A jewel 'twas from old King Tros's hoard,
That ruled in Ilios ages long agone.

XXV.

"And there they left me in that dell untrod, -
Shepherd nor huntsman ever wanders there,
For dread of Pan, that is a jealous God, -
Yea, and the ladies of the streams forbear
The Naiad nymphs, to weave their dances fair,
Or twine their yellow tresses with the shy
Fronds of forget-me-not and maiden-hair, -
There had the priests appointed me to die.

XXVI.

"But vainly doth a man contend with Fate!
My father had less pity on his son
Than wild things of the woodland desolate.
'Tis said that ere the Autumn day was done
A great she-bear, that in these rocks did wonn,
Beheld a sleeping babe she did convey
Down to a den beheld not of the sun,
The cavern where her own soft litter lay.

XXVII.

"And therein was I nurtured wondrously,
So Rumour saith: I know not of these things,
For mortal men are ever wont to lie,