The Argonautica

By Apollonius of Rhodes.

Translated by Arthur S. Way.

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Book I

First in my song shalt thou be, O Phoebus, the song that I sing
Of the heroes of old, who sped, at the hest of Pelias the king,
When down through the gorge of the Pontus-sea, through the Crags Dark-blue,
On the Quest of the Fleece of Gold the strong-ribbed Argo flew.

For an oracle came unto Pelias, how that in days to be
A terrible doom should be dealt him of him whom his eyes should see
From the field coming in, with the one foot only sandal-shod.
Nor long thereafter did Jason fulfil the word of the God:
For in wading the rush of Amaurus swollen with wintertide rain
One sandal plucked he forth of the mire, but the one was he fain
To leave in the depths, for the swirl of the waters to sweep to the main.
Straightway to the presence of Pelias he came, and his hap was to light
On a banquet, the which unto Father Poseidon the king had dight,
And the rest of the Gods, but Pelasgian Hêrê he heeded not.
And the king beheld him, and straightway laid for his life the plot,
And devised for him toil of a troublous voyage, that lost in the sea,
Or lost amid alien men his home-return might be.

Of the ship and her fashioning, bards of the olden time have told
How Argus wrought, how Athênê made him cunning-souled.
But now be it mine the lineage and names of her heroes to say,
And to tell of the long sea-paths whereover they needs must stray,
And the deeds that they wrought:⁠—may the Muses vouchsafe to inspire the lay.

Of Orpheus first will I sing, of the child that Calliopê bare,
As telleth the tale, for she loved Oeagrus, Thracia’s heir.
By the peak Pimplean was born the Song-queen’s wondrous child;
For they tell how he charmed by the voice of his song on the mountains wild
The stubborn rocks into life, made rivers their flowing refrain,
And the wildwood oaks this day be memorials of that weird strain;
For they burgeon and bloom by Zonê yet on the Thracian shore,
Ranked orderly line upon line, the selfsame trees which of yore,
Spell-drawn by his lyre, from Pieria followed the minstrel on.
Such an one was the Orpheus that Aison’s son for a helper won
For his high emprise, when he followed the pointing of Cheiron’s hand⁠—
Orpheus, who ruled o’er the Bistonid folk in Pieria-land.

And swiftly Asterion came, whom Komêtês begat by the side
Of Apidanus, there where his seaward-swirling waters glide;
In Peiresiae he dwelt, anigh to Phyllêion’s leafy crest.
Mighty Apidanus, sacred Enipeus, have thitherward pressed
To mingle the waters, far-severed that rise from the earth’s deep breast.

Polyphemus forsook Larissa, and unto Jason he sought;
Eilatus’ son: in his youth mid the Lapithan heroes he fought.
When the Lapithans armed them for fight, when the Centaur host they quelled,
Their youngest he was; but now were his limbs sore burdened with eld.
Yet even as of old his heart with the spirit of battle swelled.

Nor in Phylakê Iphiklus tarried to waste an inglorious life,
Uncle of Aison’s child, for that Aison had taken to wife
His sister the Phylakid maiden Alkimêdê: wherefore strong
Was the love of his kin to constrain him to join that hero-throng.

Neither Admêtus in Pherae, the goodly land of sheep,
In his palace would tarry beneath Chalkodon’s mountain-steep.

Neither in Alopê tarried Echion and Erytus, sons
Of Hermes, wealthy in corn-land, crafty-hearted ones.
And their kinsman, the third with these, came forth, on the Quest as they hied,
Aithalides: where the streams of Amphrysus softly slide,
Him Eupolemeia the Phthian, Myrmidon’s daughter, bare,
But offspring of Antianeira the Menetid those twain were.

Came thither Korônus, forsaking Gyrton the wealthy town:
Right valiant was Kaineus’ son, yet he passed not his father’s renown.
For of Kaineus the poets have sung, how smitten of Centaurs he died,
Who could not be slain, when alone in his prowess, with none beside,
He drave them before him in rout, but they rallied, and charged afresh,
Yet availed not their fury to thrust him aback, nor to pierce his flesh;
But unconquered, unflinching, down to the underworld he passed,
Battered from life by the storm of the massy pines that they cast.

And came Titaresian Mopsus withal, unto whom was given
Of Lêto’s son above all men the lore of the birds of the heaven.
And there was Eurydamas, Ktimenus’ son, which dwelt in the land
Of Dolopian folk: by the Xynian mere did his palace stand.

And from Opus Menoitius fared at Aktor his father’s behest
To the end he might go with the chieftains of men on the glorious Quest.

And Eurytion hath followed with these; Eribôtes the mighty is gone,
This, Teleon’s scion, and that, of Irus, Aktor’s son;
For in sooth it was Teleon begat Eribôtes the glory-crowned,
And Irus, Eurytion. With these was a third, Oïleus, found,
Peerless in manhood, exceeding cunning to follow the flight
Of the foe, when the reeling battalions were shattered before his might.

Came the son of Kanêthus the scion of Abas; with eager speed
Came Kanthus forth of Euboea: it was not fate-decreed
That again he should turn and behold Kerinthus, for doomed was he,
Even he and Mopsus withal, the wise in augury,
To perish in Libya, lost in the waste of a wide sand-sea.
Sooth, never was mischief removed too far to be found of the doomed;
Forasmuch as in Libya’s desert were even these entombed,
As far from the Kolchian land as the space outstretched between
The sun’s uprising, and where the setting thereof is seen.

And Klytius and Iphitus gathered to that great mustering,
Oichalia’s warders, children of Eurytus, ruthless king,
Who received of Far-smiter a bow; but he had no profit thereof,
For in archery-skill with the giver’s self he wantonly strove.

And with these fared Aiakus’ sons, yet not from the selfsame place,
Nor together, for far had they wandered away from the home of their race,
Aegina, what time in their folly the blood of their brother they spilt,
Even Phokus: to Salamis Telamon bare his burden of guilt:
But Peleus roved till in Phthia the halls of the outcast he built.

And with these from Kekropia Boutes, a lord of battle-fame,
Stout Teleon’s son, and Phalêrus the mighty spearman came.
It was Alkon his father that sent him forth: no sons save him
Had the ancient to cherish his age and his light of life grown dim:
Yet, albeit his only-begotten he was, and the last of his line,
He sent him, that so amidst valour of heroes his prowess should shine.
But Theseus, of all the sons of Erechtheus most renowned,
At Tainarum under the earth by an unseen fetter was bound.
For he trod the Path of Fear with Peirithoüs; else that Quest
By the might of these had been lightlier compassed of all the rest.

And Tiphys, Hagnias’ son, hath forsaken the Thespians that dwell
In the city of Siphas: of all men keenest was he to foretell
The wrath of the waves on the broad sea, keen to foreknow from afar
The blasts of the storm, and to guide the galley by sun and by star.
’Twas Athênê Tritônis herself that made him eager-souled
To join that muster of heroes that longed his face to behold;
For she fashioned the sea-swift ship, and Argus but wrought as she planned,
Arestor’s son, for the Goddess’s counsels guided his hand:
Therefore amongst all ships unmatched was the ship that he made,
Even all that with swinging oars the paths of the sea have essayed.

Came Phlias withal from Araithyriae to essay the Quest,
From a wealthy home, for the toil of his hands had the Wine-god blessed,
His father, where welleth Asôpus up from the green hill’s breast.

From Argos did sons of Bias, Arêius and Talaus, come,
And mighty Laodokus, fruit of Nêleus’ daughter’s womb,
Even Pero, for whose sake Aiolus’ scion Melampus bore
In Iphiklus’ steading affliction of bonds exceeding sore.

