When he saw
The stream--"Thanks to the Gods!" he cried aloud
In joy; then having cast aside his robes
He leaped into the waves, and with his palm
Throwing the waters high--"This is not gold," [62]
He cried, "I'm free, I have got rid of gold."
And then he drank, and seizing with delight
A little leaf that floated down the stream,
"Thou art not gold," he said--
_Zopyr._ But all this time--
Did you behold?--Did he take off his crown?--
_Lacon._ No:--It was strange to see him as he plunged
Hold tight his crown with his left hand the while.
_Zopyr._ (_aside_) Alas, my fate! I thought they had been seen.
_Lac._ He ordered garments to the river side
Of coarsest texture;--those that erst he wore
He would not touch, for they were trimmed with gold.
_Zopyr._ And yet he did not throw away his crown?
_Lac._ He ever held it tight as if he thought
Some charm attached to its remaining there.
Perhaps he is right;--know you, Zopyrion,
If that strange voice this morning spoke the truth?
_Zopyr._ Nay guess;--think of what passed & you can judge.
I dare not--I know nothing of his ears.
_Lac._ I am resolved some night when he sleeps sound
To get a peep.--No more,'tis he that comes.
He has now lost the boon that Bacchus gave,
Having bestowed it on the limpid waves.
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