Minstrels many shall praise thy name With lyre full-strung and with voices lyreless, When Mid-Moon riseth, an orbèd flame, And from dusk to dawning the dance is tireless; And Carnos cometh to Sparta's call, And Athens shineth in festival; For thy death is a song, and a fullness of fame, Till the heart of the singer is left desireless. LEADER. Would I could reach thee, oh, Reach thee and save, my daughter, Starward from gulfs of Hell, Past gates, past tears that swell, Where the weak oar climbs thro' The night and the water! SECOND ELDER. Belovèd and lonely one, Who feared not dying: Gone in another's stead Alone to the hungry dead: Light be the carven stone Above thee lying! THIRD ELDER. Oh, he who should seek again A new bride after thee, Were loathed of thy children twain, And loathed of me. LEADER. Word to his mother sped, Praying to her who bore him; Word to his father, old, Heavy with years and cold; "Quick, ere your son be dead! What dare ye for him?" SECOND ELDER. Old, and they dared not; grey, And they helped him never! 'Twas she, in her youth and pride, Rose up for her lord and died. Oh, love of two hearts that stay One-knit for ever.... THIRD ELDER. 'Tis rare in the world! God send Such bride in my house to be; She should live life to the end, Not fail through me. [_As the song ceases there enters a stranger, walking strongly, but travel-stained, dusty, and tired. His lion-skin and club show him to be_ HERACLES.] HERACLES. Ho, countrymen! To Pherae am I come By now? And is Admetus in his home? LEADER. Our King is in his house, Lord Heracles.-- But say, what need brings thee in days like these To Thessaly and Pherae's wallèd ring? HERACLES. A quest I follow for the Argive King. LEADER. What prize doth call thee, and to what far place? HERACLES. The horses of one Diomede, in Thrace. LEADER. But how...? Thou know'st not? Is he strange to thee? HERACLES. Quite strange. I ne'er set foot in Bistony. LEADER. Not without battle shalt thou win those steeds. HERACLES. So be it! I cannot fail my master's needs. LEADER. 'Tis slay or die, win or return no more. HERACLES. Well, I have looked on peril's face before. LEADER. What profit hast thou in such manslaying? HERACLES. I shall bring back the horses to my King. LEADER. 'Twere none such easy work to bridle them. HERACLES. Not easy? Have they nostrils breathing flame? LEADER. They tear men's flesh; their jaws are swift with blood. HERACLES. Men's flesh! 'Tis mountain wolves', not horses' food! LEADER. Thou wilt see their mangers clogged with blood, like mire. HERACLES. And he who feeds such beasts, who was his sire? LEADER. Ares, the war-lord of the Golden Targe.