Nor yet did the prowess of mighty-hearted Herakles fail
The longing of Aison’s son for his helping, as telleth the tale.
But as soon as the flying rumour of gathering heroes he heard,
He turned from the track that he trod from Arcadia Argos-ward,
On the path that he paced as he bare that boar alive from the glen
Of Lampeia, wherein he had battened, the vast Erymanthian fen.
At the entering-in of Mycenae’s market-stead he cast
From his mighty shoulders the beast, as he writhed in his bonds knit fast:
But himself of his own will, thrusting Eurystheus’ purpose aside,
Hasted away; and Hylas, his henchman true and tried,
Which bare his arrows and warded his bow, with the hero hath hied.

Therewithal hath the scion of god-descended Danaus gone,
Nauplius, born unto King Klytonêus, Naubolus’ son;
And of Lernus Naubolus sprang; and Lernus, as bards have told,
Of Proitus, Nauplius’ son; and unto Poseidon of old
Amymônê, Danaus’ daughter, who couched in the God’s embrace,
Bare Nauplius, chief in the seafarer’s craft of the Earth-born race.

Last cometh Idmon the seer, of all that in Argos dwell,
Cometh knowing the doom he hath heard the birds of heaven foretell,
Lest the people should haply begrudge him a hero’s glorious fame:
Yet not of the very loins of Abas the doomed seer came;
But the son of Lêto begat him to share the noble name
Of Aetolia’s sons, and in prophecy-lore he made him wise,
And in signs of the fowl of the heaven and tokens ’mid flame that rise.

Polydeukes the strong did Aetolia’s Princess Leda speed
From Sparta, and Kastor cunning to rein the fleet-foot steed.
These twain in Tyndareus’ palace, her dearly-beloved, her pride,
That lady at one birth bare; howbeit she nowise denied
Their prayer to depart, for her spirit was worthy of Zeus’ bride.

Apharetus’ children, Lynkeus and Idas the arrogant-souled,
From Arênê went forth: in their prowess exceeding were these overbold,
Even both; but Lynkeus for eyes of keenest ken was renowned,
If in sooth that story be true, that, though one lay underground,
Yet lightly of Lynkeus’ eyes should the gloom-swathed corpse be found.

And with these Periklymenus Nêleus’ son was enkindled to fare,
Eldest of all the sons that the Lady of Pylos bare
Unto Nêleus the godlike; and might unmeasured Poseidon gave
To the prince, and a boon moreover, that whatso shape he should crave,
That, as he fought in the shock of the meeting ranks, he should have.

From Arcadia Amphidamas and Kepheus came for the Quest,
Who were dwellers in Tegea-town, and the land that Apheidas possessed,
Two scions of Aleus; yea and a third followed even as they went,
Ankaius: Lykurgus his father was minded the lad to have sent,
Being elder brother to these, but himself was constrained to stay
In the city with Aleus, tending the dear head silver-grey.
Howbeit in charge to his brethren twain he gave the lad.
So he went, and the fell of a bear Maenalian for buckler he had,
And a battle-axe huge his right hand swung; for his armour of fight
Had his old grandsire in a secret chamber hidden from sight,
If haply so he might cripple the wings of the eagle’s flight.

Fared thither Augeias; they named him in songs of the olden day
The Sun-god’s child, and the hero in Elis-land bare sway
In pride of his wealth: but he longed to behold the Kolchian coast,
And to look upon mighty Aiêtes the lord of the Kolchian host.

Asterius came, and Amphion, the sons that a fair queen bore,
When Pellênê’s king Hyperasius dwelt in the city of yore
By Pelles their grandsire built ’neath the cliffs of Achaia’s shore.

Euphêmus from Tainarus came to be joined to their company,
Europê’s child; and the swiftest of all men on Earth was he:
For the daughter of Tityos the giant couched in Poseidon’s embrace;
And this their son would run o’er the grey sea’s weltering face,
Neither sank in the surge his fast-flying steps, but, with foot-sole alone
Bedewed with the spray, on his watery path was he wafted on.

Sons of Poseidon beside him withal two other came,
One leaving Miletus afar, the city of haughty fame,
Even Erginus, and one from Imbrasian Hêrê’s fane
Parthenia, Ankaius the mighty; and men of renown were the twain
In the craft of the sea, and withal in the toil of the battle-strain.

Hasting from Kalydon Oineus’ son to their muster hath hied,
Meleager the stalwart; and there was Laocoön still at his side,
Brother to Oineus; but not of the selfsame womb were they,
For a handmaid bare him; and him, though flecked was his hair with grey,
For guide and for guard to his son hath Oineus the old king sent.
So it fell that a beardless lad to the valorous gathering went
Of heroes; yet no man of all that came had the deeds outdone
Of the lad, save Herakles, if that he might but have tarried on
One year mid Aetolia’s sons, till he grew to his strength, I ween.
Yea, and his mother’s brother, a javelin-hurler keen,
And a warrior tried, when foot is set against foot in the fray,
Iphiklus, Thestius’ scion, trod the selfsame way.

Came Palaimonius, whose grandsire was Olenius, and his sire
Lernus in name; but in birth was he child of the Lord of Fire:
Wherefore he halted in either foot; but his bodily frame
And his prowess might no man contemn, for which cause also his name
Was found with the mighty who won for Jason deathless fame.

Came Iphitus, Ornytus’ son, from Phokis withal for the Quest,
Of Naubolus’ line: in the days overpast was Jason his guest,
What time unto Pytho he fared to inquire of the high Gods’ doom
Touching the Quest; for he welcomed him then in his mountain home.

And Zetes and Kalaïs withal, the North-wind’s children, were there,
Whom Oreithyia, Erechtheus’ daughter, to Boreas bare
In the uttermost part of wintry Thrace; for the God swooped down,
And the Thracian North-wind snatched her away from Kekrops’ town,
Even as she whirled in the dance on the lawn by Ilissus’ flow.
And he brought her afar to the place where standeth the crag men know
For the Rock of Sarpedon, whereby doth Erginus the river glide:
And he shrouded her round with viewless clouds, and he made her his bride.
And lo, on the ankles of these did quivering pinions unfold,
Strong wings, as in air they upleapt, a marvel great to behold,
Gleaming with golden scales; and about their shoulders strayed,
Down-streaming from neck and from head in the glory of youth arrayed,
Dark tresses that tossed in the rushing breezes amidst them that played.

Yea, and Akastus, his own son, had no will to abide
That day with his mighty sire in the halls of Pelias’ pride.
Nor would Argus be left, who had wrought as Athênê guided his hand;
But these twain needs must be numbered too with the glorious band.

This is the tale of the helpers with Aison’s son that were found:
These be the men whom the folk, even all which dwelt around,
Called ever the Minyan Chiefs: for of those that went on the Quest
Born of the daughters of Minyas’ blood were the most and the best.
Yea, she which had borne this Jason to emprise perilous-wild,
Alkimedê, also was daughter of Klymenê, Minyas’ child.

Now when all things ready were made by the hands of many a thrall,
Even whatso the galley for sea ready-dight should be furnished withal,
When traffic lureth the shipmen afar to an alien land,
Then through the city they passed to their ship, where she lay on the strand
Which is called Magnesian Pagasae. Ever, as onward they strode,
To right and to left a mingled multitude ran: but they showed
Radiant amidst them as stars amid clouds; and some ’gan cry,
As they gazed on the glorious forms that in harness of war swept by:

“What is in Pelias’ thoughts, King Zeus, that so goodly a band
Of heroes is hurled by him forth of the Panachaian land?
In the day of their coming with ravening fire the halls shall they fill
Of Aiêtes, except he shall yield them the Fleece of his own good will.
But a long way lieth between, unaccomplished yet is the toil.”

