The huge animal stood for a long time and scented the air, with its muzzle turned towards the trirema. At last it seemed to understand that there was no danger. It made a step towards the water. Behind the broad horns one could now discern more distinctly something light and white. They wondered if the elk carried on its back a harvest of wild roses.
The crew gently plied their oars. The trirema drew nearer to the animal, which gradually moved towards the edge of the reeds.
The elk strode slowly into the water, put down its feet carefully, so as not to be caught by the roots at the bottom. Behind the horns one could now distinctly see the face of a maiden, surrounded by fair hair. The elk carried on its back one of those nymphs whom they had been expectantly awaiting, and whom they felt sure would be found in this primeval world.
A holy enthusiasm filled the men on the trirema. One of them, who hailed from Sicily, remembered a song which he had heard in his youth, when he played on the flowery plains around Syracuse. He began to sing softly:
'Nymph, amongst flowers born, Arethusa by name,
Thou who in sheltered wood wanders, white like the moon.'
And when the weather-beaten men understood the words, they tried to subdue the storm-like roar in their voices in order to sing:
'Nymph, amongst flowers born, Arethusa by name.'
They steered the ship nearer and nearer the reeds. They did not heed that it had already once or twice touched the bottom.
But the young forest maiden sat and played hide-and-seek between the horns. One moment she hid herself, the next she peeped out. She did not stop the elk; she drove it further into the river.
When the elk had gone some little distance, she stroked it to make it stop. Then she bent down and gathered two or three water-lilies. The men on the ship looked a little foolishly at each other. The nymph had, then, come solely for the purpose of plucking the white water-lilies that rocked on the waters of the river. She had not come for the sake of the Roman seamen.