With hands polluted: on whose countenance
Was fix'd the shadow of foregone mischance.
His slow steps up the hymenean hall
Struck sounds that sent deep silence on through all
That swarming revel. Music's broken wing
Flutter'd and strove against the check'd harp-string:
And he that pour'd, stood, holding half way up
The two-ear'd pitcher o'er the leaf-twined cup,
While the wine wasted: he that served, leaned o'er
The savorous fumes of anice-spicèd boar,
With trencher tilted: they whose limbs were dropp'd
At ease on purple benches, elbow-propp'd,
Half rose, and, stooping forward, shock'd awry
From jostled brows, sloped one way suddenly,
Their slanted crowns, blue boss'd with violet,
Or dropping roses: each with eyes wide-set
In unintelligent wonder on the wan
And melancholy image of that man.
He, moving through the amazement that he caused,
Approach'd, unbid, the throne of Crœsus; paused;
And there, with groans from inmost anguish brought,
The hospitable-hearted king besought
His hands by the Lydian rite to purify
From taint of blood.
To whom, when presently
He had his asking granted, Croesus said:

"Whence art thou, stranger? And whose blood hast shed,
That doth so fiercely clamour at the porch
Of Heaven's high halls? What burning wrong doth scorch
Sweet rest from out the record of thy days?"

To whom that other:
"But that Judgment lays Foundations deeper than Oblivion,
I would my shadow from beneath the sun
Had pass'd for ever; being the most forlorn
Of men! A Phrygian I, and royal-born;
The son of Gordius, son of Midas; who,
Ill-starr'd! unwittingly my brother slew.
For this, my father from his much-loved face,
And all the happy dwellings of my race,
Me into wide and wandering exile drave:
Whence, flying on the salt white-edgèd wave,
Cast out from comfort unto stars unknown,
My hollow ship, before the north wind blown,
Fate to these shores directed; where I stand
A friendless man, sea-flung on foreign land.
In thus much, learn, O king, from whence I came,
And what I am. Adrastus is my name."

The monarch smiled upon him, and replied,

"Thy friends are ours: thy land to ours allied:
If not with kindred, here with kind, thou art.
A frowning fate to bear with smiling heart,
Is highest wisdom. In our court remain.
Cease to be sad. Nor tempt the seas again."

So in the Lydian court Adrastus stay'd
Eating the bread of Crœsus: and obey'd
The kindly king, well-pleased to roam no more.

Now, at that time, a terrible wild boar,
By hunger driven from his lair, below
The dells dark-leavèd, lit with golden snow,
Where Mysian Olympus meets the morn,
Made ravage in the land; despoil'd the corn;
The tender vine in many a vineyard tore;
Each sapling sallow olive wounded sore;
And oft, about the little hilly towns
And stony hamlets, where high yellow downs
Pasture, among cold clouds, the mountain goat
That wanders wild from wattled fold remote,
His fierce blood-dripping tusk foul mischief wrought.
For this, the sorely-injured Mysians sought
At many times the ruinous beast to slay;
But never yet at any time could they
Come nigh him to his hurt. For he, indeed,
Slew many of them, and the rest had need
Of nimble feet, in tearful flight to find
Unworthy safety. Thus was ruin join'd
To ruin.

Therefore, unto Crœsus now
They sent an embassage; that he should know
The damage done them by this savage thing;
Entreating much, moreover, that the king
With certain of the Lydian youths, would send
Atys, the prince, to help them make an end.
For of all noble youths in Lydian bound
Atys the most high-couraged was renown'd,
Nor match'd in martial vigour.

Crœsus then,
When he had heard the message of these men,
Made answer to the Mysians:
"For our son,
Ye shall not have him. Think no more upon
That matter. For, indeed, the crescent light
That was new-born to gild his nuptial night
Is yet the unfinished circlet of a moon.
And shall a husband leave a wife so soon,
Ere the first spousal month be sped, to lie
I' the gelid hills 'neath the wide-open sky,
Neglecting wedlock young, and the sweet due
Of marriage pillows, Mysians, for you?
But since (touching all else) we love you well,
And fain would see this prodigy whose fell
Invasion havoc holds in your fair land,
Abolish'd, we will send a chosen band
Of our best valours; men that shall not miss
What is to do. Be ye content with this."

But when the Mysians were therewith content,
The son of Crœsus, hearing these things, went
To Crœsus, and said to him:
"In time past,
Father, or in the chase, or war, thou wast
The first to wish me famous; who dost now
To me forbid the javelin and the bow.
Wherefore? For yet I deem that thou hast not
In me detected any taint or spot
Of fear, dishonouring one to honour born.
Yet think how all men from henceforth must scorn
Thy son, whom, being thy son, they should revere,
In him revering thee, when I appear
Among them in the agora: I alone
Of all men missing honour to be won
From this adventure! For what sort of a man
To the coarse general (that is quick to scan
Faults in superior natures) shall I seem?
Or what to my fair wife? How shall she deem
Henceforth of him, who in her white arms lay
No less than as a god but yesterday?
Wherefore lest I some memorable deed
Now miss to do, I pray thy leave to lead
The honourable ardours of this chase,
True to my noble name and princely place;
Or, this denied, vouchsafe, at least, to say
For what just cause I must remain away.
Since I, in all things, would my heart convince
The king must needs be wiser than the prince."

But Crœsus, weeping, answer'd:
"Not, my son,
Because in thee aught unbecoming done