So spake they on this side and that through the city: the women the while,
Heavenward uplifting their hands, to the Gods that abide for aye
Made vehement prayer for the heart’s delight of the homecoming day.
And one to another made answer, and moaned, as her tears fell fast:

“Hapless Alkimedê, thee too evil hath found at the last;
Nor to thee was vouchsafed amid bliss to the end of thy days to attain!
Woe’s me for Aison the ill-starred!⁠—verily this had been gain
For him, if rolled in his shroud before this woeful day,
Deep under Earth, with the cup of affliction untasted, he lay:
And O that the darkling surge, when Hellê the maiden died,
Had whelmed down Phrixus too with the ram!⁠—but a man’s voice cried
From the throat of the monster, the portent accurst, that so it might doom
For Alkimedê sorrow and griefs untold in the days to come.”

So ’mid the moan of the women marched the heroes along.
And by this were the thralls and the handmaids gathered in one great throng.
Then fell on his neck his mother, and sharply the anguish-thorn
Pierced each soft breast, the while his father, the eld-forlorn,
Close-swathed as a corpse on his bed, lay groaning and groaning again.
But the hero essayed to hush their laments and assuage their pain
With words of cheer, and he spake, “Take up my war-array,”
To the thralls, and with downcast eyes did these in silence obey.
But his mother, as round her child her arms at the first she had flung,
So clave she, and wept without stint: as the motherless maiden she clung,
Whose forlorn little arms clasp fondly her grey old nurse, when the tide
Cometh up of her woe:⁠—she hath no one to love her nor comfort beside;
And a weary lot is hers ’neath a stepdame’s tyrannous sway,
Who with bitter revilings evil-entreateth her youth alway:
And her heart as she waileth is cramped as by chains in her frenzied despair,
That she cannot sob forth the anguish that struggleth for utterance there:
So stintlessly wept Alkimedê, so in her arms did she strain
Her son; and she cried from the depths of her love and her yearning pain:

“Oh, that on that same day when I, the affliction-oppressed,
Hearkened the voice of Pelias the king, and his evil behest,
I had yielded up the ghost, and forgotten to mourn and to weep,
That thyself, that thine own dear hands, in the grave might have laid me to sleep,
O my beloved!⁠—for this was the one wish unfulfilled:
But with other thy nursing-dues long had mine heart in contentment been stilled.
And I, of Achaia’s daughters the envied in days that are gone,
Like a bondwoman now in tenantless halls shall be left alone,
Pining, a hapless mother, in yearning for thee, my pride
And exceeding delight in the days overpast, for whom I untied
For the first time and last my zone; for to me beyond others the doom
Of the stern Birth-goddess begrudged abundant fruit of the womb.
Ah me for my blindness of heart!⁠—not once, not in dreams, might I see
The vision of Phrixus’ deliverance turned to a curse for me!”

So mourned she, and ever she moaned amidst of her speech, and thereby
Stood her handmaids, and echoed her wail, an exceeding bitter cry.
But the hero with gentle words for her comfort made answer, and spake:

“Fill me not thus overmeasure with anguish of soul for thy sake,
Mother mine, forasmuch as from evil thou shalt not redeem me so
By thy tears, but shalt add the rather woe unto weight of woe.
For the Gods mete out unto mortals afflictions unforeseen:
Wherefore be strong to endure their doom, though thine anguish be keen.
Take comfort to think that Athênê hereunto our courage hath stirred:
Remember the oracles: call to remembrance how good was the word
Of Phoebus: be glad for this hero-array for mine help that is come.
Now, mother, do thou with thine handmaids in quiet abide in thine home,
Neither be as a bird ill-omened to bode my ship ill-speed;
And escort of clansmen and thralls thy son to the galley shall lead.”

So spake he, and turned him, and forth of his halls his way hath he ta’en.
And as goeth Apollo forth of his incense-bearing fane,
Through Delos the hallowed, or Klaros, or Pytho the place of his shrine,
Or Lycia the wide, where the waters of Xanthus ripple and shine,
So seemed he, as onward he pressed through the throng, and a loud acclaim
Of their mingled cheering arose. And there met him an ancient dame,
Iphias, priestess of Artemis warder of tower and wall.
At his right hand caught she, and kissed it, but spake no word at all,
For she could not, how fain soe’er, so pressed the multitude on;
And she drifted away to the fringe of the crowd, and was left alone,
As the old be left by the young: and he passed on afar, and was gone.

So when he had left the streets of the city builded fair,
To the beach Pagasaean he came, and his comrades hailed him there
In a throng abiding beside the Argo ship as she lay
By the river’s mouth, and overagainst her gathered they.
And they looked, and behold, Adrastus and Argus hasting amain
Thitherward from the city, and sorely they marvelled, beholding the twain
Despite the purpose of Pelias thitherward hurrying fast.
On his shoulders a bull’s hide Argus the son of Arestor had cast,
Great, dark with the fell; but the prince in a mantle fair was arrayed,
Twofold: Pelopeia his sister the gift in his hand had laid.
Howbeit Jason forbare to ask them of this or of that;
But he bade them for council sit them down where the others sat.
So there upon folded sails, and the mast as it lay along,
Row upon row were the heroes sitting all in a throng;
And to these of his heart’s good will the son of Aison spake:

“What things soever it needeth that sea-bound galleys should take,
All this ready dight for our going lieth in seemly array.
Wherefore for these things’ sake will we make no longer delay
From our sailing, so soon as the breezes but blow for the voyage begun.
But, friends⁠—since in hope for the home-return to our land we be one,
And one in the way we must take to Aiêtes, the path of the Quest,
Therefore do ye now choose with hearts ungrudging our best
To be chief and captain, to order all our goings aright,
To take on him our quarrels with aliens, and pledge our covenant-plight.”

He spake, and the youths upon valiant Herakles turned their eyes,
As he sat in their midst, and from all the heroes did one shout rise,
Crying “Our captain be thou!”⁠—but not from his place he stirred;
But he stretched his right hand forth, and he answered and spake the word:

“Let no man offer this honour to me: I will nowise consent;
And if any man else would arise, I will also withstand his intent.
The selfsame man who assembled our band, let him too lead.”

He spake in his greatness of soul, and they shouted, praising the rede
Of Herakles: then did Jason the warrior wight rejoice;
And he sprang to his feet, and he spake in their midst with eager voice:

“If indeed ye be minded on me this glorious charge to cast,
Let our voyaging tarry no more; suffice the delays overpast.
But now, even now, let us offer to Phoebus the sacrifice meet,
And prepare us a feast even here; and, while yet tarry the feet
Of my thralls, overseers of my steading, which bear in charge my command
Fitly to choose for us beasts from the herd, and to drive to the strand,
We will launch on the sea our ship, we will set up her tackling therein,
And thwart by thwart cast lots for the place each oarsman shall win.
To Apollo, the Seafarers’ Saviour, uppile we then on the beach
An altar; for whatso I needs must do hath he promised to teach,
And to show us the paths of the sea, if first with sacrifice
I seek unto him, or ever I strive with the king for the prize.”

