Regarded as a star; so bright he shone
    Among the herd, the cynosure of eyes. 
    He, soon as he descried the sun-dried skin
    Of the grim lion, made at Heracles
    (Whose eye was on him)—­fain to make his crest
    And sturdy brow acquainted with his flanks. 
    Straight the prince grasped him with no tender grasp
    By the left horn, and bowed that giant bulk
    To earth, neck foremost:  then, by pressure brought
    To bear upon his shoulder, forced him back. 
    The web of muscles that enwraps the nerves
    Stood out from the brute’s fore-arm plain to see. 
    Marvelled the King, and Phyleus his brave son,
    At the strange prowess of Amphitryon’s child.

      Then townwards, leaving straight that rich champaign,
    Stout Heracles his comrade, Phyleus fared;
    And soon as they had gained the paven road,
    Making their way hotfooted o’er a path
    (Not o’er-conspicuous in the dim green wood)
    That left the farm and threaded through the vines,
    Out-spake unto the child of Zeus most high,
    Who followed in his steps, Augeas’ son,
    O’er his right shoulder glancing pleasantly.

      “O stranger, as some old familiar tale
    I seem to cast thy history in my mind. 
    For there came one to Argos, young and tall,
    By birth a Greek from Helice-on-seas,
    Who told this tale before a multitude: 
    How that an Argive in his presence slew
    A fearful lion-beast, the dread and death
    Of herdsmen; which inhabited a den
    Or cavern by the grove of Nemean Zeus. 
    He may have come from sacred Argos’ self,
    Or Tiryns, or Mycenae:  what know I? 
    But thus he told his tale, and said the slayer
    Was (if my memory serves me) Perseus’ son. 
    Methinks no islander had dared that deed
    Save thee:  the lion’s skin that wraps thy ribs
    Argues full well some gallant feat of arms. 
    But tell me, warrior, first—­that I may know
    If my prophetic soul speak truth or not—­
    Art thou the man of whom that stranger Greek
    Spoke in my hearing?  Have I guessed aright? 
    How slew you single-handed that fell beast? 
    How came it among rivered Nemea’s glens? 
    For none such monster could the eagerest eye
    Find in all Greece:  Greece harbours bear and boar,
    And deadly wolf:  but not this larger game. 
    ’Twas this that made his listeners marvel then: 
    They deemed he told them travellers’ tales, to win
    By random words applause from standers-by.”

    Then Phyleus from the mid-road edged away,
    That both might walk abreast, and he might catch
    More at his ease what fell from Heracles: 
    Who journeying now alongside thus began:—­