Book IV

NOW take thou up the story, O Goddess of Song, and singThe afflictions and thoughts of the Kolchian maid; for as touching this thingIn a tempest of wilderment whirled is my soul, that I know not to sayWhether for bitter infatuate passion she fled awayFrom the land of the Kolchian folk, or driven of panic dismay.

Now the king in the midst of his Kolchian princes and men of mightAgainst the heroes devising treachery sat through the nightIn his halls, and hot in his soul did the vehement anger riseFor the trial whose issue he loathed, and he weened not in any wiseThat unhelped of his daughters had Jason prevailed that task to fulfil.

But Medea's spirit did Hêrê with woefullest anguish thrill:And she quaked like a fawn light-footed, the which the hounds' deep bayHath scared, the while in the tangled depths of a copse she lay.For straightway she surely foreboded that nothing concealed should remainOf her help, and for this should she fill up a cup of uttermost bane.And her maids which were privy thereto she dreaded, and filled were her eyesWith fire, and the ears of her rang with a sound as of awful cries.And ofttimes she clutched at her throat, and moaned in her wretched despair,As once and again she rent the tresses of her hair.And there had the maiden beyond her weird her own death wroughtBy tasting of poison; and Hêrê's purpose had come to nought,But for this, that the Goddess stirred her to flee in her panic dreadWith Phrixus' sons. So her fluttering spirit was comfortedIn her breast; and into her bosom in eager haste did she pourAll mingled her spell-drugs and poisons, her casket's deadly store.And she kissed her bed, and her hands on the walls with loving caressLingered: she kissed the posts of the doors; and one long tressShe severed, and left it her bower within, for her mother to beA memorial of maidenhood's days, and with passionate voice moaned she:

'This tress in mine own stead leave I, or ever I go, unto thee,My mother; and, far though I wend, yet take farewell from me!Farewell thou, Chalkiopê, and mine home!--Would God that the wave,Ere thou cam'st to the Kolchian land, O stranger, had yawned for thy grave!'

So spake she, and down from her eyelids in floods the teardrops ran.Then, even as stealeth forth from the house of a wealthy manA bondmaid, whom fate but newly hath torn from her fatherland-soil,Who never till now hath tasted the lot of bitter toil,But unschooled to misery, shrinking in horror from slaveryUnder the cruel hands of a mistress, forth doth she flee;Even so from her home forth hasted the lovely maid that day.Yea, and the bolts of the doors self-moving to her gave wayLeaping aback at the swift-breathed spell of her magic song.And with feet unsandalled she ran the narrow lanes along,While her left hand gathered a fold of her mantle, to screen from sightHer brows and her face and her lovely cheeks, the while with her rightThe hem of the skirt of her tunic she held upraised from the ground.And swiftly without the towers that girded the wide burg roundBy the darkling path in her terror she came; and no man knewOf the warders thereof, but past them all unseen she flew.Thence marked she well to the temple the way, nor unweeting she wasOf the path, for that oft thereby in her questing she wont to passSeeking for corpses and deadly roots, as the wont is stillOf the sorceress. Ever with quivering dread did the heart of her thrill.And Titania beheld her, as upward she floated from heaven's far bourne,As she wandered distraught; and the white Moon-goddess in triumph-scornOver Medea exulted, and thus to her heart 'gan say:

'Ha, not I only adown to the Latmian cavern stray,Nor I alone for Endymion the comely with love am afire!Ha, many a time when mine heart was yearning with hot desire,Did thy strong spells drive me from heaven, that thou in the rayless nightUnhindered might'st work thy sorceries, deeds that are aye thy delight.Now thou too hast part in the same infatuate passion, I trow,And a god of affliction hath made this Jason a torment and woeUnto thee! Pass on, and harden thine heart, be thou never so wise,To take up thy burden of anguish, thy doom full-fraught with sighs.'

So spake she; but swiftly the maid's feet bare her, as onward she strained;And glad was she when the height of the bank of the river she gained.And overagainst her beheld the splendour of fire: nightlongFor joy of the trial triumphant they fed it, the hero-throng.And she lifted her voice clear-pealing: across the darkness she cried:To the youngest of Phrixus' children she called from the farther side,Unto Phrontis: and he with his brother discerned Medea's call;And the son of Aison knew it; and hushed were the heroes allIn amazement, so soon as they knew of a certainty whose was the cry.Thrice called she aloud, and thrice, as his company bade reply,Phrontis in answer shouted, the while with swift-plied oarThe heroes were rowing their ship unto where she stood on the shore.Not yet to the land were they casting the hawsers forth of the ship,When lo! to the shore with feet light-bounding did Jason leapFrom the height of the deck-planks; and after him Phrontis to land hath sprung,And Argus, the children of Phrixus. About their knees she clung,Clasping them round with clinging hands, and Medea cried:

'Deliver me, O my friends, the hapless!--yea, and besideSave from Aiêtes yourselves: for all hath been brought to light,Yea, all: and there cometh no help therefor. But speed we our flightIn your ship, ere the king shall have mounted his swift-horsed car for the chase.And the Fleece of Gold will I give you: with slumber-spells will I dazeIts serpent warder. But thou in thy comrades' presence takeThe Gods to witness the vows which thy lips, O stranger, spakeUnto me: neither make me, when hence I have fled and afar from my land,An outcast dishonoured, as one by whose side no kinsman doth stand.'

In anguish she spake: but with gladness exceeding the heart 'gan stirOf Aison's son. At his knees as she bowed, he uplifted herGently, and straightway embraced her, and spake to her words of cheer:

'Lady, let Zeus himself the Olympian my troth-plight hear;Let Hêrê of Wedlock, the Bride of Zeus, in witness be near,That I surely will make thee mine own true wife mine halls withinWhensoever returning again unto Hellas-land I shall win.'

He spake, and her hand with his right hand caught in the clasp of love.Then did the maiden bid them to speed to the sacred groveThe swift ship straightway, that so, ere Aiêtes was ware, they might seizeAnd bear away in the darkness of night the Golden Fleece.Even with the word was the deed performed by the eager men;For they took her aboard, and forth from the land their galley thenThrust they: with plashing loud the pinewood oars 'gan strainIn the hands of the chieftains. But backward darting the maiden againOutstretched her despairing hands to the shore: but Jason spakeComforting words, and restrained her whose heart went nigh to break.

In the hour when men from their eyes the fetters of slumber cast,Even huntsmen, which put their trust in their hounds, nor ever wasteIn slumber the end of the night, but the light of the sun they prevent,Lest, ere they be forth, he efface the track of the beasts, and the scentOf the quarry, with stainless-gleaming shafts down-smiting thereon;Even then with the maid from the galley forth stepped Aison's sonOn a grassy sward. The Couch of the Ram men call that spot,For that there he rested first his knees with toil overwrought,As he bare on his back the Minyan scion of Athamas.And anigh it all smoke-besmirched the base of an altar there was,Which the Aiolid Phrixus to Zeus the Preserver of Exiles did build,And the Golden Marvel offered thereon, as, gracious-willed,Hermes bade, in the way as he met him. The hero-crewThere set them aland, as Argus gave them counsel to do.So these twain fared by the pathway that led to the sacred grove,Seeking the oak-tree marvellous-huge, mid the branches whereofWas hanging the Fleece, like a morning-cloud that flusheth redIn the beams of the sun as he riseth up from his ocean-bed.But barring their path did the neck exceeding long upriseOf the serpent glaring upon them with keen unsleeping eyesAs they came; and in awful wise did he hiss; and the banks of the floodFar-stretching echoed, and sighed the measureless depths of the wood.The people that dwell from Titanian Aia far awayIn the Kolchian land by the outfall of Lykus heard, even they--Of Lykus, which parteth his flow from Araxes' rattle and roar,And blendeth with Phasis his sacred stream, and these twain pourTheir mingled waters in one to the dark Caucasian sea.Young mothers in terror awoke, and their hands in agonyCast they around their babes new-born, in their arms which slept,As the tiny limbs with the horror of that hiss thrilled and leapt.And even as when, above a smouldering faggot-pile,The eddies of smoke roll upward in murky coil on coil,One after another swiftly ever on high they springFrom beneath in wavering wreaths uprushing and hovering;Even so that monster was writhing and heaving the endless trailOf his coils overlapped with the myriad-ranged harsh-crackling scale.But, even as he writhed him, came before his eyes the maid,With sweet voice summoning Sleep, most mighty of Gods, to her aid,On the monster to cast his spell: and to her that through night's deep mirkPaceth, the Underworld Queen, she cried to speed her work.And followed her Aison's son in fear: but, lulled by the song,The serpent by this was relaxing the thorn-ridge endless-longOf his Titan-spires, and was lengthening out his coils untold,Even as a dark wave over a sluggish sea slow-rolled,A dumb and a thunderless surge: yet still, in despite of the spell,His grisly head he uplifted on high, with purpose fellTo encompass the twain with the grip of his murderous jaws: but she,Dipping the newly-slivered spray of a juniper-treeIn her mystic brewis, singing--singing--rained down fastUntempered spells on his eyne, and about him and o'er him was castSleep by the drug's strong fume; and his dragon-jaws he laidOn the earth in the selfsame place, and his endless coils through the shadeOf the myriad stems of the forest stretching afar were unrolled.Then from the oak-tree the hero snatched the Fleece of GoldAt the maiden's bidding. Unswerving all the while she stayedAnd smeared on the head of the monster her unguent, till Jason bade,Till himself said, 'Turn we again, and fare to the galley aback.'Then left she the War-god's grove, where the vast shades brooded black.And even as a maiden may catch on her vesture of delicate threadThe light of the mid-month's moon, when she saileth the heavens overheadHer high-roofed bridal bower, and her heart in her breast is aglowWith joy that her eyes behold that lovely splendour; soExulting did Jason the mighty Fleece in his hands upraise.And suddenly over his forehead and over his sunburnt faceFrom its shimmering flocks there rested a flush that flamelike shined.And great as the hide of a yearling steer, or the fell of a hindThat is callèd a brocket in speech of the hunters of the wold,So great was its length and its breadth all overtufted with gold,Heavy with flocks thick-clustered; and ever as onward he passedFrom under his feet the earth an answering sheen upcast.Now veiling the man's left shoulder the gleaming burden shoneDown-trailed from the height of his neck to his heel as he trod, and anonDid he gather it up in his clutch, for that sorely he feared the whileLest a God or a man might meet him and wrest from his hands the spoil.

Dawn over the earth was spread, and now those twain returnedTo their company. Marvelled the youths to behold how the great Fleece burnedA splendour as lightning of Zeus. Upsprang they, for eager-keenWas each man to touch the glory, and clasp it his hands between.But the son of Aison withheld them: a mantle thereover he threwNew-woven, to hide it. To Argo's stern the maiden he drew,And he seated her there; and he spake to the heroes all his rede:

'No longer forbear now, friends, to your fatherland homeward to speed:For the emprise now for the which we dared the peril and painOf a desperate voyage, toiling with bitter travail and strain,All this by the maiden's counsels lightly hath been fulfilled.To the home-land her will I bring--yea, so herself hath willed--My bride true-wedded: but ye, forasmuch as the saviour she isOf all Achaia-land, and of your own souls, I wis,Save her; for surely, I ween, will Aiêtes with all his arrayGo forth, with intent from the river seaward to bar our way.Now down through the ship, man ranged after man in order arow,Shall the half of you sit at the oars to toil, that the half of you soMay uplift the ox-hide shields for a fence from the darts of the foe,Guarding our home-return. Lo, now in our hands do we bearOur children, our fatherland dearly-beloved, and the silver hairOf our sires; and with this our venture the fate of Hellas is bound,Or to reap confusion of face, or a glory far-renowned.'

So spake he, and donned his harness of fight; and shouted the crewWith wondrous-eager souls; and forth of the scabbard he drewHis sword, and the ship's stern-hawsers he severed in twain with the brand.And hard by the maiden, in armour clad, hath he taken his standBy Ankaius the helmsman, and flashed the oars as the good ship raced,As to speed her forth of the river they strained in desperate haste.

But by this to Aiêtes the king and to all the Kolchians knownWas Medea's love, and revealed were all the deeds she had done.And they swarmed to the gathering-place in their harness of battle, untoldAs the crested waves of the sea by the stormy wind uprolled,Or as leaves of the forest myriad-branched that earthward sailIn the month of the fall of the leaf--whereof who telleth the tale?So numberless these went pouring the banks of the river alongWith frenzy of shouting: on fair-fashioned chariot amidst of the throngGlorious Aiêtes showed above all with his steeds, the giftOf the Sun-god; for even as the blasts of the wind were they passing-swift.In his left hand his shapely-rounded buckler on high did he rear,And a pine-brand exceeding huge in his right: and his giant spearBeside him rose up straight and high; and the reins of the carAbsyrtus grasped in his hands. But Argo by this was afarCleaving the brine, to the stalwart oarsmen's stroke as she leaptBy the down-rushing flood of the mighty river seaward swept.But the king in a madness of anguish uplifted his hands to the sky:To the Sun and to Zeus, the beholders of evil deeds, did he cry;And he turned him to all his host, and he shouted terribly:

'Except ye lay hands on the maiden, and seize, or on land it may be,Or finding their ship yet tossed on the swell of the open sea,And bring her, that so I may glut my fury, wherewith I burnFor revenge, on your own heads all these things shall light: ye shall learnThe measure of all my wrath and all my revenging then.'

