Displeased me, nor without sad reason just,
And strict constraint to do what needs I must
(Not what I would, if what I would might be!),
Have I thus acted. For there came to me
A vision from the gods, upon my bed,
In the deep middle of the night, which said
That in the days at hand, an iron dart
Thee from my love, and from thy life, must part.
For this, thy marriage have I hasten'd on:
That, with occasion due, thou should'st, my son,
Awhile withhold thee from thy wont to seek
The haunts of lions, or with dogs to break
The rough boar's ambush in the rooty earth,
But rest, companion'd, by the pillar' d hearth,
To one new-wedded a befitting place:
For this, did I forbid thee to the chase:
For this ....O stay, my son, by thy fair wife,
And, in prolonging thine, prolong my life!"

And his son answer'd:
"Wisely, since the dream
Came from the all-wise gods, as I must deem,
"Wisely, dear head, and kindly, hast thou done;
Thus, with forethoughted care, to hold thy son
Back from the far-seen coming of the wave
Of Fate—if him forethoughted care could save!
But I, indeed, as touching this same chase,
Can see no cause for fear. In every place
Death's footsteps fall. Nor triple-bolted gate,
Nor brazen wall, can shut from man his fate.
Yet had the vision prophesied to me
That, or by tooth, or tusk, my death should be,
I had been well content to stay at home;
Leaving the coming hour, at least, to come
By me not rashly met in middle way.
But since 'twas said an iron dart must slay
Me, to black death appointed, I might fear
An iron dart as well, though staying here,
As there, in open field, among my friends.
For who can lock his life up at all ends
From charmèd Chance, that walks invisibly
Among us, to elude the dragon eye
Of Policy, and the stretch'd hand of Care?
"Wherefore, I pray thee yet that I may share
"What honour from this hunt is to be won,
Before death find me. Since a man may shun
Honour, yet shunning honour all he can,
He shuns not Death, which finds out every man."

Then Crœsus, overcome, not satisfied,
From under moisten'd eyelids, doubtful, eyed
The impatient flushing in the brighten'd cheek
Of Atys. And, because his heart was weak
From its vague fears to shape foundation fast
For judgment, "Since, my son," he sigh'd at last,
"My mind, though unconvinced, thy words have
shaked,
Do as thou wilt."
But, like a man new-waked
From evil dreams, who longs for any light
To break the no-more-tolerable night,
Soon as, far off i' the purple corridor,
The sandal clicking on the marble floor
Ceased to be heard, and he was all alone,
And knew that Atys to the chase was gone,
He started up in a great discontent
Of his own thoughts, and for Adrastus sent,
To whom the monarch thus his mind express'd.

"Adrastus, since, not only as my guest
But as my friend, thou hast to me been dear,
If aught of natural piety, and the fear
Of Zeus, whom I by hospitable rites
Have honour'd, honouring thee, thy heart delights
To harbour, heed thou well my words. For I,
"When thou, pursued by pale calamity,
Didst come before me, thee, upbraiding not,
Did purify, and, as a man no spot
Of blood attainted, to my hearth received,
And with a ministering hand relieved.
Now, therefore, follow to the chase my son,
Who to the chase but now from hence is gone;
His guardian be; prevent him in the way,
And let no skulking villain lurk to slay
The son of him that hath befriended thee.
Moreover, for thine own sake, thou should'st be
Of this adventure; so, to signalise
A noble name by feats of fair emprise;
Since thy forefathers of such feats had praise,
And thou art in the vigour of thy days."

Adrastus answer'd:
"For no cause but this
(Since Crœsus' wish unto Adrastus is
Sacred as law delivered from above)
In this adventure had I sought to move.
For 'tis not fit that such a man as I,
Under the shadow of adversity,
Should with his prosperous compeers resort;
And, not desiring this, from martial sport
Among the Lydian youths, with spear or bow,
I have till now withheld myself. But now,
Since I am bid by whom I must obey,
Bound to requite in whatsoe'er I may
Kindness received, this chase I will not shun.
Thou, therefore, rest assured thy royal son
Dear Paramount, so far as lies in me,
His guardian, shall unharm'd return to thee."
Meanwhile, the huntsman had with leathern thongs
The lean hounds leash'd, and all that fair belongs
To royal chase appointed, as was fit;
With pious rites around the altar, lit
To solemn Cybele, at whose great shrines
On wooded Ida, 'mid the windy pines,
Or Tmolus, oft the Sardian, to invoke
The Mighty Mother, bid the black sheep smoke;
And Artemis, the silver-crescented,
Adoring whom, a white kid's blood was shed
And crowns of scarlet poppies, intermix' d
With ditany, among the columns fix'd,
Or hung, fresh-gather'd, the high stones upon.

And now the Lydian youths (with whom the son
Of Crœsus, and the Phrygian stranger) blew
The brazen bugles, till the drops of dew
Danced in the drowsy hollows of the wood;
And the unseen things that haunt by fell and flood,
Roused by the clanging echoes out of rest,
Shouted from misty lands, and trampling, press'd
Through glimmering intervals of greenness cold,
To hang in flying laughters manifold
Upon the march of that blithe company:
Great-hearted hunters all, with quiver'd thigh,
And spear on shoulder propp'd, in buskins brown
Brushing the honey-meal and yellow down
From the high-flowering weed, whilst, in their rear,
The great drums throbb'd low thunder, and the clear
Short-sounding cymbals sung; until they came
To large Olympus, where the amber flame
Of morn, new-risen, was spreaded broad, and still.

There, for the ruinous beast they search'd, until
They found him, with the dew upon his flank,
Couch'd in a hollow cold, beneath the dank
Roots of a fallen oak, thick-roofèd, dim.
And, having narrowly encircled him,