Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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Hylas.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
111
Hylas.
[_]
[Hylas was a beautiful Grecian youth who accompanied Hercules in the Argonautic expedition. While stooping down to fill his pitcher, at a river of Bithynia, he was dragged in by the Nymphs, and heard of no more among men.]
I sing of the dancing feet,
I sing of the white arms wreathing,
I sing of the song so sweet
That the River Nymphs were breathing,
When Hylas bounded down,
Through the sunbeams on the mountain,
And stooped to twine a crown
Of the rush-flowers by the fountain.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill,
And the Satyr laughed his fill,
And the yellow flowers, and the wandering breeze,
Laughed from the purple hill.
“Beware!” cried the Dryads from the boughs,
Whose leaves were never still.
I sing of the white arms wreathing,
I sing of the song so sweet
That the River Nymphs were breathing,
When Hylas bounded down,
Through the sunbeams on the mountain,
And stooped to twine a crown
Of the rush-flowers by the fountain.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill,
And the Satyr laughed his fill,
And the yellow flowers, and the wandering breeze,
Laughed from the purple hill.
“Beware!” cried the Dryads from the boughs,
Whose leaves were never still.
He plucked a murmuring reed,
And fashioned a flute like Pan's,
Laughed to find music in a weed,
And clapped his snow-white hands.
He aped the coo of the dove,
That broods in the greenwood dark,
And he mimicked the joy and love
Of Phœbus' bird—the lark.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
And fashioned a flute like Pan's,
Laughed to find music in a weed,
And clapped his snow-white hands.
He aped the coo of the dove,
That broods in the greenwood dark,
And he mimicked the joy and love
Of Phœbus' bird—the lark.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
He piped like a quail in the corn,
When it hears the reapers' rout;
He aped the mirth from the harvest borne,
And mimicked the reapers' shout;
He screamed as the seamews scream
O'er the drowned men on the shore,
Then piped a hymn to the stars that gleam
O'er the billows that leap and roar.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
When it hears the reapers' rout;
He aped the mirth from the harvest borne,
And mimicked the reapers' shout;
He screamed as the seamews scream
O'er the drowned men on the shore,
Then piped a hymn to the stars that gleam
O'er the billows that leap and roar.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
The nook was so dusk and dim,
That the nightingale sang all day,
And the breeze it whispered its every whim
To the shadows asleep that lay;
And the cypress waved on high,
Shutting out the prying sun,
And the stars of the midnight sky
Were barred out every one.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
That the nightingale sang all day,
And the breeze it whispered its every whim
To the shadows asleep that lay;
And the cypress waved on high,
Shutting out the prying sun,
And the stars of the midnight sky
Were barred out every one.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
And the bird on the sunset bough
Hushed when it heard his flute,
And the very breeze from the mountain brow
Grew gradually mute.
But the river would not cease
Its low soft undertone,
But still to itself went whispering peace,
As it flowed o'er rock and stone.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
Hushed when it heard his flute,
And the very breeze from the mountain brow
Grew gradually mute.
But the river would not cease
Its low soft undertone,
But still to itself went whispering peace,
As it flowed o'er rock and stone.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
“Who was it spoke my name?
Dove in the wood, 't was thou,
There, for I heard.—It came
From the bird on the poplar bough.”
“O Hylas, shun the river,
For the Nymphs are hiding there,
Yon where the trailing willows shiver
In the sunset's golden air.”
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
Dove in the wood, 't was thou,
There, for I heard.—It came
From the bird on the poplar bough.”
“O Hylas, shun the river,
For the Nymphs are hiding there,
Yon where the trailing willows shiver
In the sunset's golden air.”
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
“Birds for the fowler fear
But nothing scares the brave;
Zeus to the good is near,
On land and in the wave,”
Too late to Zeus he cries,
For the Nymphs have borne him off,
And the only sound that fills the skies
Is the shouting Satyr's scoff.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
But nothing scares the brave;
Zeus to the good is near,
On land and in the wave,”
Too late to Zeus he cries,
For the Nymphs have borne him off,
And the only sound that fills the skies
Is the shouting Satyr's scoff.
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the rill, &c.
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