So spake Aiêtes: on that same day did the Kolchian menLaunch forth their galleys, and cast in the ships their tackling-array,And the selfsame day sailed forth on the sea: thou wouldst not sayThat so mighty a host was this of ships, but in crowd on crowdThe nations of bird-folk over the sea were clamouring loud.

Swiftly the wind blew, even as Hêrê the Goddess planned,To the end that Aiaian Medea might reach the Pelasgian landRight soon, that in her might the bane of Pelias' house be found.So the men with the third day's dawn the hawsers of Argo boundTo the Paphlagons' strand, where the sea and the waters of Halys meet:For Medea bade them to land, and with sacrifice to entreatHekatê's grace. What things for that incantation of hellThe maiden prepared and offered, thereof let no man tell.Let my spirit enkindle me not to darken therewith my lay!Yea, awe refraineth my lips. Yet the altar on that far dayTo the Goddess upreared by the heroes hard by the breaking seaYet standeth, a sign to be seen of the children of days to be.

Straightway to Aison's son, and the heroes withal, came backRemembrance of Phineus, and how that he spake of another trackTo be found from Aia: howbeit to all was his meaning dim,Till Argus arose and spake, and eager they hearkened to him:

'We may win to Orchomenus, whither the prophecy bade us fareOf the seer unerring, whose guests in the days overpast ye were.For another voyaging-course there is, a sea-path shownBy the priests of the Deathless, the sons of Thêbê, Tritonis' town.Not yet was the star-host, that whirl round heaven their chariots of fire:Not yet of the sacred Danaan race, though a man should inquire,Aught might he hear. Apidanian Arcadians alone on the earthDwelt--the Arcadians which lived, or ever the moon had birth,Mid the mountains acorn-sustained, it is told. No sceptred handOf Deukalion's glorious line ruled then the Pelasgian land,In the days when men called Egypt, the fruitful land of corn,The Morning-land, the mother of peoples elder-born.And of Trito her fair-flowing river was named, of whom all the plainOf the Morning-land is watered; for never descendeth the rainFrom Zeus thereupon: from his floods the stintless harvests spring.From that land, say they, a certain king went journeyingAll Europe and Asia through, by the strength and the prowess made boldAnd the aweless might of his people, and cities he builded untoldWhithersoever he came, whereof some remain to this day,Some not, for that long generations since then have passed away.But Aia abideth unshaken: a nation the sons' sons yetAbide of the men whose dwelling in Aia the hero set.And graven memorials these men keep of their fathers' daysUpon pillars, whereon is every bourne and all the waysOf the watery waste and the land, as ye journey on all sides round.Now a river, the uttermost horn of the Ocean, therein is found,Wide and exceeding deep, that a dromond may sail the same.Far on their chart have they traced it, and Ister they named its name.And awhile through the boundless tilthland it cleaveth its way afarAs but one; for beyond the North-wind's blasts its fountains are,Where midst the Rhipaian mountains it bursteth forth in thunder:But so soon as it parteth the Thracian and Scythian marches asunder,There is it cleft in twain, and the half of its flood it sendethHereby to the sea Ionian, the residue southward trendethWhere a deep gulf up from the sea Trinacrian northward bendeth--That sea which lieth beside your land, if the tale be trueThat forth of your land Acheloüs the river fleeteth thereto.'

So spake he; and sent by the Goddess a happy portent came;And all they looking thereunto hailed it with joyful acclaimFor a sign that their voyaging-track was this: for a splendour in heavenShone in a far-stretching furrow to point where their path was given.And there glad-hearted they left the son of Lykus, and fledWith wide-spread canvas over the sea, looking back as they spedOn the Paphlagonian Hills, neither rounded Karambis-head,Forasmuch as the breezes held, and the heavenly fire's long gleamShone ever before, till they won unto Ister's mighty stream.

Now the rest of the Kolchian host, when nothing their search availed,Forth through the Crags Dark-blue from the Pontus-sea had sailed.But others went to the river, whose chieftain Absyrtus was;And unto the Fair Mouth turning aside from the sea did he pass,And prevented them, mooring beyond the neck of land that ranAthwart the innermost gulf of the sea Ionian.For around the island Peukê the waters of Ister pour,An isle three-cornered, whose breadth looketh out on the breakers hoar,And the narrow point up-stream, and about it the flood's outfallIs cleft in twain; and the one the passage of Narex they call;And that on the nether side the Fair Mouth: even therebyThe Kolchian array with Absyrtus anchored hastily;While the heroes sailed far up to the uttermost spur of the isle.Now the field-abiding shepherds forsook in the meadows the whileFlocks without number, for dread of the ships; for they weened that theseWere beasts that had risen out of the monster-teeming seas.For never on galleys that ride the waves had they gazed ere then,Nor they, nor the Thracian Scythians, nor yet the Sigynian men,Nor yet the Graukenian folk, nor the Sindian tribes that abideRound Laurium now, on the steppes of the wilderness boundless-wide.But when they had run by Angurus, the Kauliac cliffs withal--Afar from Angurus the mountain riseth their long rock-wall--Around which Ister divideth, and this way and that way runHis rushing waters, and out to the Laurian plain they won,Then forth to the Kronian Sea the Kolchians came, and besetAll the outgoings thereof, that the quarry might 'scape not their net.So Argo, descending behind them the flood, passed forth hard byWhere islands twain, the Brygêïan Isles of Artemis, lie.Now it fell that in one of these a hallowed temple stood;In the other the heroes, avoiding Absyrtus' multitudeLanded, seeing the foe had left those twin isles voidOf their host, for awe of the Daughter of Zeus; but all beside,Thronged with the Kolchian men, barred every seaward way.Yea, too, of their host upon other isles hard by left theyWhich betwixt the Nestian land and Salanko the river lay.

There, being few against many, that day had the Minyan menYielded in that grim fight to their foes: howbeit ere thenMade they a covenant, fain that the strife should abide unstriven.For the Golden Fleece,--forasmuch as Aiêtes' pledge had been givenTo the heroes therefor, if the ordeal they dared, and accomplished the toil--That prize should they keep, as lawfully won; yea, whether their guileOr their strength in the king's despite had prevailed that splendour to win.But as touching Medea--for stubborn the wrangling waxed herein--Unto Lêto's Daughter, aloof from the throng, should they give her in ward,Till her cause should be judged of a king, some justice-dispensing lord,Whether he doom that they yield her up to return to the homeOf her father, or doom her to Hellas-land with the heroes to come.

Now so soon as the maiden mused upon all things purposed of these,With keen-thrilling anguish her heart was tempest-tossed without cease:And straightway she called forth Jason aloof from his comrades alone,And she led him away and away, till far apart were they gone:There uttered she speech all broken with sobs, as she looked in his eyes:

'O Aison's son, what purpose is this that now ye deviseTouching me? Hath thy triumph brought utter forgetfulness unto thee?Dost thou nothing regard thy promises, all that thou spakest to meIn stress of thy need? Where now are the oaths of the Suppliants' KingZeus?--and thine honied promises, whither have these taken wing?By reason of these, in unseemly wise, with passion unshamedI forsook my fatherland home, and the glory of halls far-famed,Yea, and my parents--all that was most unto me; and I sailFar over the sea alone, where the plaintive sea-mews wail,Because of thy trouble, that I might redeem from destruction thy lifeTo accomplish the fire-bulls' quelling, the Earth-born giants' strife.Yea, and the very Fleece, for the which ye had sailed to our shore,All by my folly ye won. Foul shame thereby did I pourOn womankind! Wherefore, I say, as thy daughter, thy wife, I stand,Yea, and thy sister, who follow thee back unto Hellas-land.Oh now with purpose of heart stand by me, neither forsake meAfar and forlorn of thee, to the gathering of kings to betake thee!But in any wise save me; and sealed abide thy solemn vow,Which is plighted, by justice of man and of God; or else do thouShear, of thy pity, this my throat with thy falchion through,That so for my frenzied love I may reap the guerdon due.O heartless!--if that he doom that my brother's prey I remain,This king unto whose stern judgment ye now would commit, ye twain,Your cruel covenant, how shall I come to my father's sight?With glory in sooth!--what revenges, what devilish torment will lightUpon me!--what agony-cup shall I drain for the dreadful deedThat I wrought! Oh, never think that in bliss your return shall speed!Ne'er may the World's Queen, bride of Zeus, accomplish for thee--She in whom thou delightest--this! Then may'st thou remember meWhen anguish-racked: may the Fleece like a dream fleet away from thine handDown the wind to the netherworld-gloom! Be thou chased from thy fatherlandBy the Spirits of Vengeance for me, even after the measure of allThat through thy betrayal I suffered! That earthward my curses should fallUnaccomplished, shall God forbid; for a great oath thou hast transgressed,O ruthless! Not long, for all this covenant-plight, at restFrom your troubles, on me shall ye wink with the eye, to make me your jest.'

So spake she, seething with vehement rage: fierce-eager was sheTo fire the ship, and to hew it in pieces utterly,And to hurl herself mid the ravening flame. But, half-adread,Did Jason essay to soothe her with gentle words; and he said:

'Ah, lady, forbear: me too this covenant liketh not.Only a little delay from the strife herein have we sought:Such a host of foes like a cloud of fire is on every sideFor thy sake. Yea, and the folk which in this same land abideBe eager to help Absyrtus, that back again to the hallOf thy sire he may hale thee like to a captive battle-thrall.Howbeit should we in hateful destruction all be slainIf we closed in the fight with these; and therein were bitterer pain,If we leave thee a prey no less unto these, and withal we die.But now shall this covenant find us a path of guile, wherebyTo destroy him. The folk of the land shall not be fain as beforeTo favour the Kolchians in thee, when their king shall be with them no more,He who forsooth as thy champion and brother doth claim thee to-day.Yea also, I will not refrain me from matching my might in the frayWith the Kolchian men, if then they bar mine homeward way.'

For her comfort he spake; but with deadly words did she make reply:'Give heed now:--it needs must be, when peril and shame are nigh,That we likewise counsel thereafter. Distraught I was at the firstIn mine error, and god-misguided accomplished desires accurst.Do thou be my shield from the Kolchian spears in the toil of the strife,And I will beguile this man to lay in thine hands his life.He shall come: and with dazzling gifts of welcoming win thou his heart,If I haply persuade the heralds to hold themselves apart,And draw him alone unto me to hearken the thing I would say.Then thou, if this deed be good in thy sight--I say not nay--Slay him, and meet thereafter the Kolchian men in the fray.'

Even so these twain consented, and twined the net of guileFor Absyrtus; and many a gift of welcome prepared they the while.And with these a sacred mantle, a woven crimson flame,Gave they, Hypsipylê's gift. The Graces had fashioned the sameFor the God Dionysus in sea-girt Dia; and he on his son,Thoas, bestowed it; and this at his fleeing Hypsipylê won.And, with many a lovely marvel, that parting-gift wrought fairShe gave unto Aison's son. Thine hands would linger thereTouching, thine eyes beholding, ever unsatisfied.And a scent ambrosial breathed therefrom, since that sweet tideWhen the King Nysaian himself thereon lay down to rest,With wine and with nectar flushed, lay clasping the beauteous breastOf the maiden the daughter of Minos, who sailed from the Knossian landWith Theseus, and there was forsaken of him upon Dia's strand.And Medea wrought on the heralds--for subtlest speech did she frameTo beguile them--when unto the Goddess's temple Absyrtus cameFor the covenant's sake, and when night's black pall should around them be rolled,To depart, that with him she might plot to take that Fleece of GoldFrom the heroes, and bearing the prize with him to fare againTo Aiêtes' halls, for that Phrixus' sons by force had ta'enAnd had given her unto the strangers a captive to bear overseas.Even so she beguiled them; and wide through the air and afar on the breezeCast she her witchery-spells, of might to draw from his lairOn the trackless mountain the wild beast, lurk he how distant soe'er.

Ah, ruthless Love, great grief, great curse to the sons of earth!Of thee fell feuds, and anguish-moans, and laments have birth;From thee therewithal unnumbered woes as a flood forth burst.'Gainst the sons of our foes, thou god, array thee battle-athirst,As when thou didst thrill the heart of Medea with madness accurst!But how, when to meet her he came, by an evil doom did she quellAbsyrtus?--for this thing next must the song in order tell.

