University of Virginia Library

Meanwhile, along the high cliffs Argo ran
Until a fresh land-wind began to rise,
Then did they set sail, and in goodly wise
Draw off from Lemnos, and at close of day
Again before them a new country lay,
Which when they neared, the helmsman Tiphys knew
To be the Mysian land; being come thereto,
They saw a grassy shore and trees enow,
And a sweet stream that from the land did flow:
Therefore they thought it good to land thereon
And get them water; but the day being gone,
They waited for the dawn anigh the beach,
Till the sea's rim the golden sun did reach.
But when the day dawned, most men left the ship,
Some hasting the glazed water-jars to dip
In the fresh water; others among these
Who had good will beneath the murmuring trees
To sit awhile, forgetful of the sea.
And with the sea-farers there landed three
Amongst the best; Alcmena's godlike son,
Hylas the fair, and that half-halting one,
Great Polyphemus. Now both Hercules
And all the others lay beneath the trees,
When all the jars were filled, nor wandered far;
But Hylas, governed by some wayward star,
Strayed from them, and up stream he set his face,
And came unto a tangled woody place,
From whence the stream welled, and within that wood
Along its bank wandered in heedless mood,
Nor knew it haunted of the sea-nymphs fair;
Whom on that morn the heroes' noise did scare
From their abiding-place anigh the bay;
But these now hidden in the water lay
Within the wood, and thence could they behold
The fair-limbed Hylas, with his hair of gold,
And mighty arms down-swinging carelessly,
And fresh face, ruddy from the wind-swept sea;
Then straight they loved him, and being fain to have
His shapely body in the glassy wave,
And taking counsel there, they thought it good
That one should meet him in the darksome wood,
And by her wiles should draw him to some place
Where they his helpless body might embrace.

So from the water stole a fair nymph forth,
And by her art so wrought, that from the north
You would have thought her come, from where a queen
Rules over lands summer alone sees green;
For she in goodly raiment, furred, was clad,
And on her head a golden fillet had,
Strange of its fashion, and about her shone
Many a fair jewel and outlandish stone.

There in the wood, anigh the river side,
The coming of the Theban did she bide,
Nor waited long, for slowly pushing through
The close-set saplings, o'er the flowers blue
He drew nigh, singing, free from any care;
But when he saw her glittering raiment fair
Betwixt the green tree-trunks, he stayed a space,
For she, with fair hands covering up her face,
Was wailing loud, as though she saw him not,
And to his mind came old tales half forgot,
Of women of the woods, the huntsman's bane.

Yet with his fate indeed he strove in vain;
For going further forward warily,
From tree-trunk unto tree-trunk, he could see
Her ivory hands, with wrist set close to wrist,
Her cheek as fair as any God has kissed,
Her lovely neck and wealth of golden hair,
That from its fillet straggled here and there,
And all her body writhing in distress,
Wrapped in the bright folds of her golden dress.

Then forthwith he drew near her eagerly,
Nor did she seem to know that he was nigh,
Until almost his hand on her was laid;
Then, lifting up a pale wild face, she said,
Struggling with sobs and shrinking from his hand:
“O fair young warrior of a happy land,
Harm not a queen, I pray thee, for I come
From the far northland, where yet sits at home
The king, my father, who, since I was wooed
By a rich lord of Greece, had thought it good
To send me to him with a royal train,
But they, their hearts being changed by hope of gain,
Seized on my goods, and left me while I slept;
Nor do I know, indeed, what kind God kept
Their traitorous hands from slaying me outright;
And surely yet, the lion-haunted night
Shall make an end of me, who erewhile thought
That unto lovelier lands my soul was brought,
To live a happier life than heretofore.

“But why think I of past times any more,
Who, a king's daughter once, am now grown fain
Of poorest living, through all toil and pain,
If so I may but live: and thou, indeed,
Perchance art come, some God, unto my need;
For nothing less thou seemest, verily.
But if thou art a man, let me not die,
But take me as thy slave, that I may live.
For many a gem my raiment has to give,
And these weak fingers surely yet may learn
To turn the mill, and carry forth the urn
Unto the stream, nor shall my feet unshod
Shrink from the flinty road and thistly sod.”