On Dionysius Damon glared;
A dagger his mantle contains:
The guardians threw him in chains.
“Varlet, for whom was this dagger prepared?”
The Tyrant exclaimed, “What hast thou dared?
“To remove the Tyrant I meant!”
“On the cross thou shalt repent!”

And he straightly replied: “I am ready to die,
For life I do not pray;
Yet would I crave delay.
For three days' grace I would humbly apply
My sister's marriage to sanctify;
A hostage I leave my friend;
Slay him if I fail to attend.”

Then smiled the King with cunning base,
And after a pause said he:
“Three days I grant to thee;
But know that unless I see thy face
Within that time at this very place,
Thy punishment shall be stayed,
By him the penalty paid.”

To his friend—“The King ordains,” quoth he,
“My life's blood shall atone
For the evil I have done;
Yet three days' grace he will not deny
My sister's marriage to sanctify:
Do thou go bail for me
Till I come to set thee free.”

His friend embraced him, but never spoke,
Then hastened his person to yield,
While Damon plunges afield.
And ere the third red morning broke
His sister was joined in the holy yoke,
And he turns with anxious soul
To keep his stern parole.

Then down from heaven the waters pour,
The springs burst out of the hills
And swell the streams and ghylls:
With quivering steps he reaches the shore
To find that the bridge exists no more;
The arch has given way,
Lost in the thundering spray.

Helpless he wanders along the strand;
In vain he strains his eyes,
And raises despairing cries;
But never a boatman lifts his hand
To take him across to the wished-for land,
No ferryman will dare
Tempt such a mad career.

Down on the bank he falls with a groan
And to Zeus he raises his prayer:—
“Ah! Bid the torrent forbear!
The hours fly by, 'tis already noon,
And unless before the descending sun
In the city I can be
My friend must die for me.”

But with rising fury the current strives,
Billow gives billow chase,
And the hours are flitting apace.
Distracted with anguish, his courage revives
And into the furious waters he dives,
And swims with a mighty arm,
Saved by the God from harm.

And he hastens forward on reaching land,
Thanking the kindly God;
When sudden there bursts on the road
Out of the darksome thicket at hand,
Barring his path, a nefarious band,
Whose threatening clubs delay
The wanderer's hurried way.

“What would ye?” he cries in tones of grief;
“My life, which is all I bring,
Stands forfeited to the King,”
(And snatches the club from the nearest thief)
“Ah! spare me to go to my friend's relief!”
—Three fall beneath his might,
And all the rest take flight.

And beneath the sun's unmerciful brand
His wearied members quake
And his knees begin to shake.
“Oh! hast thou foiled the assassin's hand
And guided me safe through the torrent to land,
That here I should fainting lie
While my dearest friend must die?”

But hark! there suddenly strikes on his ear
A silvery rippling sound,
And he searches round and round,
When lo! from the rocks he sees appear
A murmuring spring, impatient and clear,
And he plunges in the pool
His burning limbs to cool.

And the sun, looking down through the bower of green,
Limns on the glowing mead
The trees' gigantic shade,
When lo! two hurrying forms are seen
Pressing along with impatient mien,
And their words he plainly heard—
“The cross must now be reared.”

Then anguish of mind restores the use
Of his tottering limbs, and anon
In the beams of the setting sun
He sees the towers of Syracuse;
When his faithful servant Philostratus
Meets him in dire dismay,
Hoping his path to stay.

“Ah! Back! 'tis too late to save thy friend,
But save thyself and be wise;
At this very moment he dies.
From hour to hour did he depend
On thy return, and had faith to the end.
Not all the Tyrant's scorn
His trust in thee could turn.”

“And if 'tis too late to appear by his side,
To save his life too late,
In death I will be his mate.
The Tyrant shall never declare in his pride
That a friend by his promise has failed to abide.
He shall slay me too, and prove
The measure of sterling love.”

When at even he reaches the gates at last
The cross is already raised,
And the gaping crowd stands dazed.
Already the rope o'er his friend is cast,
But he elbows the mob, and crushing past
Cries—“Hangman, set him free;
He was but bail for me!”

Then the people's surprise finds eager vent
As the friends embrace again
And weep for joy and pain.
And there was not an eye but in tears was bent,
And the wonderful news to the King was sent,
And, touched by a merciful thought,
To his throne he had them brought.

And long he looked ere his lips could frame
The words—“Your point is gained,
Behold in me your friend.
True faith, I see, is no empty name;
To be your companion I would claim!
Henceforth I only care
Your fellowship to share.”