When the heroes had left the maiden on Artemis' island-strandBy the covenant, ran they their ships in a several place aland,Even Kolchians and Minyans. Then to his ambush did Jason hie,For Absyrtus to lie in wait, and for them of his company.And now that hero, deathward-beguiled by their promise dread,Over the swell of the sea in his galley swiftly sped,And under the mirk night stepped on the Isle of the Holy Place,And alone fared onward to meet his sister face to face,And to try her with words,--as though some tender child should tryA wintertide torrent, when strong men may not cross thereby!--If perchance she would weave him a treachery-snare for the stranger-crew.And now were they making agreement for all these things, they two,When suddenly out of the gloom of his ambush the Aisonid leaptUplifting his naked sword in his hand: and the maiden sweptHer veil o'er her eyes, as she turned them away for averting of guiltThat she might not behold the blood of her slaughtered brother spilt,And him, as a flesher felleth a strong-horned bull, even soDid he mark him, and smite him, hard by the fane which long agoThe Brygians which dwelt on the mainland-shore unto Artemis wrought.In the porchway thereof on his knees he fell; and the hero caughtIn his hands, as he gasped his latest breath, the dark-red tideAs it welled from the gash, and he hurled that murder-rain, that it dyedCrimson her silver veil and her robe, as she shrank aside.And with swift side-glance the all-quelling Vengeance-fiend espied,And her pitiless eye beheld that murderous deed they had done.But the ends of the dead man's limbs then severed Aison's son:Thrice licked he the blood from the sod, thrice spat it again to the dust,As the slayer must do that atonement be made for the treachery-thrust.Then hid he the clammy corpse in the ground, where unto this dayIn the land of Absyrtan men be those bones lapped in clay.

Now the heroes the while gazed forth through the night, and beheld where shoneThe glare of a torch which the maiden upraised for a sign to set on;And alongside the Kolchian galley they laid their ship straightway,And they slaughtered the crew of the Kolchians, even as wild hawks slayThe tribes of the woodland cushats, or lions of the woldDrive huddled a mighty flock, when they leap to the midst of the fold.No, of them all was there none that escaped, but on all that throngEven as flame making havoc they rushed; and it seemed o'erlongEre Jason, afire for their helping, came: no need of his aidHad they; nay rather for him by this were their hearts afraid.Thereafter they sat them down to devise for their voyagingDeep counsel; and, yet as they mused, stole into the midst of the ringThe maiden. And Peleus resolved him the first, and he spake the thing:

'Now call I upon you to enter up into the ship, and to rowCleaving your sea-path onward, while yet it is night, and the foeTarry; for when with the dawn they shall see and be ware of their plight,There is no man, I trust me, who, bidding them follow the track of your flight,Shall win them to hearken a word; but, as folk of their king bereft,With grievous dissension shall these, and with faction, asunder be cleft.Wherefore our path henceforward,--when sundered our foemen areEach from his fellow,--to Hellas home shall be easier far.'

He spake, and the young men praised the counsel of Aiakus' child;And they entered the ship with haste, and they grasped the oars, and they toiledWithout rest, till they won by the sacred isle of Elektra--the sameOf the eyots is highest--and so to the river Eridanus came.

Now the Kolchians, so soon as the doom of their murdered king they knew,Eager were they for Argo to search and her Minyan crewThrough all the Kronian Sea: but Hêrê held them backBy terrible lightnings that flashed evermore from the cloudy rack,That they shuddered at last when they thought on their homes in Kytaia-land,And quailed for Aiêtes' wrath, and a king's avenging hand.So went they ashore, and abiding homes in the land they madeFar-scattered; for some set foot on the selfsame isles where stayedThe heroes;--the name of Absyrtus yet do the islanders bear;--By the river Illyrican's darkling depths did others rearA tower-girt burg where the tomb of Harmonia and Kadmus doth stand:With Enchelean men do they dwell: and some in the mountain-landAmidst of the ridges abide which the Crests of Thunder they callSince the day when crashed the thunders of Zeus their souls to appal,That they crossed not over the flood to the isle, on the heroes to fall.

Now these, when they weened that the home-return's grim peril was past,Who had gotten so far on now, made Argo's hawsers fastTo the strand Hyllaian; for thick in the river the eyots lie,And a troublous track they make it for them that would voyage thereby.And the folk Hyllaian devised not their hurt, as in that past day:Nay, rather they did their endeavour to help them forth on their way.And they won for their guerdon the mighty tripod Apollo gave.For tripods twain had Phœbus bestowed, far over the waveTo be borne in the Quest of Aison's son, when to Pytho's shrineHe wended, to ask touching this same voyage the purpose divine.And this was their weird, that in whatso land those tripods were placed,That land no foes breaking in thereupon should prevail to waste.Wherefore in that land yet by Hyllê's pleasant townThat tripod abideth, hidden beneath the earth deep down,That the talisman so may continue of men unseen for aye.Howbeit their king no longer alive in the land found they,Even Hyllus, whom Melitê lovely-faced unto Herakles bareIn Phaeacia-land; for of old to the halls did the hero fareOf Nausithous and Makris, the nurse of the God Dionysus: defiledWith the blood of his children, he came to be cleansed. There saw he the childOf Aigaius the river, even the Naiad Melitê:And he loved her, and humbled the maid, and Hyllus the strong bare sheIn Phaeacia-land. And he dwelt in Nausithous' halls awhile,Being yet but a little one: but he left thereafter the isle.For, as waxed within him his might, he brooked no longer to stayAt a king's beck there in the island that owned Nausithous' sway.But he fared to the Kronian Sea, and a host of her sons forth ledFrom Phaeacia-land: yea, also the king his journeying sped,The hero Nausithous. There did he stablish his home, and was slainDefending his kine from the Mentors, the rovers of the main.

Now, Goddesses, tell how Argo's wondrous ensign cameWithout this sea, by Ausonia-land, and the isles men nameThe 'Long Row,' lone sea-cradles that nurse a Ligurian seed--How stood clear forth mid-sea--what strong constraint, what needThitherward led her, what breezes they were that wafted her speed.

'Twas, I ween, when Absyrtus had fallen in mighty overthrow,That the wrath of Zeus, the King of the Gods, for their deed was aglow.Yet he ordained the transgressors to cleanse them of murder's stainBy the counsels of Circê, and so, after measureless travail and pain,Home to return; yet this of the princes did no man know.But they sped, when the land Hyllaian sank on the sea-marge low,Afar; and they left behind them the isles that were thronged erewhileWith the Kolchians, isle Liburnian ranged in the sea after isle,Issa, Dyskeladus, then Pityeia's lovely shore.So passed they these, and overagainst Kerkyra they bore.There was it Poseidon caused Asôpus' daughter to rest,When by reason of love he wafted Kerkyra the beautiful-tressedFrom the land of Phlius afar: and mariners marking it swellBlackening up from the sea, while all about it fellThe folds of its darkling forests, named it Kerkyra the Black.Thence sped they by Melitê, glad for the breeze blowing soft on their track.By Kerôsus the steep, and, far in the offing and faint as it showed,By Nymphaia they fleeted, the isle where the Lady Kalypso abode,The daughter of Atlas: and misty and doubtful appeared to their kenThe Crests of Thunder. And known unto Hêrê even thenWere the counsels of Zeus concerning these, and his mighty wrath.Yet devised she how that great voyage should prosper, and full in their pathUproused she against them the storm-winds, which caught them, and backward sweptTo Elektra's rocky isle. But, from surge unto surge as they leapt,Suddenly heard they a beam with a man's voice cry unto themOut of the hollow ship, the which in the midst of the stemAthênê had set--it was hewn from an oak in Dodona that grew;And deadliest fear laid hold upon them as they hearkened thereto,To the voice revealing the wrath of Zeus, and the stern decreeWhich ordained that they should not escape from the paths of an endless sea,And affliction of tempests, till Circê should purge the guilt awayOf Absyrtus' ruthless murder. Moreover the voice bade prayPolydeukes and Kastor withal to the Gods everlasting, to grantFirst through the Ausonian sea a path to the secret hauntOf Circê, the daughter whom Persê unto the Sun-god bare.So Argo cried through the darkness: uprose that god-born pair,Tyndareus' sons, and their hands to the deathless Gods did they raisePraying the prayer commanded; but hushed in awed amazeWere the rest of the Minyan heroes. On under canvas, and on,Leapt Argo, till deep within Eridanus' river they won.There, stricken of old on the breast with the smouldering levin-fire,Phaethon half-consumed from the car of his Sun-god sireFell into the gulf of the fathomless mere; and the seething streamFrom his burning wound even yet upbelcheth clouds of steam.Neither across that water outspreading her pinions lightAny fowl of the air may win her way, but, even mid-flightFaint-fluttering, down mid the flame it plungeth. On either sideRound poplars slim the Sun-god's daughters in slow dance glide,In misery wailing a piteous plaint, and adown from their eyneRaining to earth do the glittering drops of amber shine.These, parched by the beams of the sun, lie strewn at their feet on the sand;But whensoever the blasts of the wailing wind on the strandAre dashing the dark mere's surging billows and onward hurling,Then to Eridanus roll they, a huddled throng on-whirlingIn a rippling stream. Now a legend thereof do the Kelt-folk tellHow that these which in eddies be tossed be the tears from Apollo that fell,Even Lêto's son, which he shed without number in ancient days,What time he came to the Hyperboreans' sacred race,By his father's threatenings driven from the sunlit heaven to the earth,Wroth for his son, unto whom Karônis the Nymph gave birthIn bright Lakyreia, where Amyrus' outfall seaward is rolled.Yea, such is the tale of these that amidst that people is told.And, thereon as they sailed, no care for meat nor for drink had they,Neither turned their thoughts unto gladness; but ever day by daySorely afflicted they were till their burdened hearts grew faintWith the noisome stench that uprose, the unendurable taintFrom Eridanus' streams that reeked of Phaethon burning still.And ever by night they hearkened the shriek of the long wail shrillFrom the Sun-god's daughters lamenting. Their tears, as they mourned and wept,Like drops from the fruit of the olive adown to the waters were swept.

Thence into Rhodanus ran they, whose deep-flowing waters fleetInto Eridanus' stream: and where the great floods meet,Roar they turmoiling and seething. Now Rhodanus cometh from far,From the ends of the earth, where the portals of Night and her mansions are.Thence bursteth he forth, and divideth his stream; for the one part roarethTo the beaches of Ocean, and one to the sea Ionian poureth;And a third to the main Sardinian, the sea-gulf limitless-vast,Through seven mouths sendeth his flood. So from Rhodanus forth they passed,And they drave over wintry meres wide-spread--none telleth their bound--Over the Keltic mainland, and well-nigh there had they foundInglorious doom: for a certain branch turns sidewards flowingTo the Ocean-gulf; thereinto were these, of the peril unknowing,At point to thrust, and never alive had they won thereout.But forth out of heaven Hêrê darted, and pealed her shoutFrom the rock Herkynian: with fear were they shaken because of her cryAs one man all, for terribly crashed the wide-arched sky.Backward they turned at the Goddess's warning, and then were they wareOf the track, whereby for their home-return they needs must fare.So at last came they to a beach where the sea-surge moaning rolled,By Hêrê's devising, through tribes of the Keltic folk untoldAnd Ligurians passing unharmed; for about them a mist-veil dreadDay after day, as homeward they fared, did the Goddess spread.And so through the midmost mouth of the river Argo sailed,And safe on the 'Long Row Isles' did they land; for the prayers had prevailedOf the sons of Zeus; for the which cause altars and temples ayeUnto these have been reared: nor with those sea-farers alone went theyAs helpers, but Zeus made these all mariners' saviours to be.So the 'Long Row' left they, and on to Aithalia sped oversea.There in athlete-strife did they supple their limbs, till the sweat of them drippedAs rain, and the pebbles are flecked as with scarf-skin strigil-strippedTo this day; and their quoits and their wondrous armour are there, all stone;And yet in the name of the haven the glory of Argo is shown.

And swiftly speeding thence they fleeted the sea-swell o'er,To Ausonia's strand Tyrrhenian lifting their eyes evermore.And they came to Aiaia's haven renowned, and forth of the prowThe hawsers adown to the strand they cast. And Circê nowThere did they find, in the spray of the surf as she bathed her head,For that dreams of the night had made the Spell-queen sorely adread.For with blood did it seem that her palace-chambers, and every wall,Were running, and flame was devouring her magic herbs, even allWherewith she was wont to bewitch what strangers soever came.And herself with the blood of murder quenched that red-glowing flame,Scooping it up with her hands: so ceased she from deadly dismay.Wherefore, when dawning uprose, in the sea-surf's flashing sprayAt her waking she washed her vesture and bathed her braided hair.And beasts--not like unto ravening beasts of the wold these were,Nor in likeness fashioned as men, but as though from a medley-heapThey had gotten their limbs--in a throng followed after her, even as sheepFrom the folds in their multitudes following after the shepherd go.Such shapes from the slime primeval did earth first cause to grow,Herself the creator, compacted of limbs in confusion blent,Ere yet into hardness she grew 'neath a rainless firmament,Neither yet from the shafts of a scorching sun had she gotten her dewsOf refreshing: but these as the ranks of an army did Time confuse,As he marshalled them forth into being:--such monsters after her pressed.And exceeding amazement fell on the heroes; and each man guessed,As he gazed upon Circê's form, and the eyes unsoftened with ruth,That this should be none save Aiêtes' sister in very sooth.