So spake he, and turned him first to the work; and, his call to obey,
The heroes arose, and their garments row upon row heaped they
On a smooth rock-shelf: the waves of the sea beat not thereon;
But the dash of the stormy brine had cleansed it long agone.
Then, giving heed to the counsels of Argus, stoutly they braced
The ship with a hawser deftly twisted that girded her waist;
For they strained it from side to side, that the beams to the bolts might hold
Fast, and withstand the might of the meeting surge on-rolled.
And a trench, in compass as great as the width of the galley, they delved;
And overagainst her prow to the sea so far it shelved
As the space that the hull should run, by the might of their hands on-sped:
And deepening ever afront of her stern they scooped that bed.
And smoothly-shaven rollers they laid in the furrow arow.
Then down on the foremost rollers slowly they tilted her prow,
That adown them one after other with one smooth rush she might slide.
Thereafter above did they pass the oars from side to side;
To the tholes did they lash them, outstanding a cubit on either hand;
And to right of the ship and to left at these did they take their stand;
And with chest and with hands against them they bare, and to and fro
Went Tiphys the while, to shout in the season the yo-heave-ho.
Then gave he the word with a mighty shout, and the youths forthright
Drave her with one rush down, as they thrust with their uttermost might,
From her berth in the sand, as with feet hard-straining strongly they stepped
Forcing her forward, and Pelian Argo seaward swept
Full swiftly, and shouted they all, as to right and to left they leapt.
And under the massy keel’s heavy grinding groaned aloud
The rollers, and spirted about them the smoke in a dusky cloud
’Neath the crushing weight: and into the sea she slid, and her crew
Back with the hawsers warped her, and stayed her as onward she flew.
Then the oars to the tholes they fitted on either side, and the mast
And the well-fashioned sails, and the tackling withal, therein they cast.

But soon as with diligent heed they had ordered all things so,
First cast they the lots for the thwarts whereat each man should row,
Allotting one unto two men still; but the midmost thwart
For Herakles chose they first, from the rest of the heroes apart;
And Ankaius the dweller in Tegea-town for his fellow they chose.
So the midmost place of the benches they left unchallenged to those,
Neither cast for them lots; and with one consent of the voices of them
Unto Tiphys was given the helm of the galley of goodly stem.

Then did they heap of the stones of the shingle, and, nigh at hand
To the sea, an altar they reared to Apollo the Lord of the Strand,
Who is called the Lord of the farers a-shipboard withal, and in haste
Billets of olive-wood sapless and dry thereon they placed.
And by this were the herdmen of Aison’s son drawn nigh thereto
Bringing oxen twain from the herd; and these the young men drew
And set them beside the altar; and others stood thereby
With the water of sacrifice and the meal. And now drew nigh
Jason, and unto Apollo his fathers’ god did he cry:

“Hearken, O King, who in Pagasae dwellest, whose fair halls be
In the city Aisonian, named of my sire, who didst promise to me,
When I sought unto thee at Pytho, to point me my journey’s goal
And fulfilment; for thou, even thou, to the emprise didst kindle my soul.
Now therefore my ship with my comrades safe and sound bring thou
Thither, and back unto Hellas again: and to thee do we vow,
For as many of us as shall win safe home, on thine altar to lay
Burnt offerings so many of goodly bulls: therewithal will I pay
At Pytho thy shrine, and Ortygia, other gifts beyond price.
Come then, Far-smiter, accept at our hands this sacrifice,
Which now, at our going abroad, for the sake of this our ship
We offer, our first of all: and with prosperous weird may I slip
The hawsers, by thy devising: and soft bid blow the breeze
Whereby we may fare on ever through calm of summer seas.”

With the prayer then cast he the meal: and now for the slaughtering these
Girded themselves, Ankaius the mighty, and Herakles.
And this with his club on the forehead smote the steer mid-head;
And heavily all in a heap to the earth it dropped down dead.
And Ankaius hewed with his brazen axe at the second steer
On the broad neck: clean through the sinews strong thereof did it shear;
And there on the earth, with horns doubled under its chest, it lay.
And swiftly their comrades severed the throats, and the skins did they flay,
And they sundered the joints, and they carved, and the sacred thighs they cut out,
And they laid them together, and closely with fat they wrapped them about,
And burnt on the cloven wood: drink-offerings unmingled of wine
Poured Aison’s son; and Idmon rejoiced, beholding shine
The splendour that gleamed all round from the sacrifice and the smoke,
As forth for an omen of good in wavering wreaths it broke.
And the purpose of Lêto’s son, nothing doubting, straightway he spoke:

“For you ’tis ordained of the doom of the Gods and of each man’s fate
Hither to win with the Fleece; but meanwhile lie in wait
Toils without number, as thither ye fare, and as backward ye hie.
But for me by the hateful doom of a God is it fated to die
Far hence, I know not where, on the Asian mainland shore.
Yea, this is my doom: by birds evil-boding I knew it before;
Yet from my fatherland went I: to sail in your galley I came,
That so to mine house might be left the renown of a hero’s name.”

He spake, and the young men, hearing the words of the prophet, were glad
For their home-return, but for Idmon’s doom were their hearts made sad.
And so, at the hour when the sun from his noon-halt sinketh adown,
And over the harvest-lands the long rock-shadows are thrown,
As the sun to the eventide dusk slow-slideth aslant from the sky,
Even then did the heroes all on the sands of the beach pile high
A couch of the wildwood leaves, and in front of the surf-line hoar
Row upon row lay down, and beside them was measureless store
Of meats, and of sweet strong wine which the cupbearers poured for them out
From the pitchers: thereafter they told, as each man’s turn came about,
Story and legend, as young men oft at the feast and the bowl
Will take their delight, when insatiate violence is far from their soul.
But there was Aison’s son, as a man in a nightmare dream,
Struggling with deep dark thoughts, and as one distraught did he seem;
And Idas marked him askance, and he shouted in scoffing tone:

“What thoughts to and fro in thine heart art thou turning, thou Aison’s son?
Speak out in our midst thy mind! Hath fear in thy spirit awoke
Overmastering thee⁠—that thing which dazeth dastard folk?
Be witness my furious spear, wherewithal beyond others I win
Renown in the wars⁠—nor is Zeus so present a helper therein,
Nor so mighty to save as my spear⁠—that on thee no deadly bane
Shall light, nor shall any strife of thine hands be striven in vain,
While Idas attendeth thee, not though against thee a God should arise.
Such a helper is this thou hast won from Arênê for thine emprise.”

He spake, and the brimming beaker with both hands lifted he up,
And the strong wine drank unmingled, and dashed with the dew of the cup
Were his lips and his swarthy cheeks: but a startled clamour broke
From all together; and openly Idmon rebuked him, and spoke:

“Beshrew thee!⁠—thy thoughts thus soon to thyself are deadly and fell!
Hath the strong wine caused thy reckless heart for thy ruin to swell
In thy breast, and eggeth thee on to set the Gods at nought?
Other words of comfort there be wherewithal a man might have sought
To hearten his friend; but thy words were wholly presumptuous-bold!
So blustered, as telleth the tale, against the Blessèd of old
The sons of Alôeus: and thou⁠—thou art nothing so mighty as they
In manhood: yet both did the swift shafts overmaster and slay
Of the Son of Latona, though giants they were and passing strong.”

Then Aphareus’ son brake forth into laughter loud and long,
And blinking upon him in drunken wise flung back the jeer:

“Come now, by thy deep divination reveal unto me, thou seer,
If the Gods for me also be bringing to pass such doom as that
Which was dealt of that father of thine to the sons that Alôeus begat.
And bethink thee how thou shalt escape from mine hands alive, if we find
Thee guilty of boding a prophecy vain as the idle wind!”

Wrathfuller waxed he in railing: and now had the strife run high,
But amidst of their wrangling their comrades with loud indignant cry,
With Aison’s son, restrained them:⁠—and lo, with his lyre upheld
In his left hand, Orpheus arose, and the fountain of song upwelled.

