Classic Poem

" This warning, Gallus, for thy love I send,
Nor let it from thy heart unheeded fall.
Thou hast a Hylas too, thy fairest friend,
Whom many a wanton nymph would fain enthral
By Anio's stream, or in the forests tall,
Or at the Giant's Causeway cast her spell,
Or on some wandering river. Shun them all,
Remembering what the Minyae befell,
And listen to the tale which now to thee I tell.

From Pagasae — so runs the story old —
The Argo sailed to Phasis' distant land,
And passing by the waves that Helli hold
With gliding keel drew near the Mysian strand,
Where on the quiet shore the hero band,
The voyage done, their limbs did gently lay,
Making them beds of leaves upon the sand.
There Hylas left his knight — ah woe the day! —
And sought the secret streams of fountains far away.

Scarce had he started when the winged twain,
Whom Orithyia by the North Wind bred,
Pursued in haste, his kisses to obtain.
Zetes and Caläis above his head
With downstretched hands in flight alternate sped
To snatch their booty from his cheeks of rose,
While he beneath their wings for refuge fled
And waved a branch to scare his treacherous foes,
And so at last escapes and to the wood-nymphs goes.

Beneath Arganthus' crest there lies a spring,
Wherein to bathe the Thynian nymphs delight.
Above uncared-for dewy apples swing,
And water meadows all around are bright
With scarlet poppies and with lilies white.
Childlike he cared not why he had been sent;
But now would pluck such flowers as pleased his sight
And now in wonder o'er the fountain bent
Enraptured by his beauty's imaged blandishment.

At last, the task remembered, on his arm
He leaned, and in his hands the water took.
At once his beauty did the Naiads charm
Who 'neath the wave their wonted dance forsook,
And, as the lad bent forward, rose to look,
And drew him through the water. Loud he cried
For help. Alcides at his voice awoke,
And from afar with " Hylas" loud replied;
But only Echo answered from the fountain side.

Long did the hero seek him on the shore,
Vexing his weary feet against the stone
Of cruel mountains: long the pain he bore,
While every lake he searched and hillside lone,
And to untamed Ascanius made his moan,
Ah that his fate may make thee, Gallus, wise!
Guard well thy Hylas now he is thine own;
Nor trust our nymphs with so desired a prize.
For Fortune often mocks the careless lover's eyes. "