So when she had bidden her terrors of dreams of the night to flee,Back straightway she paced; and the heroes she bade in her subtletyTo follow, with witching beck of her fingers charming them on.Yet steadfastly tarried the throng at the hest of Aison's sonIn their place: but he went, and beside him the Kolchian maiden he drew.So trod they the selfsame path till they entered in, those two,Into Circê's hall. In amaze at their coming, the Sorcery-queenBade them to sit them down upon thrones of burnished sheen.But soundless and wordless they sped to her hearthstone's hallowed place,And there sat, after the wont of the suppliant in evil case;And Medea bowed her adown, and in both hands hid her face.But Jason set in the earth his mighty-hilted swordWherewithal he had slain Aiêtes' son; and his eyes guilt-loweredRose never to meet her glance. And straightway Circê was wareOf the vengeance-hounded feet, and the hands that the bloodstain bare.Therefore for awe of the statutes of Zeus the Suppliant-ward,The Manslayer's Champion, yea, an exceeding jealous lord,She offered the sacrifice whereby they are cleansed from their guilt,When they come to his mercy-seat, by whose fierce hands blood hath been spilt.First, to atone for the murder inexpiate yet, she heldForth over their heads the young of a swine whose dugs yet swelledFrom the fruit of the womb; thereafter she severed its throat, and she dyedTheir hands with the blood, and again with other drink-offerings besideMade the atonement, calling on Zeus, the Cleanser of all,The Avenger of suppliants murder-stained, on his name which call.Then all that in cleansing she used from the mansion her handmaids bore,The Naiad-nymphs, which ministered whatso she needed therefor.But Circê abode by the hearth, and thereon without wine did she burn,Praying the while, the atonement-cakes, to the end she might turnFrom their anger the terrible Vengeance-fiends, and that Zeus might be wroughtUnto mercy and grace to the suppliants twain, his pardon who sought,Whether they bowed at his throne for the life of a stranger shed,Or their kindred hands with the blood of their nearest and dearest were red.

But when she had wrought all so, and the work of atonement was done,Then raised she them up, and seated them each on a gleaming throne,And herself sat nigh them, and eye to eye she straitly inquiredWherefore they voyaged thus, and the thing that their hearts desired,And from what far shore they had come to her land and her palace-home,And in suppliance sat on her threshold; for into her soul had there come,As she pondered, a hideous thought, as her dreams in remembrance returned,And to hear the voice of the maiden her kinswoman sorely she yearned;For she knew her, so soon as she lifted her down-drooped eyes from the earth,For that plain to discern were all which drew from the Sun their birth,Forasmuch as they lightened afar a splendour like as of goldFrom the flashings of their eyes upon whoso their face should behold.So Medea told unto her all things that she craved to know,Speaking the Kolchian tongue with utterance gentle and low,--Deep-hearted Aiêtes' child--of the Quest, of the paths where faredThe heroes, of all the conflicts sharp and stern that they dared;How herself into sin by her woeful sister's pleading was led,And how from her father's tyrannous terrors afar she had fledWith Phrixus' sons. But from this she shrank, that nothing she saidOf Absyrtus' murder; yet Circê discerned it: but pity-stirredBy her woe-stricken kinswoman's tears, she answered and spake the word:

'Ah wretch! thou hast found thee an evil and shameful homeward path!Not long, I ween, shalt thou 'scape from Aiêtes' terrible wrath.Nay, but full soon will he go to the dwellings of Hellas-landTo avenge the blood of his son, the unspeakable deed of thine hand.Yet, forasmuch as my suppliant thou art, and my sister withal,None other harm unto thee at thy coming of me shall befall.But begone from mine halls, companion who art in an alien's flight--Whosoe'er be this fellow unknown thou hast ta'en in thy father's despite!--Nay, knee me no knees, earth-croucher! Naught shalt thou win save blame,Save a curse for thine heart's devices, for this thy flight of shame!'

So spake she; and comfortless grief overwhelmed Medea: she castHer robe o'er her eyes, and she wailed and wailed, till the hero at lastBy the hand upraised her, and forth of the palace-doors he led,As she quivered with terror: and so from the mansions of Circê they fled.

Yet they passed not unmarked of the Bride of Zeus; but Iris boreTidings to her, when she spied them faring forlorn from her door.For Hêrê had bidden her watch what time they should wend to the ship.So again on her message she sped her, and spake with eager lip:

'Dear Iris, if ever mine hest thou fulfilledst in days overpast,Now hie thee away, upon hurrying pinions speeding fast.Hitherward bid thou Thetis to come to me, up from the seaRising: for need of her cometh to me. Thence hasten theeUnto the echoing beaches whereon the brazen rowsOf the Fire-god's anvils are smitten with thunderous-crashing blows.Speak to him to still the fire-blast's breathings, till Argo therebyShall have sped: thereafter shalt thou with my message to Aiolus fly--Aiolus, king of the welkin-begotten winds of the sky:--Thou tell him my purpose, that all blasts under the firmamentHe may hush to rest, and let not a wandering gust be sentTo ruffle the face of the sea: let Zephyr alone blow on,Until to Alkinoüs' isle Phaeacian the heroes have won.'

So spake she: forthright from the verge of Olympus did Iris leapCleaving the welkin, outspreading her light wings. Into the deepAegean she plunged, even there where the mansions of Nereus stand.And first unto Thetis she came, and according to all the commandOf Hêrê she spake, and uproused her to Heaven's Queen to soar.Next unto Hephaistus she came, and with speed at her word he forboreFrom the clanging of hammers of iron; and stayed from their tempest-blastWere the smoke-grimed bellows. Thereafter on to the third hath she passed,Aiolus, Hippotas' glorious son. And even the whileHer message she told, and her swift knees rested from journeying toil,Thetis from Nereus had gone and her sisters, and up from the seaAnd Olympus-ward to the presence of Hêrê the Queen passed she.And she caused her to sit by her side, and she uttered forth the word:

'Hear, Goddess Thetis, the thing that my spirit to tell thee is stirred.Thou knowest how honoured is Aison's son of me in mine heart,And they that with him in the toil of the Quest have borne their part.Alone did I save them then through the Clashing Rocks when they flew,When lightened the terrible flames, when the storm of the fire-blast blew,When white were the ragged reefs with the spume of the boiling surge.But a path by Scylla the Rock and Charybdis' fathomless gorgeDreadly outbelching, awaits them:--O Thetis, I nursed thee of yore,Even I, when thou wast but a wordless babe, and I loved thee moreThan the others thy fellows, the Maids in the halls of brine which abide,Because thou refusedst, for all his desire, to couch by the sideOf Zeus--ay, so evermore be his thoughts all lust for embraceOf a Goddess immortal, or couch of a princess of mortal race!But for reverence of me, and for sacred fear which the heart of thee bare,Didst thou shrink from his love: thereafter a mighty oath he swareThat never shouldst thou be called the bride of a God undying;Yet for all this spared not, but followed thee sore loth, lustfully eyeing,Till reverend Themis revealed unto him all Fate's decree,How that thy weird was to bear a son who should mightier beThan his father: wherefore, for all his desire, he refrained, for dreadLest another should rise up matching his might, and should rule in his steadO'er the Deathless, and so should himself not hold the dominion for aye.But the best of the sons of earth for thine husband I found, in the dayThat saw thine espousals, that sweetness of marriage might comfort thee,And babes: and the Gods to the feast of thy solemnity,Even all, did I bid: in mine own hands then did the splendour shineOf the bridal torch, to requite that love, that honour of thine.Go to now, a word will I tell thee, a prophecy faithful and fast:What time thy son to the plain Elysian shall come at the last--Thy son, who now in the dwellings of Cheiron the Centaur-king,Forlorn of the mother's breast, is nursed by the Maids of the Spring--There is it his weird to wed Aiêtes' daughter; but thou,Medea's mother that shalt be, help thy daughter now,Yea, Peleus withal--ha! why is thine anger quenchless-hot?Folly was his; yet even the Gods may be folly-distraught.Of a surety, I ween, by my behests shall Hephaistus ceaseTo cause the might of his fire to burn; and Hippotades,Aiolus, all the rushing wings of his winds shall refrain,Save only the steadfast-breathing West, till the heroes shall gainThe havens Phaeacian. Devise for them thou a return without bane.For the crags and the tyrannous-buffeting surges make me afraid,These only; and these shall be foiled, if thou and thy sisters aid.In 'wildered amazement suffer them not to thrust their keelCharybdis-ward, lest down through her jaws to destruction they reel.Neither suffer thou them to approach unto Scylla's hideous lair--Ausonian Scylla the deadly, whom nightmare Hekatê bare,Even she whom Krataiïs they call, to the Ancient of the sea--Lest with her horrible jaws down-swooping suddenlyShe destroy of the heroes the chiefest. But guide thou onward the shipIn the course where still is a hairbreadth escape from destruction's grip.'

So spake she, and Thetis to her made answer with suchlike word:'If the might of the ravening fire and the winds' breath fury-stirredShall in very deed be refrained, would I of a surety essay--Yea, I would pledge me, what though the surges should bar their way,To bring their ship safe through, if the West blow fresh and strong.But now is it time that I fare on the far track measureless-longUnto my sisters--they which herein shall strengthen mine hand,--And to where the ship's stern-hawsers be cast forth on to the strand,That the men may at dawn take thought for the home-return to their land.'

She spake, and departed, and plunged from the height of the heaven mid swirlsOf the dark-blue sea; and she called to her sisters, the Nereïd-girls,To come to her help: and the Maids of the Sea, so soon as they heard,Gathered; and Thetis told them according to Hêrê's word;And she sped them all to the sea Ausonian thence forthright.And swifter herself than the flash of an eye, or the arrows of lightOf the sun, from the uttermost bourne when his chariot-wheels upflame,On through the water she fleeted and flashed, until she cameUnto the beach Aiaian of that Tyrrhenian main.And she found by the galley the heroes: the shaft on the string did they strainFor their sport, and the javelin they hurled: but she stole unto Peleus' side,And she touched his hand; for of old had he won her, his Goddess-bride.But the eyes of the others were holden: to him did the Goddess appear,Of his eyes only discerned; and she murmured low in his ear:

'No longer now on the beaches Tyrrhenian sitting abide;But cast ye the hawsers of Argo loose with the dawning-tide,Obeying your helper Hêrê's command; for at her behestThe Sea-maids, daughters of Nereus, all to the trysting have pressed,Through the midst of the Rocks which the Wanderers hight your galley to speedSafe; for thereby is your course, and the path by fate decreed.But see that thou show me to none, when thine eyes my form discernMid the Nymphs, as we meet thee, lest hotter thou cause mine anger to burnThan when erst thou didst kindle my spirit to anger swift and stern.'

She spake, and she plunged through abysses of sea, and he saw her no more:And sharp pain smote him, who had not beheld her theretoforeSince the day she forsook her bridal bower and her couch at the first,When for noble Achilles their babe into sudden anger she burst.For the mortal flesh of her child did the Goddess encompass ayeThrough the midst of the night with flames of fire, and day by dayWith ambrosia anointed his tender frame, to make him therebyImmortal, that loathly eld might come not his body anigh.But Peleus from slumber upstarted, and saw his beloved sonGasping mid flame; and he sent abroad, as he looked thereon,A terrible cry in his folly exceeding. She heard him, and whirledThe babe aloft, and screaming adown on the earth she hurled:And herself like a breath of the wind, or a dream at the breaking of sleep,Forth of the hall flitted swiftly, and into the sea did she leapIn her anger: and never thereafter returned she thither again.

Amazement fettered his soul: but, for all his 'wildered pain,To his comrades he spake forth all the commands of his Goddess-wife.So these in the midst brake off, and refrained from the athlete-strife;And the meat of the eventide and the earth-strawn beds they dight,Whereon, having supped, as aforetime they laid them and slept through the night.

When Dawn 'gan sprinkle the sky from her chalice of light overbrimming,Even then, when the wings of the West-wind the face of the waters were skimming,They went up from the strand, and they sat on the thwarts, and aboard they drewBlithely the anchor-stones from the deep, and in order dueThe rest of the tackling all they lashed, and the sail spread wideOn high from the yard-arm, straining it taut with the sheets of hide.

