And Ægeus prayed: ‘O give me back but him! My desert palm, my moorland mid-day fount, My leopard-foot, in equal tameless grace Swaying suavely down cool garden-paths Or into battle’s maw: my lad of Athens! With bronze and tangly curls a-toss, to show Infancy’s golden-silken underglow; The glad eye dusking blue, as is the sea Ere fiery sunset tricks it; and the lashes In one close sombre file against his cheek, Enphalanxed in perpetual trail and droop, Wherethro’ gleams laughter as thro’ sorrow’s pale. And anger’s self doth tremble maidenly; The massy throat; the nostril mobile, smooth; The breast full-orbed with arduous large pride, As I so oft have marked, when from the chase, The witness-dropping knife swung with the bow, Heading the burdened company, he came, Aye vermeil with the wholesome wind, outwrestler Of storms and perils all. High-mettled Theseus! Keystone of greatness, bond of expectation, Stay of this realm! in his strong-sinewed beauty Dear unto men as Tanais bright-sanded Whose flood harmonious lapses on the ear, And makes for hearts yoke-wearied, thither roaming, Thrice feastful holiday. Ah, righteous gods! Forasmuch as I love him and await him, Who from my youth have been your servitor, Yield my old age its boon of vindication: Haven the happy ship here, ere I die.’ Still heedlessly the hushed moon bent her bow Over the unshorn forest oakenry And the dense gladiate leaves of Thoræ’s pine: The cold and incommunicable moon, Waxing and waning thro’ the barren time That brought not Theseus’ self, nor of him sign, Nor any waif of rumor out of Crete, Whereto, a year nigh gone, the ship had sped Forlorn; her decks enshrouded in plucked yew Strewn to the mizzen; and her oary props And halyards all with blossomed myrtle twined, And every sail dark as from looms of hell, In token of the universal dole. And on her heavèd anchor and spurred keel Cheers none, but protest, moans, and ire attended, When from the quay, in melancholy weather Forward she sobbed on black unwilling wing.