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

Then the man waxed pale,
And said: “He liveth, and of small avail
Man's weapons are against him; on the wall
He stood alone, for backward did we fall
Before the fury of the Solymi,
Because we deemed ourselves brought there to die,
And might not bear it: then it was as though
A clear bright light about his head did glow
Amidst the darts and clamour, and he turned

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A face to us that with such glory burned
That those behind us drave us back again,
And cried aloud to die there in the pain
Rather than leave him, and with such a wave
Of desperate war swept up, they scarce could save
Their inmost citadel from us that tide,
Who at the first with mocks had bidden us bide
A little longer in a freeman's land,
Until their slaves had got their whips in hand
To drive us thence.”

Now as he spake, at first
The King, like one who heareth of the worst
And must not heed it, hearkened, but when he
Had heard his servant's tale out, suddenly
The wine he poured, and cried: “Jove, take thou this
In token of the greatness of our bliss,
In earnest of the gifts that thou shalt have,
Who thus our name, our noble friends didst save.”

So spake he, looking downward, and his heart
In what his lips said, had perchance some part,
However, driven on by long-sworn oath,
He dealt in things that sore he needs must loathe:
And he who erst had told him of the thing
Seemed fain to linger, as if yet the King
Had something more to say; but no fresh word
He had for him, but with great man and lord
Made merry, praising wind and wave
That brought Bellerophon their fame to save.