were there with the rest,—­some mounted on spirited horses richly caparisoned, some driving gay chariots.  Ismenos, the first-born, as he guided his foaming steeds, struck with an arrow from above, cried out, “Ah me!” dropped the reins, and fell lifeless.  Another, hearing the sound of the bow,—­like a boatman who sees the storm gathering and makes all sail for the port,—­gave the reins to his horses and attempted to escape.  The inevitable arrow overtook him as he fled.  Two others, younger boys, just from their tasks, had gone to the playground to have a game of wrestling.  As they stood breast to breast, one arrow pierced them both.  They uttered a cry together, together cast a parting look around them, and together breathed their last.  Alphenor, an elder brother, seeing them fall, hastened to the spot to render assistance, and fell stricken in the act of brotherly duty.  One only was left, Ilioneus.  He raised his arms to heaven to try whether prayer might not avail.  “Spare me, ye gods!” he cried, addressing all, in his ignorance that all needed not his intercessions; and Apollo would have spared him, but the arrow had already left the string, and it was too late.

The terror of the people and grief of the attendants soon made Niobe acquainted with what had taken place.  She could hardly think it possible; she was indignant that the gods had dared and amazed that they had been able to do it.  Her husband, Amphion, overwhelmed with the blow, destroyed himself.  Alas! how different was this Niobe from her who had so lately driven away the people from the sacred rites, and held her stately course through the city, the envy of her friends, now the pity even of her foes!  She knelt over the lifeless bodies, and kissed now one, now another of her dead sons.  Raising her pallid arms to heaven, “Cruel Latona,” said she, “feed full your rage with my anguish!  Satiate your hard heart, while I follow to the grave my seven sons.  Yet where is your triumph?  Bereaved as I am, I am still richer than you, my conqueror.”  Scarce had she spoken, when the bow sounded and struck terror into all hearts except Niobe’s alone.  She was brave from excess of grief.  The sisters stood in garments of mourning over the biers of their dead brothers.  One fell, struck by an arrow, and died on the corpse she was bewailing.  Another, attempting to console her mother, suddenly ceased to speak, and sank lifeless to the earth.  A third tried to escape by flight, a fourth by concealment, another stood trembling, uncertain what course to take.  Six were now dead, and only one remained, whom the mother held clasped in her arms, and covered as it were with her whole body.  “Spare me one, and that the youngest!  O spare me one of so many!” she cried; and while she spoke, that one fell dead.  Desolate she sat, among sons, daughters, husband, all dead, and seemed torpid with grief.  The breeze moved not her hair, no color was on her cheek, her eyes glared fixed and immovable,