Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/404

366 Or the shepherds, on slopes

With pale-spiked lavender

And crisp thyme tufted,

Came upon her, stealing

At day-break through the dew.

Once, 'mid those gorges,

Spray-drizzled, lonely,

Unclimb'd of man—

O'er whose cliffs the townsmen

Of crag-perch'd Nonacris

Behold in summer

The slender torrent

Of Styx come dancing,

A wind-blown thread—

By the precipices of Khelmos,

The fleet, desperate hunter,

The youthful Arcas, born of Zeus,

His fleeing mother,

Transform'd Callisto,

Unwitting follow'd—

And raised his spear.

Turning, with piteous,

Distressful longing,

Sad, eager eyes,

Mutely she regarded

Her well-known enemy.

Low moans half utter'd

What speech refused her;

Tears coursed, tears human,

Down those disfigured,

Once human cheeks.

With unutterable foreboding