DAPHNE
there was silence on the hillside; now and then there was a fragment of song. One gay, tripping air, started by three women who stood idle with arms akimbo for a moment on the hillside, was caught up and echoed back by invisible singers on the other side of the hill. And once the red-cheeked Italian lads who were carrying loaded baskets down toward the vineyard gates burst into responsive singing that made her think that she had found, on the Roman hills, some remnant of the old Bacchic music, of the alternate strains that marked the festival of the god of wine. It was something like this:—
Carlo.
"Of all the gifts of all the gods
I choose the ruddy wine.
The brimming glass shall be my lot"—
Giovanni (interrupting).
"Carlotta shall be mine!
"Take you the grape, I only ask
The shadow of the vine
To screen Carlotta's golden head"—
67
