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| STORM-WEARIED Argo slept upon the water. | |
| No cloud was seen; on blue and craggy Ida | |
| The hot noon lay, and on the plain’s enamel; | |
| Cool, in his bed, alone, the swift Scamander. | |
| “Why should I haste?” said young and rosy Hylas: | 5 |
| “The seas were rough, and long the way from Colchis. | |
| Beneath the snow-white awning slumbers Jason, | |
| Pillowed upon his tame Thessalian panther; | |
| The shields are piled, the listless oars suspended | |
| On the black thwarts, and all the hairy bondsmen | 10 |
| Doze on the benches. They may wait for water, | |
| Till I have bathed in mountain-born Scamander.” | |
| |
| So said, unfilleting his purple chlamys, | |
| And putting down his urn, he stood a moment, | |
| Breathing the faint, warm odor of the blossoms | 15 |
| That spangled thick the lovely Dardan meadows. | |
| Then, stooping lightly, loosened he his buskins, | |
| And felt with shrinking feet the crispy verdure, | |
| Naked, save one light robe that from his shoulder | |
| Hung to his knee, the youthful flush revealing | 20 |
| Of warm, white limbs, half nerved with coming manhood, | |
| Yet fair and smooth with tenderness of beauty. | |
| Now to the river’s sandy marge advancing, | |
| He dropped the robe, and raised his head exulting | |
| In the clear sunshine, that with beam embracing | 25 |
| Held him against Apollo’s glowing bosom; | |
| For sacred to Latona’s son is Beauty, | |
| Sacred is Youth, the joy of youthful feeling, | |
| A joy indeed, a living joy, was Hylas, | |
| Whence Jove-begotten Hêraclês, the mighty, | 30 |
| To men though terrible, to him was gentle, | |
| Smoothing his rugged nature into laughter | |
| When the boy stole his club, or from his shoulders | |
| Dragged the huge paws of the Nemæan lion. | |
| |
| The thick, brown locks, tossed backward from his forehead, | 35 |
| Fell soft about his temples; manhood’s blossom | |
| Not yet had sprouted on his chin, but freshly | |
| Curved the fair check, and full the red lips’ parting, | |
| Like a loose bow, that just has launched its arrow. | |
| His large blue eyes, with joy dilate and beamy, | 40 |
| Were clear as the unshadowed Grecian heaven; | |
| Dewy and sleek his dimpled shoulders rounded | |
| To the white arms and whiter breast between them. | |
| Downward, the supple lines had less of softness: | |
| His back was like a god’s; his loins were moulded | 45 |
| As if some pulse of power began to waken: | |
| The springy fulness of his thighs, outswerving, | |
| Sloped to his knee, and, lightly dropping downward, | |
| Drew the curved lines that breathe, in rest, of motion. | |
| |
| He saw his glorious limbs reversely mirrored | 50 |
| In the still wave, and stretched his foot to press it | |
| On the smooth sole that answered at the surface: | |
| Alas! the shape dissolved in glimmering fragments. | |
| Then, timidly at first, he dipped, and catching | |
| Quick breath, with tingling shudder, as the waters | 55 |
| Swirled round his thighs, and deeper, slowly deeper, | |
| Till on his breast the River’s cheek was pillowed, | |
| And deeper still, till every shoreward ripple | |
| Talked in his ear, and like a cygnet’s bosom | |
| His white, round shoulder shed the dripping crystal. | 60 |
| There, as he floated, with a rapturous motion, | |
| The lucid coolness folding close around him, | |
| The lily-cradling ripples murmured, “Hylas!” | |
| He shook from off his ears the hyacinthine | |
| Curls that had lain unwet upon the water, | 65 |
| And still the ripples murmured, “Hylas! Hylas!” | |
| He thought: “The voices are but ear-born music. | |
| Pan dwells not here, and Echo still is calling | |
| From some high cliff that tops a Thracian valley: | |
| So long mine ears, on tumbling Hellespontus, | 70 |
| Have heard the sea-waves hammer Argo’s forehead, | |
| That I misdeem the fluting of this current | |
| For some lost nymph—” Again the murmur, “Hylas!” | |
| And with the sound a cold, smooth arm around him | |
| Slid like a wave, and down the clear, green darkness | 75 |
| Glimmered on either side a shining bosom,— | |
| Glimmered, uprising slow; and ever closer | |
