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, 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, 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!" The sound that seemed to come from the lilies was the voice of the sea-nymphs, calling to him to go with them where they wander-- "Down beneath the green translucent ceiling-- 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." To all their entreaties Hylas exclaims: "Leave me, naiads! Leave me!" he cried. "The day to me is dearer Than all your caves deep-spread in ocean's quiet. 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. 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 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-- Your world of watery quiet. Help, Apollo!" But the remonstrances and struggles of Hylas unavailing: 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; 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 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 Hercules, the Jove-begotten, Unmindful stood beside the cool Scamander, 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!" THE TROJAN WAR.