And when the light-foot mower went afield Across the meadows laced with threaded dew, And the sheep bleated on the misty weald, And from its nest the waking corncrake flew, Some woodmen saw him lying by the stream And marvelled much that any lad so beautiful could seem,
Nor deemed him born of mortals, and one said, ‘It is young Hylas, that false runaway Who with a Naiad now would make his bed Forgetting Herakles,’ but others, ‘Nay, It is Narcissus, his own paramour, Those are the fond and crimson lips no woman can allure.’
And when they nearer came a third one cried, ‘It is young Dionysos who has hid His spear and fawnskin by the river side Weary of hunting with the Bassarid, And wise indeed were we away to fly: They live not long who on the gods immortal come to spy.’
So turned they back, and feared to look behind, And told the timid swain how they had seen Amid the reeds some woodland god reclined, And no man dared to cross the open green, And on that day no olive-tree was slain, Nor rushes cut, but all deserted was the fair domain,
Save when the neat-herd’s lad, his empty pail Well slung upon his back, with leap and bound Raced on the other side, and stopped to hail, Hoping that he some comrade new had found, And gat no answer, and then half afraid Passed on his simple way, or down the still and silent glade
A little girl ran laughing from the farm, Not thinking of love’s secret mysteries, And when she saw the white and gleaming arm And all his manlihood, with longing eyes Whose passion mocked her sweet virginity Watched him awhile, and then stole back sadly and wearily.
Far off he heard the city’s hum and noise, And now and then the shriller laughter where The passionate purity of brown-limbed boys Wrestled or raced in the clear healthful air, And now and then a little tinkling bell As the shorn wether led the sheep down to the mossy well.
Through the grey willows danced the fretful gnat, The grasshopper chirped idly from the tree, In sleek and oily coat the water-rat Breasting the little ripples manfully Made for the wild-duck’s nest, from bough to bough Hopped the shy finch, and the huge tortoise crept across the slough.
On the faint wind floated the silky seeds As the bright scythe swept through the waving grass, The ouzel-cock splashed circles in the reeds And flecked with silver whorls the forest’s glass, Which scarce had caught again its imagery Ere from its bed the dusky tench leapt at the dragon-fly.