Cephalus tells the story:
And so [Themis] sent another pest to plague
the Thebans: a ferocious fox that filled
the countrymen with terror, threatening
their herds and their own lives. And to their aid,
we came, young warriors, from the lands nearby.
We ringed their fields with nets to trap the fox,
but she leaped over them — across the top.
Then we unleashed our hounds to track her down,
but she — swift as a bird — outraced the pack.
So all my comrades asked me to release
the gift hound I’d received: his name was Laelaps.
For some time now, he’d strained against the leash —
his neck was tugging hard. I set him free —
and we lost sight of him, such was his speed:
the warm dust showed the imprint of his feet,
but Laelaps’ self was nowhere to be seen.
No pellet from a sling, no slender shaft
sent flying from a Cretan bow, no lance
has ever flown more swiftly than Laelaps.
There is a hill whose summit overlooks
all the surrounding fields; I reached the top;
from there I watched a most uncommon chase:
the fox seems to be caught, but now she slips
away — just when the hound has firmed his grip.
The wily fox seeks no straight-line escape
but twists and turns to trick his jaws, to blunt
the force of his attack. He’s at her heels;
he is as fast; he seems to catch her, yet
he has not caught her: as he bites, his teeth
snap shut on empty air. I now prepared
to use my javelin: I balanced it
in my right hand; my fingers tried to slip
into the loop; my eyes were turned aside
from that strange chase, and when I lifted them
again to take aim with my javelin,
amid the fields I saw a miracle,
two marble statues: one in flight, whereas
the other statue barked — you could have said.
Some god — if any god was there to watch —
had surely seen the pair so closely matched
that neither of the two could win that test.
— translation by Allen Mandelbaum