And he sang how in the beginning the earth and the heaven and the sea
In the selfsame form were blended together in unity,
And how baleful contention each from other asunder tore;
And he sang of the goal of the course in the firmament fixed evermore
For the stars and the moon, and the printless paths of the journeying sun,
And how the mountains arose, how rivers that babbling run,
They and their Nymphs, were born, and whatso moveth on Earth;
And he sang how Ophion at first, and Eurynomê, Ocean’s birth,
In lordship of all things sat on Olympus’ snow-crowned height;
And how Ophion must yield unto Kronos’ hands and his might,
And she unto Rhea, and into the Ocean’s waves plunged they.
O’er the blessed Titan-gods these twain for a space held sway,
While Zeus as yet was a child, while yet as a child he thought,
And dwelt in the cave Dictaean, while yet the time was not
When the Earth-born Cyclops the thunderbolt’s strength to his hands should give,
Even thunder and lightning: by these doth Zeus his glory receive.

Low murmured the lyre, and slept, and the voice divine was still:
But moveless the heads of them all are bending forward, and thrill
Their eager-listening ears, through the hush as they strain, in thrall
To the spell; such wondrous glamour the song hath cast over all.
And a little thereafter they mingled, even as is meet and right,
The wine, and poured on the tongues where the altar-fires blazed bright.
Then turned they to sleep, and around them were folded the wings of the night.

But when radiant Dawn with her flashing eyes on the steeps looked down
Of Pelion’s crests, and, washed by the wind, the forelands that frown
Over the tossing sea rose sharp and clear to view,
Then Tiphys awoke, and he hasted the Argo’s hero-crew
To hie them aboard, and to range the oars in order due.
And a weird dread cry from the haven of Pagasae rang to them; yea,
From Pelian Argo herself came a voice, bidding hasten away:
For within her a beam divine had been laid, which Athênê brought
From the oak Dodonaean, and into the midst of her stem was it wrought.
So the heroes went up to the thwarts, and twain after twain arow,
Even as fell the places by lot but a little ago,
Orderly ranged sat down, and by each was his harness of fight.
On the midmost Ankaius, and next him Herakles’ giant might
Sat, and beside him he laid his club; and the keel of the ship
Under his massy tread plunged deep. And now did they slip
The hawsers, and poured on the sea the wine. Tear-dimmed that day
Were Jason’s eyes, from the fatherland-home as he turned them away.
And these⁠—as the youths that in Pytho begin unto Phoebus the dance,
In Ortygia, or there where Ismenus’ ripples in sunlight glance,
Hand in hand to the notes of the lyre his altar around
With rhythmical fall of the feet swift-circling beat the ground⁠—
So smote with the oars, by the lyre of Orpheus timing the stroke,
The sea’s wild water, and over the blades the surges broke.
And on this side and that with the foam the dark brine seething flashed;
Like muttered thunder it sounded by strokes of the mighty updashed.
And glanced in the sun like flame, as the ship winged onward her flight,
Their armour: the wake far-weltering ever behind gleamed white,
As an oft-trodden path through a grassy plain lieth clear in sight.
And all the Gods that day from the height of the heaven looked down
On the ship, and the might of the demigod heroes, the men of renown,
Sailing the sea; and afar on the crests of the hill-tops lone
The Maids of the Mountain, the Pelian Nymphs, in amaze looked on
At the work of Athênê Itônis, the heroes’ goodly array,
As the ashen blades in their hands kept time with measured sway.
Yea, and there came one down from the mountain’s height to the shore,
Even Cheiron, Philyra’s son, and plashed the surf-wash hoar
On his feet, as his broad hand waving many a farewell sent,
And he shouted, “Good speed, and a sorrowless home-return!” as they went.
And there was his wife, with Peleus’ babe in her arms held high,
Achilles, waving a greeting as sped his sire thereby.

So when they had rounded the headland, and left the haven behind
By the cunning and wisdom of Hagnias’ son the prudent of mind⁠—
Even of Tiphys, who swayed in the master-craftsman’s grip
The helm smooth-shaven, to guide unswerving the course of the ship⁠—
Then set they up in the centre-block the towering mast,
And on either hand strained taut the stays, and they lashed them fast;
And the sail they unfurled therefrom, from the yard-arm spreading it wide.
And a breeze shrill-piping upsprang, and the sheets upon either side
O’er the polished pins on the deck then cast they in order meet;
And past the long Tisaian ness did they restfully fleet.
And Orpheus, in song whose rhythmical cadence kept time to the lyre,
Sang of the Saviour of Ships, the Child of the Glorious Sire,
Artemis, she that hath those crags of the sea in her keeping,
The Lady that wardeth Iolkos-land. And the fishes leaping
Up from the deep sea came, and, drawn by the spell of the lay,
Both small and great followed gambolling over the watery way.
And as when in the track of a shepherd, the warder of flocks on the wold,
Follow sheep that have fed to the full of the grass, a throng untold,
And he goeth before with his shrill reed piping them home to the fold,
As sweetly he fluteth a shepherd’s strain⁠—so over the seas
Followed the fishes: on wafted her ever the chasing breeze.

And ere long melting in haze the Pelasgians’ land of corn
Sank out of sight; and past Mount Pelion’s cliffs were they borne
Aye running onward; and sank in the offing the Sepian strand,
And sea-girt Skiathos rose, and a far-away gleam of sand,
The Peiresian beach and Magnesian, clear in the summer air
On the mainland; and lo, the barrow of Dolops: at eventide there
Beached they the ship, for against them the veering breeze had turned.
And they honoured the dead, and victims of sheep in the gloaming they burned,
While the sea-surge stormily tossed. Two days to and fro on the shore
They loitered, but ran on the third their galley asea once more;
And the broad sail spread they on high, and the keel from the strand shot away:
Men call it “The Launching of Argo”⁠—Aphetai⁠—unto this day.

Onward they ran, ever onward: they left Meliboia behind;
They caught but a glimpse of the foam-flecked beach of the stormy wind:
And with dawning on Homolê looked they, and lo, it was looming anigh;
Broad-couched on the breast of the waters it lay as they passed it by.
Thereafter full soon by the outfall of Amyrus’ flood must they fly.
Eurymenê then, and the surf-tormented gorges they spied
Of Olympus’ and Ossa’s seaward face: wind-wafted they ride
By the slopes of Pallênê; beyond Kanastra’s foreland-height
They passed, running lightly before the breath of the breeze in the night.
And before them at dawn on-speeding the pillar of Athos rose,
The Thracian mountain: its topmost peak’s dark shadow it throws
Far as a merchantman goodly-rigged in a day might win,
Even to Lemnos’ isle, and the city Myrinê therein.
And the wind blew all that day till the folds of the darkness fell,
Blew ever fresh, and the sail strained over the broad sea-swell.
Howbeit the wind’s breath failed them at going down of the sun:
So to Lemnos the craggy, the Sintian isle, by rowing they won.

There all the men of the nation together pitilessly
By the violent hands of the women were slain in the year gone by;
Forasmuch as the hearts of the men from their lawful wives had turned,
And in love for their captive handmaids with baleful passion they burned,
Maids that themselves from the Thracian land in foray had brought
Oversea:⁠—’twas the wrath of the Cyprian Queen that curse had wrought,
Because that for long they had left her unhonoured by sacrifice:⁠—
Ah hapless, whose hungering jealousy craved that woeful price!
For not with the captives their husbands alone for the sin did they slay,
But every male therewithal, lest perchance in the coming day
Out of these might arise an avenger for that grim murder’s sake.
In one alone for an aged sire did compassion awake,
Hypsipylê, daughter of Thoas, the king of the folk of the land.
In an ark did she send him to drift o’er the sea from the murder-strand,
If he haply might ’scape. And fisher-folk saved him and brought to the isle
Which men call Sikinus now, but Oinoë named it erewhile;
For from Sikinus folk renamed it, the child whom the Maid of the Spring,
Oinoë, bare, when she couched in love with Thoas the king.