| Wound the cold arms, till, climbing to his shoulders, | |
| Their cheeks lay nestled, while the purple tangles | |
| Their loose hair made, in silken mesh enwound him. | 80 |
| Their eyes of clear, pale emerald then uplifting, | |
| They kissed his neck with lips of humid coral, | |
| And once again there came a murmur, “Hylas!” | |
| O, come with us! O, follow where we wander | |
| Deep down beneath the green, translucent ceiling,— | 85 |
| Where on the sandy bed of old Scamander | |
| With cool, white buds we braid our purple tresses, | |
| Lulled by the bubbling waves around us stealing! | |
| Thou fair Greek boy, O, come with us! O, follow | |
| Where thou no more shalt hear Propontis riot, | 90 |
| But by our arms be lapped in endless quiet, | |
| Within the glimmering caves of Ocean hollow! | |
| We have no love; alone, of all the Immortals, | |
| We have no love. O, love us, we who press thee | |
| With faithful arms, though cold,—whose lips caress thee,— | 95 |
| Who hold thy beauty prisoned! Love us, Hylas!” | |
| |
| The boy grew chill to feel their twining pressure | |
| Lock round his limbs, and bear him, vainly striving, | |
| Down from the noonday brightness. “Leave me, Naiads! | |
| Leave me!” he cried; “the day to me is dearer | 100 |
| Than all your caves deep-sphered in Ocean’s quiet. | |
| I am but mortal, seek but mortal pleasure: | |
| I would not change this flexile, warm existence, | |
| Though swept by storms, and shocked by Jove’s dread thunder, | |
| To be a king beneath the dark-green waters.” | 105 |
| Still moaned the humid lips, between their kisses, | |
| “We have no love. O, love us, we who love thee!” | |
| |
| And came in answer, thus, the words of Hylas: | |
| “My love is mortal. For the Argive maidens | |
| I keep the kisses which your lips would ravish. | 110 |
| Unlock your cold white arms, take from my shoulder | |
| The tangled swell of your bewildering tresses. | |
| Let me return: the wind comes down from Ida, | |
| And soon the galley, stirring from her slumber, | |
| Will fret to ride where Pelion’s twilight shadow | 115 |
| Falls o’er the towers of Jason’s sea-girt city. | |
| I am not yours,—I cannot braid the lilies | |
| In your wet hair, nor on your argent bosoms | |
| Close my drowsed eyes to hear your rippling voices. | |
| Hateful to me your sweet, cold, crystal being,— | 120 |
| Your world of watery quiet. Help, Apollo! | |
| For I am thine: thy fire, thy beam, thy music, | |
| Dance in my heart and flood my sense with rapture: | |
| The joy, the warmth and passion now awaken, | |
| Promised by thee, but erewhile calmly sleeping. | 125 |
| O, leave me, Naiads! loose your chill embraces, | |
| Or I shall die, for mortal maidens pining.” | |
| But still, with unrelenting arms they bound him, | |
| And still, accordant, flowed their watery voices: | |
| “We have thee now,—we hold thy beauty prisoned; | 130 |
| O, come with us beneath the emerald waters! | |
| We have no love; we love thee, rosy Hylas. | |
| O, love us, who shall nevermore release thee: | |
| Love us, whose milky arms will be thy cradle | |
| Far down on the untroubled sands of ocean, | 135 |
| Where now we bear thee, clasped in our embraces.” | |
| And slowly, slowly sank the amorous Naiads; | |
| The boy’s blue eyes, upturned, looked through the water, | |
| Pleading for help; but Heaven’s immortal Archer | |
| Was swathed in cloud. The ripples hid his forehead, | 140 |
| And last, the thick, bright curls a moment floated, | |
| So warm and silky that the stream upbore them, | |
| Closing reluctant, as he sank forever. | |
| |
| The sunset died behind the crags of Imbros. | |
| Argo was tugging at her chain; for freshly | 145 |
| Blew the swift breeze, and leaped the restless billows. | |
| The voice of Jason roused the dozing sailors, | |
| And up the mast was heaved the snowy canvas. | |
| But mighty Hêraclês, the Jove-begotten, | |
| Unmindful stood, beside the cool Scamander, | 150 |
| Leaning upon his club. A purple chlamys | |
| Tossed o’er an urn was all that lay before him: | |
| And when he called, expectant, “Hylas! Hylas!” | |
| The empty echoes made him answer,—“Hylas!” | |
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