Onward the fresh breeze wafted the ship: full soon they beheldA fair isle flower-bestarred, where the Siren Destroyers dwelled,Acheloüs' clear-voiced daughters, whose sweet songs wont to beguileWith their witchery whosoe'er cast anchor anigh that isle.They were children whom lovely Terpsichorê, one of the Muses, boreTo the flood Acheloüs: and unto Dêmêter's daughter of yore,When she yet was unwedded, the noble Persephonê, ministered they,As in blended chorus they sang: but as birds in the latter dayWere they fashioned in part to behold, and as maidens in part they were.And aye keeping watch from the harbour-cliffs overbeetling their lair,From many an one had they reft sweet home-return, whom they slewWith wasting consuming them. Lo, on a sudden to Argo's crewPealed from their lips their clear-sweet voice. From the galley nowWere they even at point to cast the hawser ashore from the prow;But Thracian Orpheus matched him against that demon choir,And the hands of Oiagrius' scion swept the Bistonian lyre;And the march of the song o'er the rippling melody rang ever higher,Till their ears were filled with the chiming and thrilled with the triumph of sound,And the Sea-maids' shrilling chant in the storm of the lyre was drowned.On flitted the ship, by the West-wind borne and the sighing swellUpleaping astern; and bootless the weird song failed and fell:--Not bootless all, for that Teleon's goodly son did leapFrom the polished thwart, ere his comrades could stay him, into the deep,Butes, whose soul was bewitched by the Sirens' clear-ringing breath;And he swam through the purple surge to tread that strand of death.Doomed wretch!--full soon had they robbed him there of his home-return;But for him did the Cyprian Lady of Eryx in pity yearn,And she snatched him away from the swirling wave, and safe she boreOf her grace to dwell on the height Lilybœan on Sicily's shore.So in anguish of spirit they left him: but perils worse than theseAwaited them--shipwrecking gulfs in the meeting-place of the seas.For on this side Scylla's smooth sheer crag uptowering loomed,And on that side Charybdis seething in ceaseless thunder boomed;And otherwhere, swung by the mighty surge, met clanging and crashingThe Wandering Rocks, where afront were the spurts of fire out-flashingFrom the crests of the cliffs, o'er the crag red-glowing on high that burned.And with smoke was the air all mistily shrouded: thou hadst not discernedThe beams of the sun. Then, albeit Hephaistus refrained from his toil,With the hot uprushing steam did the sea yet bubble and boil.Then Nereus' daughters from this side and that side the heroes met,And Thetis the Goddess her hand to the blade of the rudder set;And onward amidst of the Wandering Rocks the ship haled they.And as when o'er the face of a summer sea the dolphins playCircling around a ship as she runneth before the wind,One while in front of her stern beheld, one while behind,And alongside anon: and the shipmen be blithe for their gambolling;So darted they up from the depths, so circled, a glimmering ring,Round Argo the ship; and Thetis was steering her course through all.And when now was the galley at point on the Wandering Rocks to fall,Straightway they kilted their skirts above their snowy knees,And high on the crests of the skerries, the breaking of madding seas,To this side and that side they sped, far ranged apart to stand.Sea-cataracts crashed on her beam, fierce surges on either handHigher upsoaring and higher o'er the rocks were bursting and streaming;And these now towered to the welkin, as mountain-crags in seeming,And now, whelmed down the abyss, on the Ocean's nethermost floorGrounded they: over their crests did the triumphing rollers roar.But the Nereïds, as maidens that flit to and fro on a sandy beach,With parted gown-laps kilted about the waist of each,Sport with a shapely rounded ball: one tosseth it on,And her fellow receiveth; and high 'twixt heaven and earth is it goneSped from her hand to the welkin; and never it toucheth the ground,So from one unto other's hand passed on did the galley boundThrough the air o'er the crests of the waves as they sped her, clear alwayOf the rocks; and around her the water upbelching was seething aye.And the Fire-king's self on the ridge of a surf-lashed scaur was there,While his sturdy hammer the weight of his massy shoulder bare.Thence marvelling gazed Hephaistus: the bride of Zeus looked downWhere she stood in the sunlit heaven, and round Athênê had thrownHer arms, in such faintness of fear, as she looked thereon, did she cling.And long as the space of a day is lengthened out in the spring,So long was the time that they laboured, heaving with might and mainThe ship through the thunderous-echoing rocks, till the wind againBlew out the canvas; and onward they ran, and swiftly they spedBy the meads of Thrinakria's isle, where the kine of the Sun-god fed.Then the Nymphs in the semblance of sea-mews down through abysses of brinePlunged, when wrought was the hest of Zeus's Bride divine.Then through the air did there come to the heroes a bleating of sheep,And a lowing of kine full nigh to their ears floated over the deep.There a shepherdess-goddess pastured the sheep o'er the dewy lea,Phaëthusa--youngest of all the Sun-god's daughters was she--Bearing a shepherd's crook of silver the while in her hand;And Lampetiê herded the kine, and of mountain-brass was the wandThat she swayed as she followed their steps: and the heroes themselves espiedThose herds by the river that pastured, the sliding gleam beside,O'er the plain and the water-meadow: was none amid all that herdDun-hued of hide, but all white even as milk appeared.And a glory of golden horns on the stately heads of them shone.So they passed in the daytime the Sun-god's herds, and as night drew on,They went cleaving the great sea-gulf rejoicing, until once moreThe Child of the Mist, the Dawning, flashed on their sea-path hoar.

Now fronting the mouth of the gulf Ionian lieth an isleIn the sea Keraunian, forest-mantled, with deep rich soil,Whereunder the sickle, saith legend, is lying--vouchsafe me your grace,Song-goddesses: loth do I speak of the tale of the olden days--Wherewithal the strength of his father by Kronos was ruthlessly shorn:(But of some is it called Demêter-of-Hades' Reaper of Corn:For Demêter in that land wont to abide in the days of old,And she taught the Titans to reap the cornfield's spears of gold,Of her love unto Makris): the Sickle-land is it named therefrom,The Phaeacians' hallowed nurse: and by lineage so these comeOf Ouranus' very blood, and his sons the Phaeacians be.So Argo through much tribulation came from Thrinakria's seaWith the breeze to the land Phaeacian. With welcoming sacrificeAlkinoüs the king and his people received them in kindly wise:And all the city with riot of mirth o'er the far-driven onesRejoiced: thou hadst said that they joyed o'er their own re-given sons.And the heroes themselves through the throng in gladness triumphant strode,Even as though the heart of Haimonia-land they trod.

But now were they like to be donning their mail for the onset-cry,So mighty a host of Kolchian men appeared hard by,Which down through the gorge of the Pontus, and on through the Crags Dark-blueHad passed to the uttermost sea in quest of the hero-crew.And Medea they chiefly were eager to hale to her father's houseWithout parley, or threatened else that the war-yell dolorousShould be raised for the slaughter-vengeance unrelenting and sternBoth then, and when led by Aiêtes their host should thereafter return.Yet Alkinoüs the king restrained them amidst of their lust for the fray;For he greatly desired without the clash of the strife to allayThe haughty-hearted feud betwixt the war-hosts twain.But the maiden in deadly fear besought again and againThe comrades of Aison's son; and again and again did she clingWith her hands round the knees of Arêtê, the wife of Alkinoüs the king:

'I kneel unto thee, O Queen!--be gracious, and yield me not nowTo the Kolchians to hale to my father, if thou art of humankind, thouWhich livest by bread--of the hearts into folly that swiftliest rush,Whom lightest transgression adown the abysses of ruin doth push,Even so as my wisdom forsook me--nay, but it was not doneBy reason of lust: be witness the sacred light of the sun:Be witness the rites of Perseus' daughter, which haunteth the night,That not of my will with men of an alien land in flightDid I haste from mine home; but horrible dread on my spirit wroughtTo bethink me of fleeing thus when I sinned: other help there was not,Neither hope. My maidenhead yet unmarred abideth and clean,As it was in the halls of my father. Have pity upon me, O Queen;And incline unto mercy the heart of thy lord! May the Deathless soA life all-perfect on thee, all happiness bestow,And sons, and the boast of a city unravaged of any foe!'

So bowed at Arêtê's knees did she weep, and so beseech;And thus to the heroes appealed she, turning to each after each:

'For your sakes, O ye chiefest of might, and for your emprise,Am I hounded of terrors thus, even I, by whose deviceYe bowed the bulls to the yoke, and reaped that deadly swathOf the Earth-born Men--even I, through whom on the homeward pathYe shall bear the Fleece of Gold full soon to Haimonia's shore--Even I, who have lost my country, my parents have lost evermore,Have lost mine home, have lost all pleasures of life that I knew,But to you have restored your country, your homes have restored unto you;And with rapture-litten eyes your parents again shall ye see.But from me--a tyrannous god all happiness reft from me;And with alien men do I wander forlorn, an accursèd wight!Dread ye the covenant-troth and the oaths: the Avenging SpriteOf the suppliants dread, and the Gods' retribution, if ever I comeTo Aiêtes' hands, amid outrage and agony meeting my doom!No temple have I, neither tower of salvation, nor refuge beside:You cast I before me, mine only shield in the perilous tide.Hard hearts unrelenting and ruthless!--ye know not reverence, ye,For the suppliant, though ye behold as I stretch despairinglyMine hands to the knees of a stranger queen. Yet the Kolchian array,One and all, had ye faced, when ye thirsted to bear the Fleece away:Yea, Aiêtes the proud had ye faced:--but your manhood hath fainted, is flownNow, when your foes from their helpers be sundered, a handful alone.'

So passioned and prayed Medea. To whomso she bowed in prayer,Ever he heartened her, fain to assuage her anguished despair.And their keen-whetted lances in wrathful-quivering hands did they shake,And unscabbarded swords; and they swore they would fail not her help nor forsake,If the strange king touching the maiden unrighteous judgment spake.And lo, mid the throng as they wrangled, the night, that putteth to sleepThe labours of men, stole o'er them, and all the earth did she steepIn the balm of her quiet: but not on the maid fell slumber's peaceOne whit, but her heart in her bosom for anguish writhed without cease.Even as when a toiling woman windeth her threadThrough the night, and her fatherless children around her be moaning for bread,For that widowed she is; and adown her cheeks stream ever the tearsAs she thinketh upon this dreary lot that hath darkened her years;Even so were the maid's cheeks wet, and her heart evermore in her breastOn the anguish-thorn impaled was writhing in wild unrest.

But amidst of the city the palace within, as in days gone by,Alkinoüs the king, and the lady of queenliest majesty,The wife of Alkinoüs, lay in their bed, and many a wordThrough the darkness in counsel they spake of the maiden; and thus to her lordWith loving and earnest speech made answer the queen, and she said:

'Yea, O my beloved--yet save, I beseech thee, the woe-stricken maidFrom the Kolchians, showing a grace to the Minyan men. For anighTo our isle lieth Argos; the men of Haimonia dwell hard by.But Aiêtes--he dwelleth not even anear, and nought do we knowOf Aiêtes: we hear but his name. But the maiden's awful woe,When she made supplication, mine heart within my breast hath torn.Yield her not up to the Kolchians, my king, to her sire to be borne.In madness she sinned at the first, when she gave him the charm that should tameThe bulls; and with wrong to amend that wrong--ay, ofttimes the sameIn our sinning we do!--she straightway essayed; and, shrinking in fearFrom her proud sire's tyrannous wrath, she fled. Now the man, as I hear,This Jason, is bound by mighty oaths, which his own lips said,When he pledged him to make her, his halls within, his wife true-wed.Wherefore, beloved, constrain not Aison's son to forswearHis oath, of thy will, nor consent that the sire from the daughter should tearHer life in the rage of his soul amid pangs unendurably keen:For cruelly jealous against their daughters are fathers, I ween.What vengeance did Nykteus wreak on Antiopê lovely-faced!What woes were of Danaê borne on the wide sea's desolate wasteThrough her sire's mad rage! And of late, nor afar, it came to passThat wanton-tyrannous Echetus thrust the goads of brassThrough the eyes of his daughter: and wasted and worn by her woeful doom,She is grinding the grain of brass in a hovel's dungeon-gloom.'

So spake she beseeching; and softened so was the heart of the kingBy the words of his wife, and he spake in such wise answering:

'Arêtê, the Kolchian men would I even, in harness arrayed,Drive forth of the land, for a grace to the heroes, to save yon maid.But I fear to set the unswerving justice of Zeus at nought.Nor were this well done, to contemn, according to this thy thought,Aiêtes:--of kinglier king than Aiêtes may no man tell.Yea, war, if he list, shall he bring against Hellas, afar though he dwell.Wherefore 'tis meet and right that the sentence be spoken of meThat in all men's eyes shall be best, and I will not hide it from thee:--If the damsel be virgin yet, I decree that the daughter be ledTo the father: but if she minister unto a husband's bed,I will part not from husband wife; nor, if haply she bear 'neath her zoneHis offspring, to foes will I yield up a child of Aison's son.'

