way to swell the ranks of Xerxes, and one who, insignificant as compared with the many heroes of Hellas, would pass together in the bond of a lasting friendship beneath her very abode! I do not believe that any of the Muses or any of the gods ever desert mortals, but we finite beings are incapable of comprehending their plan for us in the process of its unfolding.”
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Zopyrus thought of the monotheistic belief of the Hellenic maiden whose act of supplication he had witnessed on the promontory overlooking the Bay of Salamis, but he said nothing, for he had an inner feeling that the stalwart, aristocratic Greek who walked beside him was as yet unready for a belief in but one ruling Divinity. That he loved the deities of Greece was evident from the rapt gaze which he now turned to the lofty summit of Mt. Parnassus. Was he aware that there were Greeks of the purest blood who were turning from the ancient gods and exalting Zeus apparently out of all due proportion? Strange emotions filled Zopyrus’ heart, for he too marveled at the thought that belief in the gods might no longer sway the destinies of the Greeks.

The two young men perceived that the road turned away from the water-side and zig-zagged across a picturesque ridge. It was now broad daylight and they met occasional pedestrians who were returning from consultations with the oracle of Apollo. What sorrows and ambitions, what joys or what despair were locked in the heart of each one? Very likely these travelers had sought the oracle upon personal matters since their national crisis had so recently passed to their great advantage. Here an old man with slow and feeble steps probably wished to know the time yet allotted to him upon earth; there a mother with anxious care-worn countenance whose boy had not yet returned from Platæa, and beside her a young wife whose husband might have perished on the field of battle.
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Cimon and Zopyrus did not stop to converse with any of the wayfarers for they desired to return to Athens as quickly as possible after their interview with the Pythoness. Presently they found themselves in a rugged and romantic glen, closed on the north by the wall-like cliffs of Mt. Parnassus, on the east by a ridge similar to the one they had just crossed, and on the south by the irregular heights of Mt. Kirphis, and in this glen stood a simple Ionic temple surrounded by many smaller buildings; the treasuries of various cities and islands of Greece. Their outlines were softened by vines and shrubbery in abundance. The tall trees and towering crags of the mount of the Muses allowed the entrance of only such sunlight as filtered through the less leafy trees. The air was cool and laden with the dank odor of growing things.

The two suppliants at the shrine of Apollo, after passing by the treasury of Thebes, approached that of Athens which was a beautiful little Doric temple of Parian marble, containing and partly built from the spoils of the battle of Marathon. Cimon paused to read an inscription engraved on a low parapet that supported armor captured from the Persians in that great battle. His heart swelled with pride at the consciousness that it was his father who had so successfully routed the Persians on the plain of Marathon. He ventured a glance at Zopyrus and was convinced that a loyal Greek stood by his side.
97

The long low edifice just beyond the Treasury of the Athenians was the Bouleuterion above which rose a rough mass of rock, the Rock of the Sibyl. A priest of Apollo at the entrance of the Bouleuterion gave ea............