"
"Very well," said the tyrant. "You shall have them."
And so, the next day, Damocles was led into the palace, and all the
servants were bidden to treat him as their master. He sat down at a
table in the banquet hall, and rich foods were placed before him.
Nothing was wanting that could give him pleasure. There were costly
wines, and beautiful flowers, and rare perfumes, and de-light-ful
music. He rested himself among soft cushions, and felt that he was the
happiest man in all the world.
[Illustration: The Sword of Damocles.]
Then he chanced to raise his eyes toward the ceiling. What was it that
was dangling above him, with its point almost touching his head? It
was a sharp sword, and it was hung by only a single horse-hair. What
if the hair should break? There was danger every moment that it would
do so.
The smile faded from the lips of Damocles. His face became ashy pale.
His hands trembled. He wanted no more food; he could drink no more
wine; he took no more delight in the music. He longed to be out of the
palace, and away, he cared not where.
"What is the matter?" said the tyrant.
"That sword! that sword!" cried Damocles. He was so badly frightened
that he dared not move.
"Yes," said Di-o-nys-i-us, "I know there is a sword above your head,
and that it may fall at any moment.
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