But Heracles was troubled for the child.
Forth went he; Scythian-wise his bow he bore
And the great club that never quits his side;
And thrice called 'Hylas'—ne'er came lustier roar
From that deep chest. Thrice Hylas heard and tried
To answer, but in tones you scarce might hear;
The water made them distant though so near.
And as a lion, when he hears the bleat
Of fawns among the mountains far away,
A murderous lion, and with hurrying feet