So it came to pass that for these to tend the kine, and to wear
War-harness of brass, and to furrow the wheat-bearing land with the share,
In the eyes of them all seemed task more light than Athênê’s toil
Wherewithal were their hands aforetime busy: yet all the while
Across the broad sea ever they cast and anon their eyes
With a haunting fear lest the Thracian sails in the offing should rise.

So when they beheld the Argo’s oars flashing down to their coast,
Forth from the gates of Myrinê straightway in one great host
Clad in their harness of battle down to the beach they poured
Like unto ravening Thyiads: they weened that the Thracian horde
Were come: and there was Hypsipylê clad in the war-array
Of Thoas her father: and all these speechless with wildered dismay
Streamed down⁠—such panic was wafted about them all that day.

But forth of the galley the while had the chieftains sent to the shore
Aithalides, their herald swift, the man who bore
Charge of their messages, yea, and the wand they committed to him
Of Hermes his sire, who had given him memory never made dim
Of all things:⁠—yea, nor forgetfulness swept even now o’er his soul
Of long-left Acheron’s flow, where the torrents unspeakable roll.
For the doom of his spirit is fixed, to and fro evermore is it swept,
Now numbered with ghosts underground, now back to the light hath it leapt,
To the beams of the sun among living men:⁠—but why should I tell
The story of Aithalides that all men know full well?
Of him was Hypsipylê won to receive that sea-borne array
As waned the day to the gloaming: yet not with the new-born day
Unmoored they the ship for the North-wind’s breathing to waft away.

Through the city the daughters of Lemnos into the folkmote pressed,
And there sat down, as Hypsipylê’s self sent forth her behest.
So when they were gathered in one great throng to the market-stead,
For their counselling straightway she rose in the midst of them all, and she said:

“Friends, now, an ye will, good store of gifts to the men give we,
Even such as is meet that the farers a-shipboard should bear oversea,
Even meats and the sweet strong wine, that without our towers so
They may bide, nor for need’s sake passing amidst of us to and fro
May know of us all too well, and our evil report shall go
Afar, for a terrible deed have we wrought, and in no wise, I trow,
Good in their sight shall it seem, if they haply shall hear the tale.
Lo, this is our counsel, and this, meseemeth, best shall avail.
But if any amidst you hath counsel that better shall serve our need
Let her rise; for to this have I summoned you, even the giving of rede.”

So spake she, and sat her down on the ancient chair of stone
That of old was her sire’s, and Polyxo her nurse uprose thereupon.
On her wrinkle-shrivelled feet she halted for very eld
Bowed over a staff; but with longing for speech the heart in her swelled.
And hard by her side were there sitting ancient maidens four,
Virgins, whose heads with the thin white hair were silvered o’er.
And amidst of the folkmote stood she, and up from her crook-bowed back
Feebly a little she lifted her neck, and in this wise spake:

“Gifts, even as unto the lady Hypsipylê seemeth meet,
Send we to the strangers, for thus were it better their coming to greet.
But you⁠—by what art or device shall ye save your souls alive
If a Thracian host burst on you, or cometh in battle to strive
Some other foe?⁠—there be many such chances to men that befall,
Even as now yon array cometh unforeseen of us all.
But if one of the Blessèd should turn this affliction away, there remain
Countless afflictions beside, far worse than the battle’s strain.
For when through the gates of the grave the older women have passed,
And childless the younger have won to a joyless eld at the last,
How then will ye live, O hapless?⁠—what, will the beasts freewilled
On their own necks cast the yoke, to the end that your lands may be tilled?
And the furrow-sundering share will they drag through the heavy loam?
And, as rolleth the year round, straight will they bring you the harvest home?
Now, albeit from me the Fates still shrink as in loathing and fear,
Yet surely on me, when the feet draw nigh of another year,
The earth shall lie, when the burial rites have been rendered to me,
Even as is due, and the evil days I shall not see.
But for you which be younger, I counsel you, give good heed unto this,
For that now at your feet an open way of deliverance there is,
If ye will but commit your dwellings and all your spoil to the guard
Of the strangers, yea, and your goodly city for these to ward.”

She spake, and with clamour the folkmote was filled, for good in their eyes
Was the word, and straightway thereafter again did Hypsipylê rise,
And her voice pealed over the multitude, stilling the mingled cries:

“If in sooth in the sight of you all well-pleasing is this same rede,
Unto the ship straightway a messenger hence will I speed.”

To Iphinoê which waited beside her spake she her hest:
“Up, Iphinoê, and to yonder man bear this my request,
That he come to our town, even he who is chief of the strangers’ array,
For the word that pleaseth the heart of my people to him would I say.
Yea, and his fellows bid thou to light in friendship down
On our shore, if they will, and to enter undismayed our town.”

She spake, and dismissed the assembly, and homeward she wended her way;
But Iphinoê to the Minyans went; and they bade her say
What was the mind wherewithal she was come, and what her need.
And straightway she told them the words of her message with eager speed:

“The daughter of Thoas, Hypsipylê, sent me hither away
To summon the lord of your ship, and the captain of your array,
That the will of her folk she may tell him, their heart’s desire this day.
Yea, and his fellows she biddeth to light in friendship down
On our shore, if they will, and to enter undismayed our town.”

So spake she, and fair in the sight of them all was the word that she said;
For they deemed that Hypsipylê reigned in the room of Thoas dead,
His daughter, his well-beloved; and they hasted Jason to meet
The island-queen, and they dight them to follow their captain’s feet.

Then he flung o’er his shoulders the web by the Goddess Itonian wrought;
In the clasp of a brooch were the folds of the purple of Pallas caught,
Which she gave, when for Argo’s building the keel-props first she dight,
And taught him with rule of the shipwright to measure her timbers aright.
More easy it were in sooth on the sun at his rising to gaze
Than to fasten thine eyes on the flush of its glory, its splendour-blaze.
For the fashion thereof in the midst was fiery crimson glow,
And the top was of purple throughout; and above on the marge and below
Picture by picture did many a broidered marvel show.

For therein were the Cyclopes bowed o’er their work that perisheth not,
Forging the levin of Zeus the King, and so far was it wrought
In its fiery splendour, that yet of its flashes there lacked but one:
And the giant smiths with their sledges of iron were smiting thereon;
While forth of it spurts as of flaming breath ever leapt and anon.

And there were the sons of Asôpus’ daughter Antiopê set,
Amphion and Zethus: and Thêbê, with towers ungirded as yet,
Stood nigh them; and lo, the foundations thereof were they laying but now
In fierce haste. Zethus had heaved a craggy mountain’s brow
On his shoulders: as one hard straining in toil did the image appear.
And Amphion the while to his golden lyre sang loud and clear,
On-pacing; and twice so great was the rock that followed anear.

And next Kythereia with tresses heavily drooping was shown;
And the buckler of onset of Arês she bare: from her shoulder the zone
Of her tunic over her left arm fell with a careless grace
Low over her breast; and ever she seemed on the shield to gaze,
On the face that out of its brazen mirror smiled to her face.

And therein was a herd of shaggy kine; for the winning thereof
Elektryon’s sons and Teleboan raiders in battle strove:
For these were defending their own; but the Taphian rovers were fain
To rob them; and drenched was the dewy meadow with that red rain.
But with that overmastering host were the herdmen striving in vain.

