Twelve weary months had slowly dragged away Since Hercules, upon that fateful day, Within Arcadian wilds had sought in vain To snare the sacred stag; through sun and rain, Through wintry cold and winds that tossed and whirled The falling leaf, through drifting snows that pearled Arcadian slopes, untiring in pursuit, He held a lonely chase that bore no fruit; If he at morn descried the stag afar, At night it vanished like a falling star; And though his subtlest woodcraft he had tried, The brazen hoof his cunning still defied. Oft did the harvesters and husbandmen Behold him ranging through an Argive glen, And oft the wandering shepherd saw him rest On some Arcadian upland's bosky crest. In rapid flight the hunted stag had come From craggy heights of Artemesium To placid Ladon's fruitful vale, and there Had sought a refuge in a cavern ne'er Beheld by mortal man. Remote it stood Within the precincts of a pathless wood To Dian sacred. Round its entrance grew A tangled copse, and one gigantic yew Towered at its mouth. The river ran near by, And on its bank was heard the bittern's cry, For May had come again. One morn by chance, Just as the sun had flung its earliest lance O'er towering treetops, Hercules drew near The spot where every dawn the brass-hoofed deer From out the grot came softly slipping down To drink and lave its limbs of glossy brown. Day after day the mighty man had sought In vain the stag's retreat; his mind was fraught With gathering fear lest he should find no trace Of royal covert in that wildwood place. Erelong a sound that smote his eager ear Gave swift assurance that his prize was near. With cautious hand a skimmering dart he drew, And eager, peered the tremulous leafage through; The pattering footfalls near and nearer came, A moment paused,--then, like a flash of flame, The stag in splendor dawned upon his sight, And sniffed the crystal air with keen delight. Upon the morning breeze the piercing twang Of taut-drawn bowstring ominously rang, While with a moan the noble creature sank In pain and terror on the reedy bank. Beneath a haughty hemlock's spicy shade The hero stanched the wound his shaft had made; With leathern thong the stag's slight limbs he bound, And striding swiftly o'er the ferny ground, His precious burden on his shoulders wide, Toward fair Mycenæ with her walls of pride He hurried on from lisping Ladon's shore, Elate to feel his arduous task was o'er. Before his steps the joyful tidings flew, And when anigh the city's gates he drew, A band of stately elders bade him hail; Then came a troop of youths in garments pale, Upon their lips a merry hunting lay; And following close a group of maidens gay,