So spake he, and round him straight did the veil of slumber close.But she laid up his wisdom her heart within; and she straightway uproseFrom her couch in the palace: the women her handmaids with hurrying feetCame, eagerly tending their lady the Queen with service meet.And she silently summoned her herald, and spake in his ears her requestTo be instant in bidding Aison's son, at his Queen's behest,To wed with the maiden, nor more with Alkinoüs the king to plead;For himself to the Kolchians would go and pronounce the doom decreed,That, if she were virgin yet, he would render her up to be ledTo her father: but if she ministered unto a husband's bed,Not then would he sever the wife from the love of the lawfully wed.

So spake she, and forth of the hall the feet of the herald spedUnto Jason, Arêtê the Queen's fair-omened message to bring,And Alkinoüs' counsel, the word of the god-revering king.And the heroes he found by the ship in their war-gear abiding awakeIn the haven of Hyllus, anigh to the city; and out he spakeThe Queen's whole message, and each man's spirit was gladness-stirred,Forasmuch as he spake in their ears an exceeding welcome word.

Straightway they mingled the bowl to the Gods that abide for aye;And with reverent hands to the altar the victim-sheep drew they.And the selfsame night for the maiden prepared they the couch of the brideIn a hallowed cave, where of old time Makris wont to abide,The child of the Honey-lord, Aristaius, whose wisdom discernedThe toils of the bees, and the wealth of the labour of olives learned.And she was the first that received and in sheltering bosom boreThe child Nysaian of Zeus, on Eubœa's Abantian shore.And with honey she moistened his lips, where the dew of life was driedWhen Hermes bare him out of the fire. But Hêrê espied,And from all the isle that Nymph in her fierceness of anger she drave.Wherefore she dwelt far thence in the holy Phaeacian cave,And blessing and weal beyond word to the folk of the land she gave.Even there did they spread them the mighty couch and thereover they laidThe glittering Golden Fleece, that the marriage so might be madeHonoured, a song in the mouths of bards. Flowers manifold-fairThe Nymphs in their snowy bosoms gathered, and thitherward bare.And a splendour like as of fire glowed round those shapes divine,Such glory-gleams from the golden tufts did shimmer and shine.Sweet longing lit up their eyes: howbeit did awe withholdEach one, though she yearned to lay but her hand on the wonder of gold.And of that bright throng the river Aigaius' daughters were some,And some on the crests of Melitê dwelt in their mountain-home;And forest-glen Nymphs of the plains were some: for Zeus's bride,Even Hêrê, had sent them for honour to Jason's marriage-tide.That cave is to this day named Medea's Sacred Grot,Forasmuch as to wedlock's solemnities there these twain they brought,When the odorous-sweet fine linen they spread. And the heroes withoutGuarded them war-spear in hand, lest haply for battle the routOf their foes unawares should set on them, or ever the rites were sped.And with sprays of bounteous leaf did they wreathe each man his head;And in harmony all, while clear the harp of Orpheus rang,At the entering-in of the cave the bridal hymn they sang.Yet not in Alkinoüs' home the hero Aison's son,But in halls of his father, the goal of marriage full fain had won,When home he returned to Iolkos, and so withal was the mindOf Medea, but hard compulsion constrained them now to be joined.But even as never the tribes of the woe-stricken children of earthMay tread full-footed the path of delight, but still with our mirthHand in hand goeth pacing affliction bitter as gall,So these, when melted with rapture of love were their souls, were thrallUnto dread, what things of Alkinoüs' sentence should haply befall.

So soon as the dawn with her beams ambrosial climbed heaven's height,And scattered the gloomy night through the welkin, and laughed in her lightThe island-beaches, and all the paths through the plains that woundDew-gleaming afar, and awoke in the streets a murmur of sound,And her folk were astir through the town, and astir was the Kolchian hostIn their camp far off on the bounds of the Makrian sea-ringed coast.Then straightway Alkinoüs hied him, by covenant-plight to hold,To utter his purpose as touching the maiden. His sceptre of gold,His staff of justice, he bare, wherewith to the multitudeOf the city were meted the statutes with righteousness endued.And beside him, in ordered ranks arrayed in their harness of fight,Squadron by squadron were marching Phaeacia's chiefest of might.And forth from the tower-girt city in throngs the women brokeTo gaze on the heroes; and men therewithal of the country-folkMet them, which heard the tidings; for Hêrê afar had spedA rumour that erred not: and one a lamb unblemished led,The choice of the sheep: with a heifer unlaboured one drew nigh;And others were ranging the earthen jars of wine hard byTo mingle. The sacrifice-smoke was wafted far away.Came women with webs of costly labour, as women may,And with trinkets of gold, and with manifold ornaments therebeside,Such gifts as be wont to be brought to the newly-wedded bride.And they marvelled beholding the heroes' stature and comeliness,As they towered o'er the throng, and Oiagrius' scion amidst of the press,As in time to the harmony-ringing lyre and the chanted strainEver he smote and anon with his glittering sandal the plain.And the Nymphs all blending their voices, when marriage-notes chimed on the string,Uplifted the lovely bridal chant, and anon would they singAlone and unprompted the song, as the wreaths of their dances they twined.O Hêrê, of thee was it done; for thou puttedst it into the mindOf Arêtê to tell Alkinoüs' prudent word of the night.But so soon as the king had pronounced the decree of unswerving right,And when now was the marriage accomplished proclaimed in all men's ears,Then took he heed that it so should abide: no deadly fearsTouched him, nor Aiêtes' terrible wrath might his purpose shake;But he held by the word he had plighted, the oath that he would not break.And when now were the Kolchians ware that in vain they besought him to swerve,And when now he commanded them--'Either obey my decree and observe,Or forth of my havens and land afar shall your galleys sail';--Then in that hour for their own king's threatenings 'gan they quail,And besought him amongst his folk to receive them. So there in the landLong time with the people Phaeacian dwelt the Kolchian band,Till the Bacchiad lords, which by lineage sprang from Ephyrê,As the years passed, settled amidst them, and they to the isle overseaSailed: thence to the Thunder-hills of Abantian men must they go,And therefrom to the folk Nestaian, and on to Oricum so.But the river of time ere then down many a year must flow.But still to the altars the yearly sacrifice men bringFor the Fates and the Nymphs in the fane of Apollo the Shepherd-king,Which altars Medea builded. And gifts, ere they passed o'er the wave,Full many Alkinoüs gave them, and many Arêtê gave.Thereafter withal on Medea Phaeacian handmaid-thrallsTwelve did the Queen bestow, to follow her forth of her halls.On the seventh day sailed they away from Drepanê. Came with the mornA fresh breeze sent of Zeus: and so by the wind's breath borneOnward and onward they ran. Howbeit not yet on the strandOf Achaia by doom of the God might they tread, that hero-band,Till yet they had toiled in the uttermost parts of Libya-land.

And now by the bay that is named the Ambracian Gulf had they sped,And now had they left the Aetolian land with sail wide spread;And thereafter the isles in the narrow Echinad strait that lie;And Pelops' land in the offing but now might they dimly descry:Even then were they snatched away by the North-wind's baleful blastIn mid course: on to the Libyan sea did it sweep them fastNine nights together, and days as many, until they had runInto the Syrtis afar, wherefrom returning is noneFor ships, when a storm-driven galley within that gulf shall be found.For on every hand be shoals, and the tangled weed all roundOf the deep, and the salt foam-scum over all doth mantle and cling.Into haziest distance stretcheth the land: no living thingThere moveth that creepeth or flieth. On that drear coast by the sweepOf the flood-tide--for ofttimes the outrushing ebb draweth back to the deepFar off from the land, and again with gurgling rush and roarCometh bursting over his beaches--afar on the innermost shoreWere they suddenly thrust, that the keel's full depth was covered no more.Then leapt they forth of the ship, and in trouble of soul did they gazeOn the dimness, the long low backs of the land all formless hazeFar stretching away unbroken. Nor stream nor spring they espied,Neither path, nor, how distant soe'er, a steading thereon they descriedOf herdmen, but all the landskip in dead calm folded lay.And in sore vexation of spirit did hero to hero say:

'What manner of land is this? Whither now hath the tempest's swayHurled us? Would God we had dared, all reckless of deadly dismay,To rush right on through the path of the rocks of the grim sea-gate!Verily better it were, had we overleapt the fateOf Zeus, in daring a deed of heroic mood to have died!But now, what thing should we do, which be prisoned by winds to abideHere, though but a little span we continue?--in such drear wiseThe plain of the limitless land stretcheth up to the lowering skies.'

So cried they: thereafter in utter despair for their evil caseAnkaius the helmsman spake with anguish-darkened face:

'Yea verily, ghastliest doom hath undone us. Escape there is notFrom destruction: for us but remaineth to suffer the cruellest lot,Which have fallen on this desolation; yea, even though a breath there should beOf air from the land, forasmuch as nought save shoals do I see,Afar as I gaze o'er the waters around; and scantly the brineOverscaleth the hoary sands in foam-fretted line upon line.Yea, and our god-built ship had to shards been wretchedly tornLong since far off from the shore, but that out of the sea was it borneBy the flood-tide's self uplifted, and high on the land was it thrown.But the tide now raceth aback to the deep, and foam aloneWhereon saileth no keel, rolleth on, and but thinly the earth hath it veiled.Wherefore, I trow, all hope of our sailing hath utterly failed--All hope of return! Let another man show sea-craft herein.Lo, there is the helm--whosoever is fain our deliverance to win,Let him sit in my seat. But little doth Zeus desire, I wot,To crown with a day of return the toils we have suffered and wrought.'

So spake he, weeping the while; and the others agreed thereto,Even all which had knowledge of ships; and all the hearts of them grewChilly and numb, and over their cheeks was paleness shed.And even as, like unto lifeless spectres of folk long dead,Men creep through the streets of a town, and despairing the issue awaitOf famine or leaguer of war, or a tempest unspeakably greatWhich hath swept o'er the land, and hath flooded the labours of oxen untold;Or when great gouts of blood from the images sweating have rolled,Or when from the shrines of the temple ghostly bellowings wail,Or the sun o'er the day's mid noontide draweth the night's black veilOut of heaven, and the glittering stars come forth in splendour pale;So stricken, the chieftains then by the strand's verge endless-wideRoamed loitering on. And at one stride came dark eventide.And piteously around each other their arms did they throwWith weeping farewell, that each from his fellow apart might goTo die, and might fling him adown on the sand to wait for the end.So this way and that way to choose their couch of the night did they wend;And each in the folds of his mantle enshrouded his head, and they layFasting and thirsting there through the livelong night and the dayAwaiting a piteous death. And the handmaids huddled in fearRound Aiêtes' daughter apart shrilled lamentation drear.And as when, of their mother forsaken, fledglings shrilly cheep,Which have fallen to earth from a cleft in a sheer scaur's precipice-steep,Or as when 'twixt the low-browed banks of Pactolus' fair-flowing streamThe swans are upraising their song, and the meadow of dewy gleamMurmureth round, and murmur the river's ripples fair;So the handmaidens bowing low in the dust their golden hair,All through the night were uplifting their pitiful wail of despair.And now out of life had they slidden, had vanished from human ken,And the name and the fame of them never more had been heard among men,Those noblest of heroes!--their task unaccomplished had ended then:Howbeit the Heroine-nymphs had pity of them as they pinedIn helpless despair, the Warders of Libya, they that did findAthênê, what time from the head of her father, in battle-gearAll flashing, she sprang, and the new-born bathed they in Trito's mere.The noon of the day it was, and the sun upon Libya-landBurned with his fiercest beams: by Aison's son did they stand,And the mantle-shroud from his head with soft light touch drew they.But the hero, downward drooping his eyes, thence turned them away,For awe of the shapes divine: but with gentle words of cheerWith open face did they speak unto him in his 'wildered fear:

'Ill-starred one, wherefore so grievously smitten art thou with despair?We know how ye fared for the Golden Fleece: of your toils we be ware,Even all the strength-overmastering labours on land that ye proved,And all ye endured on the face of the watery deep as ye roved.The Solitary Ones of the land, the Heroines, are we,Warders and daughters of Libya, which speak which our voices to thee.Up then: let thy spirit not thus to affliction of misery yield,And uprouse thy comrades, so soon as the steeds of the car swift-wheeledOf Poseidon, by Amphitritê loosed from the yoke, run free.Unto your mother the nursing-debt then render yeFor all her travail, when long she bare you her womb within.So haply again unto hallowed Achaia-land shall ye win.'