And therein had been fashioned chariots twain in the race that sped.
And Pelops was guiding the car that afront in the contest fled;
And Hippodameia beside him rode that fateful race.
And rushing behind him Myrtilus scourging his steeds gave chase;
And Oinomaus with him had couched his lance with a murderous face.
But, as snapt at the nave the axle, aslant was he falling in dust,
Even as at Pelops’ back he was aiming the treacherous thrust.

And therein was Phoebus Apollo, a slender stripling yet,
Shooting at him who the ravisher’s hand to the veil had set
Of his mother, at Tityos the giant, whom Elarê bare; but the Earth
Nursed him, and hid in her womb, and gave to him second birth.

And Phrixus the Minyan was there; and it seemed that unto the ram
He verily hearkened; it seemed that a voice from the gold-fleeced came.
Thou wert hushed to behold them⁠—wouldst cheat thy soul with the hope that perchance
Forth of the lifeless lips would break the utterance
Of speech⁠—ay, long wouldst thou gaze in expectation’s trance.

Such was the gift of Athênê, the Goddess Itonian’s toil.
And a lance far-leaping he grasped in his right hand, given erewhile
Of the maid Atalanta on Mainalus’ height for the pledge of a friend.
Gladly she met him, for sorely her soul desired to wend
On the Quest: howbeit the hero himself withheld the maid,
For the peril of bitter strife for her love’s sake made him afraid.

So he hied him to go to the town, as the radiant star to behold
Which a maid, as she draweth her newly-woven curtain’s fold,
Beholdeth, as over her dwelling upward it floateth fair;
And it charmeth her eyes, flashing out of the depths of the darkling air
Flushed with a crimson glory: the maid’s heart leapeth then
Lovesick for the youth who is far away amid alien men,
Her betrothed, unto whom her parents shall wed her on some glad day:
So as a star was the hero treading the cityward way.

So when he had passed through the gates, and within the city he came,
The women thereof thronged after, and wafted him blithe acclaim,
Having joy of the stranger: but earthward ever his eyes he cast,
Pacing unfaltering on till he came to the palace at last
Of Hypsipylê: then at the hero’s appearing the maids flung wide
The gates and the fair-fashioned boards of the leaves on either side.
Then through the beautiful hall did Iphinoê lead on
Swiftly, and caused him to sit on a tinsel-glittering throne
Facing the Queen; and Hypsipylê turned her eyes away,
For the maiden blood flushed hot in her cheek. But her shame that day
Tied not her tongue, and with crafty-winsome words did she say:

“Stranger, wherefore so long have ye tarried without our towers?
Forasmuch as no man dwelleth within this city of ours;
But these have betaken them hence to dwell on the Thracian shore,
And there are they ploughing the wheat-bearing lands. I will tell thee o’er
The evil tale, to the end ye also may understand.
In the days when Thoas my father was king o’er the folk of the land,
My people in ships from Lemnos over the sea-ridges rode,
And harried the homes of the Thracians that overagainst us abode;
And with booty untold they returned, and with many a captive maid.
But the curse of a baneful Goddess upon them now was laid;
For the Cyprian caused on their souls heart-ruining blindness to fall,
That they hated their lawful wives, and forth from bower and hall
At the beck of their folly they drove the Lemnian matrons away,
And beside those spear-won thralls in the bed of love they lay⁠—
Cruel ones! Sooth, long time we endured it, if haply again,
Though late, their hearts might be turned; but our wrong and our bitter pain
Waxed evermore twofold; and the children of true-born blood
In our halls were dishonoured, and grew up amidst us a bastard brood.
Yea, and our maids unwedded, and widowed wives thereto,
Uncared for about our city wandered to and fro.
No father had heeded, no, never so little, his daughter’s plight,
Not though before his eyes he beheld her slain outright
By a tyrannous stepdame’s hands: and sons would defend no more
A mother from outrage and shame, as they wont in the days of yore.
No love for a sister then the heart of the brother bore.
But only the handmaid-thralls in the home found grace in their sight,
In the dance, in the market-place, and whenso the banquet was dight.
Till at last some God in our hearts this desperate courage awoke,
No more to receive them, when back they returned from the Thracian folk,
Our towers within, that so they might heed the right, or begone
Hence to another land, even they and their thralls war-won.
Then required they of us their sons, even what manchild soe’er
Had been left in the town, and returned unto Thrace; and to this day there
The Lemnian men on the snowy Thracian corn-lands dwell.
Then tarry ye sojourning here: and if haply it please thee well
To abide in the land, and it seem to thee good, of a surety thine
Shall be Thoas my father’s honour. I ween this land of mine
Thou shalt scorn not, for passing fruitful it is above all the rest
Of the myriad isles that lie on the broad Aegean’s breast.
But come now, go to thy galley, and tell these words of ours
Unto thy comrades, nor longer tarry without our towers.”

She ended, with fair words veiling the deed of murder dread
Done on the men; and the hero answered the queen, and he said:
“Hypsipylê, passing welcome this thy request shall be
Which thou tenderest us, whose desire withal is now unto thee.
Back through thy town will I come, when an end I have made to say
All this to my fellows in order: howbeit let all the sway
And the lordship be thine in the island. I make not in scorn my request,
But a sore task thrusteth me onward still, and I may not rest.”
He spake, and the queen’s right hand hath he touched, and aback to the strand
He hath turned him to go; and around him the maidens on either hand
Danced blithely, a throng unnumbered, till forth of the gates he had strode.
Thereafter the women loaded them wains smooth-running, and rode
Down to the beach, and gifts of greeting they bare good store,
When now to his fellows the hero had told the message o’er,
Which Hypsipylê spake unto him when she sent and bade him come.
And with little ado the maidens drew the heroes home
To their halls; for sweet desire did the Lady of Cyprus awake,
For a grace to Hephaistus the Lord of Craft, that Lemnos might take
New life, and unruined be peopled of men once more for his sake.
Now into Hypsipylê’s royal palace Aison’s son
Hath passed, and the rest, as it happed unto each man, so are they gone,
Save Herakles only; for still with the ship would the hero abide,
For he willed it so, and a few his chosen comrades beside.
And straightway rejoiced the city with dance and with festival,
And was filled with sacrifice-steam to the Deathless: but most of all
Honoured they Hêrê’s glorious son, and atonement’s price
To the Cyprian Queen they paid with song and with sacrifice.
And ever from day unto day did the heroes their sailing forbear,
Loth to depart; and long had they tarried loitering there,
But Herakles gathered his comrades, and drew from the women apart,
And with words of upbraiding he spake, and rebuked them indignant of heart:

“What, sirs, is it blood of kindred spilt that maketh us roam
From our land?⁠—or came ye, because that ye found no brides at home,
Hitherward, scorning the maidens of Greece? Doth it please you to toil
Here dwelling, and driving the plough through the soft smooth Lemnian soil?
Good sooth, but little renown shall we win of our tarrying
Here long time with the stranger women! No God will bring
That Fleece unto us, nor wrest from its warder, for our request!
Forth let us go each man to his place⁠—him leave ye to rest
All day on Hypsipylê’s couch, till he people from shore to shore
Lemnos with menfolk: great his renown shall be therefor!”

