在一个长期以黄金闻名的地方，女人稀少，铁匠特勒斯娶了一位美丽得惊人的少女为妻。特勒斯，那个身披铁甲、毛发浓密、双手沉重的强壮工人，看见了她，爱上了她，把她带离了南方的部落;认为她配得上他的家，配得上他的孩子的母亲，好让泰勒斯这个铁匠大师的名字，在他健壮的儿子们身上流传下去。那时国中没有律法、恶事甚多、凡在家中欢乐的、都保护妻子的名声。因为总有一些巧舌如簧、巧舌如簧的人可以诱骗，他们会骗走女人的心，用微笑诅咒她的灵魂。有些女人对别人的目光或轻声细语都不屑一顾，偶尔有人被杀，国王的怒火就会被激起;他向四面八方宣告他的忿怒，他所定的律法就是:“凡杀人的，必被杀。”铁匠特勒斯信任他的妻子;他心中充满了恐惧。他们的壁炉在高高的山上闪烁着光芒，那是爱和欢乐的灯塔。 High on the hill they builded their bower, where the broom and the bracken meet; Under a grave of oaks it was, hushed and drowsily sweet. Here he enshrined her, his dearest saint, his idol, the light of his eye; Her kisses rested upon his lips as brushes a butterfly. The weight of her arms around his neck was light as the thistle down; And sweetly she studied to win his smile, and gently she mocked his frown. And when at the close of the dusty day his clangorous toil was done, She hastened to meet him down the way all lit by the amber sun. Their dove-cot gleamed in the golden light, a temple of stainless love; Like the hanging cup of a big blue flower was the topaz sky above. The roses and lilies yearned to her, as swift through their throng she pressed; A little white, fragile, fluttering thing that lay like a child on his breast. Then the heart of Tellus, the smith, was proud, and sang for the joy of life, And there in the bronzing summertide he thanked the gods for his wife. Now there was one called Philo, a scribe, a man of exquisite grace, Carved like the god Apollo in limb, fair as Adonis in face; Eager and winning in manner, full of such radiant charm, Womenkind fought for his favor and loved to their uttermost harm. Such was his craft and his knowledge, such was his skill at the game, Never was woman could flout him, so be he plotted her shame. And so he drank deep of pleasure, and then it fell on a day He gazed on the wife of Tellus and marked her out for his prey. Tellus, the smith, was merry, and the time of the year it was June, So he said to his stalwart helpers: "Shut down the forge at noon. Go ye and joy in the sunshine, rest in the coolth of the grove, Drift on the dreamy river, every man with his love." Then to himself: "Oh, Beloved, sweet will be your surprise; To-day will we sport like children, laugh in each other's eyes; Weave gay garlands of poppies, crown each other with flowers, Pull plump carp from the lilies, rifle the ferny bowers. To-day with feasting and gladness the wine of Cyprus will flow; To-day is the day we were wedded only a twelvemonth ago." The larks trilled high in the heavens; his heart was lyric with joy; He plucked a posy of lilies; he sped like a love-sick boy. He stole up the velvety pathway--his cottage was sunsteeped and still; Vines honeysuckled the window; softly he peeped o'er the sill. The lilies dropped from his fingers; devils were choking his breath; Rigid with horror, he stiffened; ghastly his face was as death. Like a nun whose faith in the Virgin is met with a prurient jibe, He shrank--'twas the wife of his bosom in the arms of Philo, the scribe. Tellus went back to his smithy; he reeled like a drunken man; His heart was riven with anguish; his brain was brooding a plan. Straight to his anvil he hurried; started his furnace aglow; Heated his iron and shaped it with savage and masterful blow. Sparks showered over and round him; swiftly under his hand There at last it was finished--a hideous and infamous Brand. That night the wife of his bosom, the light of joy in her eyes, Kissed him with words of rapture; but he knew that her words were lies. Never was she so beguiling, never so merry of speech (For passion ripens a woman as the sunshine ripens a peach). He clenched his teeth into silence; he yielded up to her lure, Though he knew that her breasts were heaving from the fire of her paramour. "To-morrow," he said, "to-morrow"--he wove her hair in a strand, Twisted it round his fingers and smiled as he thought of the Brand. The morrow was come, and Tellus swiftly stole up the hill. Butterflies drowsed in the noon-h