“Read the ship, lad!” shouted Ancaeus. “Play something cheerful.”
Orpheus paused, swept wine droplets from his cheek, then began to pluck his strings so fast his fingers blurred.
“There was once a maiden, young and fair,
Light of foot and light of care,
She danced through the grass, she danced through the trees,
She danced like a flower kissed by the bees.”
Abruptly, Heracles grabbed a wineskin and took himself off to the stern deck. Danae watched him go, her brow creased, before Orpheus’s tune lured her attention back to the benches.
“She came to a river, wild and wide,
The water called, she did not hide,
She unpinned her hair, she unpinned her dress,
And with eager feet, met river’s caress.
Oh, poor maiden, young and fair,
She’d stepped into a centaur’s lair,
A dreadful brute, all lust and greed,
On maiden flesh did love to feed.
But as the creature grabbed his prey,
And maiden feared her final day,
The lion came!”
“The lion came!” cheered the crew.
“Tall as an oak, as broad as an ox,
The son of Zeus, quick as a fox.
Charging forth in his crowning mane,
He brought the centaur a storm of pain,
And the maiden cried—”
“‘The lion came, the lion came!’” Danae shouted with the rest of them.
“And he slayed the beast in his father’s name.
So pleased was the maiden that then and there,
She lay on the bank, let down her hair,
And the maiden roared full and true,
‘Oh, lion come, as I come for you!’
