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Of the Nymphs, as it chanced, was there; for all these loved full well—

Even all the Nymphs that about that fair hill wont to dwell—

In hymns through the night-tide ringing to chant unto Artemis still.

But they which inherit the mountain-crest, or the rushing rill,

And the Forest-haunters, were ranged from the fountain far away.

But it fell that the Water-nymph came floating up that day

From the depths of the fair-flowing spring:—lo, over her bendeth his face

In the rosy flush of its beauty, its manifold winsome grace.{1230}

For the full moon casting her beams from the height of the firmament

Smote him, and faintness of love on her soul the Cyprian sent,

And scarce she unravelled her thoughts in sweet confusion blent.

But over the fountain’s brim as aforetime aslant hath he bowed,

And plunged in the ripple the pitcher: the water gurgled loud

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,