So spake they, and vanished, there as they stood, in the selfsame placeWhere murmured their voices close in his ear: and with startled gazeStaring around, on the earth sat Jason, and cried in amaze:

'Be gracious, ye glorious Goddesses, lone in the desert which dwell!Yet what this word of our home-coming meaneth I wot not well.I will gather my comrades, and tell them, and learn what token is thisOf escape:--in the multitude of counsellors safety there is.'

Then he leapt to his feet, and he shouted afar o'er the desolate shore,All dust-begrimed, as a lion that seeking his mate doth roarUp and down through the forest-gloom: deep glens through many a hillFar off at the sound of his voice's thunder shuddering thrill,And tremble the oxen that roam the meads with exceeding fear,And the herders of kine: but never a whit dismaying to hearWas the hero's cry to his friends when the voice of his shouting they heard.And they gathered with down-drooped eyes to his side, and they sat at his wordSore troubled anigh where lay the ship; and the women withalWith the heroes mingled sat; and he spake, and he told them all:

'Hearken, O friends, for in this mine affliction Goddesses three,In vesture of goatskins girded about, from neck unto kneeOverdrooping their shoulders and waists, as maidens of earth to behold,Stood over mine head full nigh, and they drew my mantle's foldAway from mine head with fingers light, and they bade me ariseFrom my couch of despair, bade rouse you up in the selfsame wise.And they bade us to render our mother the nursing-debt again--Seeing that long in her womb she bare us with travail-pain--Whensoever the steeds of the swift-wheeled car of the Lord of the SeaAmphitritê should loose from the yoke. Howbeit it is not in meTo divine what their prophecy meaneth. They named them, that stranger-band,Heroines, daughters of Libya, and Warders of the Land.Yea, whatsoever toils we endured in our journeyingBy land or by sea, said they, they were ware of everything.No longer thereafter I saw them in place, but there came betweenA mist or a cloud--they appeared, and lo! they were no more seen.'

He spake, and they marvelled all such tale to hear him tell.Then to the Minyan men a most strange wonder befell:For out of the sea to the land did a horse gigantic boundWith golden mane far-streaming that tossed his shoulders around.And with one swift stamp he shook from his shoulders the briny spray,And onward he galloped with feet like the blast of the wind: straightwayUnto the throng of his comrades did Peleus rejoicing say:

'The steed of the car of the Lord of the Sea!--unyoked hath he beenEven but now by the hands of his dear-loved wife, I ween.And our mother--none other is this, I divine, than the good ship there,Argo; for verily us within her womb she bareWith grievous anguish of travail groaning unceasingly.Her therefore with stalwart strength and with tireless shoulders weWill uplift, and afar o'er the wastes of the sandy land from the shoreWill we bear her, where yonder steed hath with swift feet sped before.For he will not, he, sink into the earth, but his hoof-prints shall goPointing the way for us inland afar from the sea, I trow.'

So did he speak: of his keen-witted counsel were all they fain.Lo, this is the song of the Muses, and I but sing their strain,The Pierides' servant; and this true tale in mine ears hath been toldThat ye, O mightiest far of the sons of the kings of old,By your manhood and might o'er the sands of Libya's desert drearBare high over earth your galley and all her voyaging-gear,On your shoulders laid, yea, bare her through long days two and ten,And nights as many. That cup of affliction and travail then,What tongue could tell it, which these in their toil filled up full-brim?Of a truth of the blood of the Deathless they were, such labour grimDid they take on them, onward driven and on by Necessity's goad,Till afar mid the ripples of Trito's mere how triumphantly strode,How gladly adown from their stalwart shoulders they set their load!

Then rushing, like unto hounds in the wild hunt's frenzy-burst,Sought they a spring, for that now was there added parching thirstUnto all their affliction and manifold anguish; nor toiled they in vainWandering there; for lo, they came to the sacred plainWhere but yesterday Ladon the Serpent of Libya in Atlas' gardenKept watch o'er the Apples of Gold; and the Nymphs around their warden,The Hesperides, rested never, chanting their lovely song.But now by the arrows of Herakles stricken he lay alongBy the trunk of the apple-tree: only the tip of his tail had strengthTo quiver yet, but adown from his head, through all the lengthOf his dark chine, lifeless he lay. Where the arrows had left in his bloodThe bitter gall of the Hydra of Lerna, a swarming broodOf flies o'er the venom-festering wounds of him crawled and clung.And thereby the Hesperides over their golden heads had flungTheir white arms, shrilling their wail. And the wanderers suddenly drewAnear, and to dust and to earth straightway, when the hero-crewCame hastily on, did they turn even there. But Orpheus was wareOf the portent divine, and he stood, and he spake to the Nymphs in prayer:

'Divine Ones, lovely and kindly, O Queens, be gracious ye,Whether amongst the Heavenly Goddesses numbered ye be,Or the Earthly, or whether they name you the Lone Ones, Nymphs divine,Come, O ye Nymphs, come, daughters of Ocean's sacred line!Appear ye in manifest form to our longing eyes, and showSome spring gushing forth from the rock, some sacred upwelling flowFrom the bosom of Earth, O shapes divine, that the thirst which doth burnOur tongues without cease may be quenched; and if ever again we returnUnto Achaia-land in our weariful voyaging,Then, as to the chiefest in heaven, to you which have done this thingGifts and libations and feasts with grateful love will we bring.'

So spake he, praying with earnest voice; and they from anearPitied their pain. And first did they cause green grass to appearFrom the earth, and above the grass rose saplings tall, and theseThereafter in fulness of bloom grew up into fair young trees:Tall-standing and straight, high up from the face of the earth they towered.In a poplar was Hesperê veiled, Erythêis an elm embowered,And Aiglê a sacred willow. And out of the stems of them, lo!Appeared they, and like as before they had been, so again did they show,A marvel exceeding great: and Aiglê silence brake,And with gentle words in their longing ears she answered and spake:

'Of a surety for blessing to you and deliverance out of your toil,Hitherward came but now one ruthless and shameless, to spoilOur guardian serpent of life; and the Goddesses' apples of goldHe plucked, and he bare them away, and he left us sorrowful-souled.For there came yestreen a man most fell in wanton despite,Grim-shapen, whose eyes 'neath his scowling brows flashed terrible light,A pitiless man: in a monster lion's fell untanned,Raw hide, was he clad, with a stubborn olive-wood staff in his hand,And a bow, with the arrows whereof he shot yon dragon dead.And he came, he also, as one that afoot overland hath sped,Thirst-parched: and questing for water with diligent haste he soughtThrough all this place--but, I ween, he was like to behold it not!Howbeit a certain rock by the mere Tritonian stood:This, or of his own device, or a God wrought so on his mood,Did he smite with his foot, and forth did the water in full burst flow.Then down to the earth on his hands and his breast he bowed him low;And out of the rifted rock an unspeakable draught he swilled,Till his mighty maw, down-stooped like a beast of the field, he had filled.'

So spake she; and they right glad thence hasted, until they cameTo the place where Aiglê had told of the spring; and they found the same.And as when earth-burrowing ants swarm round their narrow pit,All hurrying to and fro, or when clustering flies, that have litWhere lieth a drop of the honey sweet, a tiny gout,Insatiate-eager are thronging, so in a huddled routThe Minyans round that rock-spring crowded on every side.And with wet lips thus in his gladness hero to hero cried:

'O strange!--how hath Herakles saved his companions forspent with stressOf thirst, though afar he were! Would God that he yet might blessThe eyes of us finding him faring on through the wilderness!'

Then shouted in answer they which were ready-dight for the deed.And they parted, and this way and that way questing the lost did they speed.For the tracks of the hero by winds of the night had been wholly effaced,As they drifted the sand. And away did Boreas' two sons haste,Putting trust in their wings; and Euphêmus trusting his feet flying fast,And Lynkeus the piercing glance of his eyes afar to cast:And Kanthus, the fifth of the searchers, darted away with the rest,Whom the doom of the Gods and his manfulness drave to essay that quest,That of Herakles' mouth for certain tidings he so might inquireWhere he left Polyphemus, Eilatus' son; for with earnest desireWas he fain to ask of the hero concerning his lost friend's fate:--But he mid the Mysians had builded a city glorious and great;Then yearning for home came o'er him, and seeking Argo he passedFar over the mainland, until he came to the land at the lastOf the sea-board Chalybans: there 'neath the mastering doom did he fall,And there up-piled is his grave-mound under a poplar tallFacing the sea. But Lynkeus deemed that he spied that dayOver measureless spaces of land lone-faring and far awayHerakles--saw him as one that hath seen or hath thought he hath seenThe moon, when the month is young, through mist-veils floating between.To his comrades returned he, and told them that quester thereafter should seeThe hero no more as he journeyed. In like wise came those three,Even Euphêmus the swift of foot, and the scions twainOf the Thracian Wind of the North, having toiled and striven in vain.

But, Kanthus, in Libya thee did the fell Fates bring to thine end.Upon pasturing flocks didst thou light; and the shepherd, that wont to tendThose sheep, in defending them smote thee, when thou thereof wast fainTo take for thy comrades' need, and there of his hand was thou slainBy the cast of a stone; for in sooth no weakling there kept ward,Kaphaurus, the grandson of Phœbus, Lykoreia's Lord,And of fair Akakallis the princess, whom Minos drave from her homeIn Libya to dwell, when the fruit of a God was found in her womb,His daughter she; and a glorious son unto Phœbus she bare,Amphithemis namèd, and Garamas--twofold the names of him were.And a Nymph, the Lady of Trito's Lake, did Amphithemis wed;And Nasamon's might and Kaphaurus the strong she bare to his bed,Even him which smote down Kanthus, defending his sheep as he fought.Yet from the chieftains' avenging hands escaped he not,When they learned what deed he had done; and the Minyans sought their dead,And they took up the corse, and they laid him to rest in the strait earth-bed,Mourning, and took thereafter the slayer's sheep for a prey.There also Mopsus, Ampykus' son, in the selfsame dayDid a pitiless fate cut off. Stern doom might he nowise shunBy his prophecy-lore, forasmuch as avoidance of death is there none.For a dread snake lay mid the sand from the mid-noon sun to hide,Too sluggish to strike of his will at such as would turn aside;Nor yet would he dart full face upon one that in fear shrank back.Yet into whomso but once he should spit his venom black,Of all that on life-sustaining earth draw living breath,Not a cubit's length should be left of his path to the mansion of Death,No, not though the Healer God--if this I may say, nor sin--Should medicine him, if only his teeth should have grazed but the skin.For when over Libya flying godlike Perseus came--Who is also Eurymedon; so did his mother name his name--As unto the king the Gorgon's head new-severed he bore,Whatsoever to earth dropped down of the dark-red gouts of gore,All quickened, and serpents thereof of the selfsame brood did there spring.Now Mopsus pressed on the ridge of the spine of the deadly thing,Setting his left foot-sole thereupon; and the beast in his painWrithed round it: the flesh 'twixt ankle and calf in his fangs hath he ta'en,And he tare it, the while Medea and all her handmaids fledIn affright. Howbeit the seer was handling, nothing adread,The bleeding wound; for the pain not grievously vexed his soul.Ah wretch!--for already a numbness of deadly slumber stoleUnstringing his sinews: a thick mist flooded his eyes all round.Straightway his burdened limbs all helplessly sank to the ground,And chill did he grow. And his comrades, and Aison's son, amazedAt the strokes fast-falling of doom, on the dead man thronging gazed.Yet not for a little space, albeit but newly dead,Might he lie in the sun, for that fast through his flesh 'gan corruption to spreadFrom the venom: the very hair from the skin like slime was cast.Therefore they straightway delved them a deep trench, labouring fastWith mattocks of brass; and in mourning thereafter their hair did they rend,Both they and the maidens, bewailing the dead man's pitiful end.Round the hero meetly entombed then thrice in their warrior-gearMarched they, and over his grave the earth-mound high did they rear.

But when now they were gone aboard of the ship, and the South-wind blewOver the sea, they must needs make guess of the strait wherethroughThey should win forth out of Tritônis' mere; neither any deviceLong had they, but all day long were they drifting in aimless wise.And as writheth a serpent along his crooked path, when beatThe rays of the sun on the land, and scorch him with fiercest heat,And with hissing to this side and that side he turneth his head, and his eyne,Like unto sparks that leap from the furnace, glitter and shineFor his fury, until to his lair through a cleft of the rock he may creep;So Argo, seeking a mouth of the mere, a fairway deep,Long time tacked to and fro. Then Orpheus suddenly spake,That Apollo's massy tripod forth of the ship they should take,And propitiate the Gods of the land therewith for their home-going's sake.So went they, and set Apollo's goodly gift on the shore.Then stood before them one, the form of a youth who bore,Even Triton the Wide-dominioned. From earth he uplifted a clod,And he held it forth for his Stranger's Gift; and spake the God:

'Receive it, my friends: no gift exceeding goodly to seeHere have I now to give unto them which seek unto me.But and if ye inquire touching this sea's paths--as many a timeIs the need of men whose journeyings pass through an alien clime--I will tell you, seeing Poseidon hath made me to understandThis sea, for that he is my father, and I am the king of the landBy the sea--if perchance to your ears from afar Eurypylus' name,Son of the Land of the Beasts of Ravin, from Libya came.'

