The Collected Works of William Morris :: :: University of Virginia Library

Then went Bellerophon, and laboured sore
To give the Lycian folk good heart once more,
Till day passed into night, and in fair dream
And hopeful waking, happy love did gleam,
E'en like the young sun, on the hero's head.

190

But when the next bright day was well-nigh dead,
Within the brazen porch Bellerophon
Stood thinking o'er all things that had been done.
Alone he was, and yearning for his love,
And longing for some deed the truth to prove
Of what seemed dreamlike now, midst all the stir
Of men and clash of arms; and wearier
He felt than need was, as the evening breeze
Raised up his hair. But while sweet images
His heart made now of what he once had seen,
There in the dusk, across the garden green,
A white thing fluttered; nor was steadier
His heart within him, as he thought of her,
And that perchance she came; and soon anigh
A woman drew, but stopping presently
Over against him, he could see her now
To be a handmaid, and with knitted brow,
Was going thence, but through the dusk she cried:
“O fair my lord Bellerophon, abide
And hearken—here my lady sendeth me,
And saith these words withal:

“‘Philonoë,
Born of the Lycian King, doth give thee this
Fair blade, and prayeth for thee health and bliss;
Saying, moreover: as for this same sword,
Draw it not forth before base man or lord,
But be alone when first it leaves the sheath;
Yet since upon it lieth life and death,
Surely thou wilt not long delay to see
The face of that bright friend I give to thee.’”