Nor when the hen’s shrill brood becomes aware
      Of bed-time, as the mother’s flapping wings
    Shadow the dust-browned beam.  ’Twas all his care
      To shape unto his own imaginings
    And to the harness train his favourite youth,
    Till he became a man in very truth.

    Meanwhile, when kingly Jason steered in quest
      Of the Gold Fleece, and chieftains at his side
    Chosen from all cities, proffering each her best,
      To rich Iolchos came that warrior tried,
    And joined him unto trim-built Argo’s crew;
    And with Alcmena’s son came Hylas too.

    Through the great gulf shot Argo like a bird—­
      And by-and-bye reached Phasis, ne’er o’erta’en
    By those in-rushing rocks, that have not stirred
      Since then, but bask, twin monsters, on the main. 
    But now, when waned the spring, and lambs were fed
    In far-off fields, and Pleiads gleamed overhead,

    That cream and flower of knighthood looked to sail. 
      They came, within broad Argo safely stowed,
    (When for three days had blown the southern gale)
      To Hellespont, and in Propontis rode
    At anchor, where Cianian oxen now
    Broaden the furrows with the busy plough.

    They leapt ashore, and, keeping rank, prepared
      Their evening meal:  a grassy meadow spread
    Before their eyes, and many a warrior shared
      (Thanks to its verdurous stores) one lowly bed. 
    And while they cut tall marigolds from their stem
    And sworded bulrush, Hylas slipt from them.

    Water the fair lad wont to seek and bring
      To Heracles and stalwart Telamon,
    (The comrades aye partook each other’s fare,)
      Bearing a brazen pitcher.  And anon,
    Where the ground dipt, a fountain he espied,
    And rushes growing green about its side.

    There rose the sea-blue swallow-wort, and there
      The pale-hued maidenhair, with parsley green
    And vagrant marsh-flowers; and a revel rare
      In the pool’s midst the water-nymphs were seen
    To hold, those maidens of unslumbrous eyes
    Whom the belated peasant sees and flies.

    And fast did Malis and Eunica cling,
      And young Nychea with her April face,
    To the lad’s hand, as stooping o’er the spring
      He dipt his pitcher.  For the young Greek’s grace
    Made their soft senses reel; and down he fell,
    All of a sudden, into that black well.

    So drops a red star suddenly from sky
      To sea—­and quoth some sailor to his mate: 
    “Up with the tackle, boy! the breeze is high.” 
      Him the nymphs pillowed, all disconsolate,
    On their sweet laps, and with soft words beguiled;
    But Heracles was troubled for the child.