He touched the strings of his lyre, and all things were silent
with joy. He made music, and the woods dreamed. The fauns and satyrs
were quite still; and the wild creatures crouched, blinking, under a
charm of light that they could not understand. To hear such a music
cease was like bidding farewell to father and mother.
With one accord they fell at the feet of Apollo, and Tmolus proclaimed
the victory his. Only one voice disputed that award.
Midas refused to acknowledge Apollo lord of music,--perhaps because the
looks of the god dazzled his eyes unpleasantly, and put him in mind of
his foolish wish years before. For him there was no music in a golden
lyre!
But Apollo would not leave such dull ears unpunished. At a word from
him they grew long, pointed, furry, and able to turn this way and that
(like a poplar leaf),--a plain warning to musicians. Midas had the ears
of an ass, for every one to see!
For a long time the poor man hid this oddity with such skill that we
might never have heard of it. But one of his servants learned the
secret, and suffered so much from keeping it to himself that he had to
unburden his mind at last. Out into the meadows he went, hollowed a
little place in the turf, whispered the strange news into it quite
softly, and heaped the earth over again. Alas! a bed of reeds sprang up
there before long, and whispered in turn to the grass-blades. Year
after year they grew again, ever gossipping among themselves; and to
this day, with every wind that sets them nodding together, they murmur,
laughing, "_Midas has the ears of an ass: Oh, hush, hush!_"
PROMETHEUS.
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