Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/367

Rh Caught them as wind takes feathers, whirl'd them round

Strugghng in vain to cross it, swept them on,

Stag, dogs, and hunter, to the yawning gulph.

All this, O King, not piecemeal, as to thee

Now told, but in one flashing instant pass'd.

While from the turf whereon I lay I sprang

And took three strides, quarry and dogs were gone;

A moment more—I saw the prince turn round

Once in the black and arrowy race, and cast

An arm aloft for help; then sweep beneath

The low-brow'd cavern-arch, and disappear.

And what I could, I did—to call by cries

Some straggling hunters to my aid, to rouse

Fishers who live on the lake-side, to launch

Boats, and approach, near as we dared, the chasm.

But of the prince nothing remain'd, save this,

His boar-spear's broken shaft, back on the lake

Cast by the rumbling subterranean stream;

And this, at landing spied by us and saved,

His broad-brimm'd hunter's hat, which, in the bay,

Where first the stag took water, floated still.

And I across the mountains brought with haste

To Cypselus, at Basilis, this news—

Basilis, his new city, which he now

Near Lycosura builds, Lycaon's town,

First city founded on the earth by men.

He to thee sends me on, in one thing glad,

While all else grieves him, that his grandchild's death

Extinguishes distrust 'twixt him and thee.

But I from our deplored mischance learn this:

The man who to untimely death is doom'd,

Vainly you hedge him from the assault of harm;

He bears the seed of ruin in himself.