In the shells the nymphs saw glistening pearls, and they understood not. . . . But all their urns they poured out upon Psyche’s eyes.
“My eyes are getting cool, O beloved nymphs; many tears 1 shall never shed again; never again shall I weep a brook full. . . . But cool my soul, extinguish deep within me the burning flames!”
“We cannot, Psyche. . . .”
“No, no, you cannot, O nymphs! Let me lie still, then, still in your arms. Let me rock quietly to and fro on your white-foaming water, then let me sleep quietly. . . . But in my sleep my soul keeps burning; in my dreams I see it flame up, high up as out of a hole in hell. . . . Oh!”
She uttered a cry, as of pain. . . . The nymphs rocked her in their entwined arms, as in a cradle of lilies, and softly sang a song. . .
“Nymphs, nymphs . . . .! This is the fire that nothing can extinguish no, never. . . . This is remorse. . . .”
The nymphs understood her not; they rocked her and sang in a low, soft voice.
