Narcissus

Recorded by Hopeworth Swan.

Echo and Narcissus in A Book of Myths by Jean Lange Echo and Narcissus in the solitudes of the hills we find her and yet we may come on her unawares in the din of a noisy city she will answer us where the waves are lashing themselves against the rugged cliffs of our own british coast or we may find her where the great yellow pillars of fallen temples lie hot in the sun close to the vivid blue water of the african sea at nightfall on the lonely northern moors she mimics the cry of a wailing bird that calls for its mate but it is she who prolongs the roll of the great organ in a vast cathedral she who repeats the rattling crack and boom of the guns no matter in what land the war may be raging in the desolate australian bush she makes the crash of the falling limb of a dead gum-tree go on and on and tortures the human being who is lost hopelessly lost and facing a cruel death by repeating his despairing calls for help through the night in old country houses she sports at will and gives life to sad old tales of the restless dead who restlessly walk but she echoes the children's voices as they play by the seashore or pick primroses in the woods in spring, and when they greet her with laughter, she laughs in merry response.

They may fear her when the sun has gone down, and when they are left all alone, they begin to dread her mockery.

Yet the nymph who sought for love and failed to gain what she sought must surely find some comfort on those bright days of summer and of spring when she gives the little children happiness and they give her their love.

henceforth she said the tongue with which thou hast cheated me shall be in bonds no longer wilt thou have the power to speak in greeting to the tongues of others shall thy tongue be slave and from this day until time shall cease thou shalt speak only to repeat the last words that have fallen on thine ears a maimed nymph indeed was echo then yet whole in all that matters most in that her merry heart was still her own but only for a little while did this endure narcissus the beautiful son of a nymph and a river god was hunting in a lonely forest one day when echo saw him pass to her he seemed more fair than god or man and once she had seen him she knew that she must gain his love or die From that day on she haunted him like his shadow, gliding from tree to tree, nestling down amongst thick fern and undergrowth, motionless as one who stalks a wild thing, watching him afar off while he rested, gladdening her eyes with his beauty.

So did she feed her hungering heart and sought to find contentment by looking on his face each day.

To her at length came a perfect moment when Narcissus was separated from his companions in the chase, and stopping suddenly where the evening sun checkered the pathway of the forest with black and gold, heard the nymph's soft footfall on the rustling leaves.

"'Who's here?' he called.

The original Buffalo Bill.

Buffalo Bill is Narcissus.

Yeah.

Boards up.

Let's see what that would look like.

On a scale of 1 to 10, like 10 is Adolf Hitler kind of narcissistic, right? And 1 is like me, okay? So on a scale of 1 to 10, you know, some of you are like 12, okay? You know, the interesting thing is that, you know the word narcissistic comes from, I don't know if you know about this, like it's this old Greek mythology story of a guy who was called Narcissus.

He was said to be a handsome young man.

And the story has it that at some point he goes to a pool of water.

I was enamored of the hero and saw myself drenched in his passion.

Like Narcissus in the fable I loved myself and saw myself in Tristram's form the most beautiful and the most beloved of beings.

Chivalry and romance chained me at that time and not the supernatural.

The fairy adventures of the heroes of my love swept by me untouched.

"Swear even again that you like me more than the fair large wench in London town," she whispered against his ear.

"Even as Jove prized Anais above the queen of heaven, even as Narcissus prized his shadow above all the nymphs, even as Hercules placed Omphle above his strength, or even as David the king of the Jews Bathsheba above," she murmured.

"Oh, oh," and placed her arms around his shoulders.

"How I love thy brave words." "And being chancellor," he swore, "I will come back to thee, O woman of the sweet smiles, honey of Hymetes, Cypriot wine." She moved herself a little from him in the darkness.