He spake, and Euphêmus outstretched his hands right joyfullyThat gift of the clod to receive, and answering thus spake he:

'If thou peradventure of Atthis and Minos' sea dost know,O hero, to us who inquire the truth unfailing show.For not of our will have we hitherward come, but the tempests' mightHath hurled us afar, on the borders of this your land to light:And our galley, shoulder-uplifted, a weary burden, I wis,Through the desert we bare to the waves of thy mere. But we know not this,Whereby we shall sail thereout to win unto Pelops' land.'

He spake, and afar that other pointed, outstretching his handTo the sea, and the mouth of the deep-channelled mere, and he spake the word:

'Lo, yonder lieth the path to the sea, where the deeps unstirredDarkest are gleaming: on either hand roll breakers whiteGreen-glimmering under their shivering crests, and on forthrightThrough the lane of the breakers a straight path lieth to win from the mere.And yon sea misty in distance beyond Crete stretcheth clearTo the sacred land of Pelops. But rightward still steer ye,When forth of the mere ye have thrust, and ye ride on the swell of the sea.And so long speed ye onward your course, close-hugging the land,Till ye come to an inland-trending gulf; and then shall ye standBoldly across to the ness where endeth the sweep of the shoreBeyond. Therefrom shall your course be perplexity-troubled no more.Now pass on your way rejoicing: let no man grieve the whileThat your limbs must labour, while yet ye have strength of your youth for toil.'

With kindly counsel he spake; and they hied them aboard once more,With intent to get them forth of the mere by toil of the oar.On sped they with eager purpose: and now did Triton takeOn his shoulder the mighty tripod; and now did he enter the lake,And they saw:--but thereafter did no man mark how he vanished from sightWith the tripod, anigh though he were. Then each man's heart grew light,For that now for their helping had met them one of the Gods ever-blest.And they cried unto Aison's son to take of their sheep the best,And to sacrifice to the God, and to chant the hymn of praise.Then straightway he chose it in haste, and the victim on high did he raise,And slew it there on the stern, and the sacrifice-prayer he cried:

'Thou God, who hast manifested thyself on the mere's lone side,--Whether Triton the great sea-marvel thou be, or whether thy nameBe Phorkys or Nereus mid Sea-nymphs of Nereus' loins which came,--Be gracious thou, and vouchsafe heart-gladdening home-return.'

So praying he severed the throat of the victim, and down from the sternMid the waves did he cast it. Out of the deep yet again did he rise:In his own true form as a God was he manifest unto their eyes.And as when one traineth a fleet-foot steed for the broad race-course,Grasping the flowing mane of the hest-obeying horse,Running lightly beside him, while high he is arching his neck in his pride,And followeth on, and the gleaming bit, as from side to sideHe rolleth it 'twixt his champing jaws, is clashing and ringing;Even so with his hand to the keel of hollow Argo clinging,Seaward he thrust her; and all his form, from the stately crownOf his head, over back and waist and navel, thus far downWas his wondrous shape even such as the Gods ever-blessèd are.But down from his loins the tail of a sea-beast lengthened farForking to this side and that, and he lashed the face of the tideWith his spines, which parted below into fins outcurving wideIn fashion like to the horns of the moon when the month is new.Onward he drave her, till sped from the thrust of his hand she flewTo the sea: then sank he mid fathomless depths, and the heroes allShouted, whose eyes beheld that awesome marvel befall.There is the haven of Argo, and there are the signs of her stay:There stand to Poseidon and Triton altars unto this day;Forasmuch as for that day tarried they there. But with sail outspreadAt the dawning again before the West-wind's breath they fled.And ever they kept the while that desert land to the right.On the morning thereafter the ness they beheld, and the long sea-bightInland-trending beyond that seaward-jutting ness.Then straightway the West-wind failed them, but blew the breath no lessOf the cloudless South; and their hearts rejoiced, in the sail as it sighed.And the sun went down, and uprose the star of the folding-tide,Which bringeth from labour rest unto ploughmen toil-fordone.Even then, when the wind died down as the darkling night drew on,Furled they the idle sail, and the mast exceeding tallThey lowered, and now to the toil of the polished oar did they fallAll through the night and the day, and, when failed the light of the day,Through the night thereafter, till rugged Karpathos far awayWelcomed them: thence did they shape their course unto where rose highCrete above all the rest of the isles in the sea which lie.

There Talos, the man of brass, from the stubborn scaur as he toreRock-shards, withstood them from making the hawsers fast to the shore,When came to the roadstead of Dirkê's haven the sea-worn ones.Now he was the last of the brazen stock of the Ash-tree's sons:In the days of the Sons of the Gods none other on earth abode.Him on Europa to guard her island Kronion bestowed;And thrice round Crete each day with his brazen feet he strode.Now in all the rest of his body and limbs was he fashioned of brassWhich might not be broken: howbeit a blood-red vein there wasBy his ankle beneath the sinew, and guarded therewithinWere the issues of life and of death by nought save a film of skin.And the men were with travail outworn, yet aloof from the land drew theyTheir ship with the backward sweep of the oars, in exceeding dismay.To the outsea now from Crete had they turned them in plight forlorn,Tormented with thirst, and by all their travail-pain outworn;But, even as they turned them, Medea spake to the hero-crew:

'Hear me: alone, I ween, can I for your helping subdueYon man, whosoever he be, though fashioned of brass all throughBe his body, except he have life everlasting added thereto.But consent ye to keep hereby your galley beyond the flightOf his stones, till he yield unto me his overmastered might.'

Then backed they the galley, beyond the cast of his arm, to restOn the oars; and they waited to see what counsel, of all unguessed,She would bring to pass. Then on either side of her cheeks did she holdFor a veil before her face her purple mantle's fold.Then up to the deck she went, and her hand did Aison's sonGrasp in his own, and from thwart to thwart so led her on.And the spell-chant raised she: the Fates with singing invoked she there,Devourers of souls, swift hounds of Hades, through all the airWhich be hovering ever, and swoop on the doomed the living among.Bowing the knee unto these three times she invoked them with song,And thrice with prayer; and with soul unto mischief shapen she castThe glance of the evil eye upon Talos, his vision to blast.And her teeth gnashed fury accursèd upon him, the arms of her wavedBeckonings of doom, as of one that in frenzy of hatred raved.

Zeus Father, awe as a wind on my spirit bloweth chill,Seeing how by disease not alone, nor by wounds, the doom of illMeeteth us, yea, how one from afar shall work our bane!Even as he, though brazen, yielded yet to be slainBy the might of Medea the sorceress. Then, as he heaved on highThe massy rocks to withstand them from coming the haven anigh,On a spur of the crag did he graze his heel, and the ichor-floodLike melting lead gushed forth: nor long thereafter he stoodTowering up on the rock out-jutting that frowned o'er the brine.But, even as high on the mountain side a giant pine,--Which the woodmen have left, when adown from the forest at even they hie,With the keen axe half hewn through,--as the winds of the night pass by,Shivereth first in the blast, and swayeth; but, snapt ere longAt the stump, down falleth; so he on his feet all tireless-strongFor a little space yet stood, yet swayed he to and fro.Thereafter all strengthless fell with a mighty crash their foe.For that night there on the shore of Crete did the heroes lie;But thereafter, so soon as the glow of the dawn overflushed the sky,A fane to Athênê Minôïs builded they thereby.Then water they drew them, and hied them aboard, that with oars swift-spedBefore all else they might pass beyond Salmônê's Head.

But even as they ran over Crete's wide sea, all suddenly cameA horror of darkness on them, which the Pall of Blackness they name,The Night of Destruction. No stars shone through it, no faint ray gleamedOf the moon: black chaos from heaven descended, or haply upstreamedDarkness that might be felt from the depths of the nethermost hell.And whether through Hades they drifted, or heaved on the waters' swell,Nowise they knew; but unto the sea in helpless despairThey committed their home-return, to bear as it would. But in prayerCried Jason with mighty voice, and to Phœbus his hands did he raise,Calling on him to save them, the while the tears ran down his faceIn his trouble. To Pytho and Amyklae promised he once and againOfferings unnumbered to bear, and gifts to Ortygia's fane.And thou, O Lêto's son, wast swift to hear: from on highUnto Melas' rocks thou descendedst, amidst of the sea which lie.Twin peaks hath the isle: upon one thereof didst thou dart, and standUplifting on high thy golden bow in a God's right hand.Flashed round thee on every side the bow's bright splendour-sheen.Then of the voyagers' eyes was a little island seenOf the Sporades, overagainst Hippuris' tiny isle.There cast they anchor, and waited: and soon Dawn's rosy smileFlushed up through the sky. In a tree-shadowed dell to Apollo they madeA goodly hallowed place, and an altar mid twilight of shade.And the Splendour-god, because of the splendour that far-seen flamed,Phœbus they called; and Anaphê, 'Isle of Revealing,' they namedThat rock, for that Phœbus revealed it to men bewildered sore.And they sacrificed whatso men might provide on a desolate shoreFor the sacrifice: but when, for that wine they had none, they shedWater over the brands on the altar glowing red,Medea's Phaeacian maidens beholding them could not refrainThe laughter their bosoms within any more; for that oxen slainFor the sacrifice in Alcinoüs' halls had they seen full oft.But the heroes with mirthful hearts cast back their railing, and scoffedWith gibing words: and so, like the flame's light-flickering play,Flashed taunts 'twixt these and contention of jesting. And unto this day,From the old song-sport of the heroes, in that isle women flingEven such light scoffs at the men when gifts of atonement they bringTo Apollo the Splendour-god, unto Anaphê's Warder-king.

But when thence they had loosed the hawsers, when summer-winds blew light,Then did Euphêmus call to remembrance a dream of the night,In his awe of the glorious son of Maia. For lo, him thoughtThat the god-given clod in his palm close unto his breast he had caught.And therefrom like a suckling babe white streams of milk it drew,Till the clod, for all that so little it were, to a woman grewLike to a virgin. In love's embrace, by desire overborne,Did he lie with the damsel: yet even as a maiden for ruth did he mournTo have humbled her whom the very milk of his breast had fed.But she with unangry words spake comfort to him, and she said:

'Offspring of Triton am I, and the nurse of thy children to be:No maid, dear friend; for that Triton and Libya gave birth unto me.But me to the maidens the Daughters of Nereus do thou restoreTo dwell in the sea nigh Anaphê's isle. I shall rise once moreTo the light of the sun, for thy children's children a home prepared.'

Now his heart called this to remembrance; and all that dream he declaredUnto Aison's son: then he mused in his soul on a prophecyOf the Smiter from Far, and he uttered his thought, and thus spake he:

'O strange!--of a surety a weird of glorious renown is thine!For the Gods shall make this clod, when thou castest it into the brine,An island, wherein thy children's children hereafter shall live.For this was the stranger's-gift which Triton did freely giveTo thine hand on the Libyan shore. Of the Gods that abide for ayeNone other was he who gave, when he met thee there in the way.'

He spake, and Euphêmus set not at nought that answering word;But his heart for the Aisonid's oracle-promise was gladness-stirred;And he cast 'mid the surges the clod. Thence rose up an isle from the sea,Kallistê, the sacred nurse of Euphêmus' children to be,Which in Sintian Lemnos wont to dwell in the ancient days,And from Lemnos were driven forth by men of Tyrrhenian race;And to Sparta as suppliants came they: from Sparta fared they on,Until they were led of Thôras, Autesion's mighty son,To Kallistê: then changed they its name, and Thôra the isle did they callFrom their chief:--but after Euphêmus' days did this befall.

Thence parting, unhindered o'er long sea-rollers untold did they fareTill they stayed on Aigina's beach; and in innocent rivalry thereHero with hero contended, the while the water they drew,Who first should draw it, and who to the ship win first of the crew.For their need, and withal the fresh strong breeze, bade hasten away.Wherefore it cometh that yet do the youths of the Myrmidons layOn their shoulders the jars full-brimmed, and burdened so do they speedWith light-running feet o'er the race-course striving for victory's meed.

Be gracious, O blest generation of chieftains!--may these lays ringYear after year in the ears of men ever sweeter to sing!For now at the last am I come to the glorious ending of all,To the bourne of your travail: for struggle nor strife did thereafter befallUnto you, as homeward-bound from Aigina did Argo flee,Neither tempest of winds brake forth; but over a peaceful seaBy the land of Kekrops, by Aulis coasting, and under the leeOf Eubœa, by cities Opuntian of Lokrian men did ye fleet,Till with rapture of welcome on Pagasae's strand ye set your feet.