Black victims, and particularly the bull, were the only sacrifices which
were offered to him, and their blood was not sprinkled on the altars, but
permitted to run down into the earth to penetrate the realms of the God.
The Syracusans paid yearly homage to him near the fountain of Cyane, into
which one of the attendant maidens of Proserpine had been metamorphosed,
and where he had, according to the received traditions, disappeared with
the goddess.
--------"On the ground,
She sinks without a single sound,
And all her garments float around;
Again, again she rises light,
Her head is like a fountain bright,
And her glossy ringlets fall
With a murmur musical,
O'er her shoulders, like a river
That rushes and escapes for ever.
Is the fair Cyane gone?
Is this fountain left alone
For a sad remembrance, where
We may in after times repair,
With heavy heart and weeping eye,
To sing songs to her memory?"