For glorious death, and would have straight gone forth To seek it; but in tenderness for me,— 40 Whom without shame he honours, and in this My love repays,—he to my tears consented To hide him from his fate; and here he dwells Disguised among the maidens like a maiden;— For so his beauty and youth permit,—to serve The daughter of the king of this fair isle, Who calls him Pyrrha for his golden hair, And knowing not prefers him o’er the rest. But I with frequent visitings assure me That he obeys; and,—for I have the power 50 To change my semblance,—I will sometimes run In likeness of a young and timorous fawn Before the maiden train, that give me chase Far in the woods, till he outstrip them all; Then turn I quick at bay with loved surprise, And bid him hail: or like a snake I glide Under the flowers, where they sit at play, And showing suddenly my gleaming eyes, All fly but he, and we may speak alone. Thus oft my love will lead me, but to-day 60 More special need hath brought: for on the seas I met at dawn a royal ship of Greece Slow stemming toward this isle. What that might bode, And who might sail thereon, I guessed; and taking A dolphin’s shape, that thro’ the heavy waters Tumbles in sport, around the labouring prow I gambolled, till her idle crew stood by To watch me from the wooden battlements. And surely among them there full soon I saw, Even as I feared, the man I feared, agaze 70 With hypocrite eyes, the prince of Ithaca, That searcheth for Achilles: of all the Greeks Whom most I dread, for his own endless wiles, And for Athena’s aid. Him when I saw, Lest I should be too late, I hither sped To warn my son, and here shall meet him soon,— Tho’ yet he hath not come,—for on these lawns The damsels of the court are wont to play, And he with them. Hark! see! even now. Nay, nay. Alas! who cometh thus? Ah, by that gait 80 Crouching along, it is my persecutor, Ulysses. Woe is me! I must fly hence. Tho’ he should know me not, I fear to face him, My hated foe, alert, invincible Of will, full of self-love and mortal guile. [_Exit._ _Enter Ulysses from the bushes, followed by Diomede, who wears a Lion’s skin._ _DIOMEDE._ We have made the circuit of the hill, and here Into the gardens are come round again. What now? _ULYSSES._ Hush thou! Look there! Some one hath seen us. He flies. _Dio._ I see not. _Ul._ Where the myrtle tops Stir each in turn. He goeth toward the shore. 90 I must see him that seeth me. Bide thou. [_Exit among the bushes._