As into the echoing brass it poured; and the Fountain-maid
Her left arm slid from the depths, and around his neck was it laid
In her yearning to kiss those dainty lips, while, clutched by her right,
Drawn down was his arm, and through swirling eddies he sank from the light.
But his cry as he sank was heard of one of his comrades alone {1240}
Who trod that fountainward path, Polyphemus, Eilatus’ son,
To meet that giant hero when back he should fare to the feast.
By Pegae, following the cry, hath he rushed, like a wildwood beast
Unto whom from far away hath been wafted the bleating of sheep,
And with famine afire he pursueth; howbeit he may not leap