So did he chide with the band; was none dared meet his eye,
Neither look in his face, nor was any man found that essayed reply.
But straight from his presence, to make their departing ready, they went
In haste; and the women came running, so soon as they knew their intent.
And as when round beautiful lilies the wild bees hum at their toil,
From their hive in the rock forth pouring; the dew-sprent meadow the while
Around them rejoiceth, and hovering, stooping, now and again
They sip of the sweet flower-fountains⁠—in such wise round the men
Forth streamed the women with yearning faces, making their moan;
And with hands caressing and soft sad words did they greet each one,
Beseeching the Blessed to grant them a homecoming void of bane.
Yea, so doth Hypsipylê pray, as her clinging fingers strain
The hand of Jason, and stream her tears with the parting-pain:

“Go thou, and thee may the Gods with thy comrades scathless bring
Back to the home-land, bearing the Fleece of Gold to the king,
Even as thou wilt, and thine heart desireth: and this mine isle,
And my father’s sceptre withal, shall wait for thee the while,
If haply, thine homecoming won, thou wouldst choose to come hither again.
Thou couldst gather from other cities a host unnumbered of men
Lightly⁠—ah, but the longing shall never awaken in thee;
Yea, and mine own heart bodeth that this shall never be!
Yet O remember Hypsipylê whilst thou art far away,
And when home thou hast won; and leave me a word that thy love shall obey
With joy, if the Gods shall vouchsafe me to bear a son to my lord.”

Lovingly looked on her Aison’s son, and he spake the word:
“Hypsipylê, so may the Gods bring all these blessings to be!
Howbeit a better wish than this frame thou for me;
Forasmuch as by Pelias’ grace it sufficeth me still to live
In the home-land⁠—only the Gods from my toils deliverance give!
But and if to return to the land of Hellas be not my doom,
Afar as I sail, and a fair manchild be the fruit of thy womb,
To Pelasgian Iolkos send him, when boyhood and manhood be met,
To my father and mother, to solace their grief⁠—if living yet
Haply he find them⁠—that so, in the stead of the prince their son,
They may win in their halls a dear one, to brighten the hearth left lone.”
He spake, and was gone; and afront of his fellows he strode to the ship,
And the rest of the chiefs followed on, and the oars in their hands did they grip,
Row upon row as they sat; and the hawsers did Argus cast
Loose from the rock brine-lashed; and mightily then and fast
Fell they to smiting with oars long-bladed the seething wave.
And at even by Orpheus’ counsel the keel ashore they drave
On the isle of Elektra the daughter of Atlas, that there they might learn
The mystic rites whose unveiling is not soul-daunting nor stern,
And safelier so might voyage over the chill grey sea:⁠—
No more will I speak of the Hidden Things⁠—but a blessing be
Upon that same isle, and the Gods there dwelling, to whom belong
Those rites whereof it is not vouchsafed that we tell in song.

And from thence o’er the Black Sea’s depths unfathomed they sped with the oar,
To leftward keeping the land of Thrace, and to rightward the shore
Of Imbros overagainst it; and, even as sank the sun,
Unto the long sea-foreland of Chersonese they won.
There did the strong swift south-wind blow, and the sail they spread
To the breeze, and into the outward-rushing waters they sped
Of Athamas’ daughter: and lo, astern with the morning light
The outsea lay, and along Rhoeteion’s beach in the night
They coasted, and still on their right the land Idaean lay.
And they left Dardania behind, and Abydos-ward steered they.
By Perkotê in that same night, and Abarnis’ stretches of sand
Onward they glided, and past Pityeia the hallowed land.
And the selfsame night, as with sails and with oars sped Argo on,
Through the sea-gorge darkly-swirling of Hellespont they won.

Now within the Propontis an island there is, both high and steep;
Short space from the corn-blest Phrygian land doth it rise from the deep
Seaward-sloped: to the mainland stretched a neck of land
Low as the wash of the sea; so the place hath a twofold strand.
And beyond the waterfloods of Aisêpus the river they lie.
The Hill of the Bears it is called of them that dwell thereby.
And cruel oppressors and fierce have there their robber-hold,
Earth-born, a marvel great for the dwellers around to behold.
Six mighty arms each monster uplifteth against a foe,
Even two from his brawny shoulders that spring, and therebelow
Four other, that out of his sides exceeding terrible grow.
Now Dolian men on the isthmus abode, and about the plain;
And amidst them did Kyzikus, hero-son of Aineus, reign,
The son whom Ainêtê, the daughter of godlike Eusôrus, bare.
But these men the Earth-born giants, how mighty and dreadful soe’er,
In no wise harried: their shield and defender Poseidon became,
For himself had begotten of old the first of the Dolian name.
Thitherward Argo, as chased by the Thracian breezes she fled,
Pressed, and the goodly haven received her as onward she sped.
And their light-weight anchor-stone did they cast away thereby
By Tiphys’ behest, and they left it beside the fountain to lie,
By Artakia’s spring; and another they chose, huge, meet for their need.
Howbeit their first, by Archer Apollo’s oracle-rede,
The Ionian Neleïds laid thereafter, a hallowed stone,
In the shrine of Athênê, Jason’s friend, as was meet to be done.

And in all lovingkindness the Dolians came, and to meet them pressed
Kyzikus’ self, when their lineage he heard, and was ware of the Quest,
And knew what heroes were these; and with glad guest-welcome they met,
And besought them to speed in their rowing a short space onward yet,
And to fasten the hawser within the city’s haven fair.
To Apollo the Lord of Landing they builded an altar there:
By the strand they upreared it, and there did the smoke of the sacrifice rise;
And sweet strong wine did the king’s self give them, their need to suffice,
And sheep therewithal: for an oracle rang in his ears⁠—“In the day
When a godlike band of heroes shall come, meet thou their array
With welcome of love, and thou shalt not bethink thee at all of the fray.”
And, like unto Jason, the soft down bloomed on the young king’s chin;
Neither yet was he gladdened with laughter of children his halls within;
For the pangs of the travailing hour not yet to his bride had been known,
Even to the lady born of Merops, Perkosius’ son,
Fair-tressed Kleitê. But now had she passed from her sire’s halls forth
On the mainland-shore, when he won her with gifts of priceless worth.
But for all this left he his bridal bower and the bed of his bride,
And arrayed them a banquet, and cast from his heart all fear aside.
And they questioned each other, the king and the heroes. Of them would he learn
The end whereunto they voyaged, and Pelias’ bidding stern.
Of the dwellers around, and their cities, they asked and were fain to be taught
Touching all the gulf of Propontis the wide: but the king knew nought
Beyond to tell them, albeit with eager desire they sought.
So at dawn did they climb huge Dindymus’ sides, with purpose to gaze
With their own eyes over the unknown sea and her trackless ways;⁠—
But forth of the outer haven first their galley they rowed;⁠—
Still Jason’s Path is it named, that mountain-track they trode.

But the earth-born giants the while rushed down from the mountain-side,
And the seaward mouth they blocked of the haven of Chytos the wide
With crags, like men that lie in wait for a wolf in his lair.
Howbeit with them that were younger had Herakles tarried there;
And he leapt to his feet, and against them his back-springing bow did he strain.
One after other he stretched them on earth; and the giants amain
Heaved up huge jagged rocks, and hurled them against their foe.
Yea, for that terrible monster-brood was nurtured, I trow,
Of Hêrê, the bride of Zeus, for a trial of Herakles.
Therewithal came the rest of their fellows, returning to battle with these
Or ever they won the mountain-crest. To the slaughter they fell
Of the Earth-born brood, those heroes: with arrows some did they quell,
And some on the points of their spears they received, until they had slain
All that to grapple of fight had rushed so furious-fain.
And even as when the woodmen with axes have smitten, and throw
The long beams down on the strand of the sea ranged row upon row⁠—
For the brine-sodden wood shall grip the strong bolts faster so⁠—
Even so at the entering-in of the foam-fringed haven they lay
One after other; some in a huddled heap where the spray
Dashed over their heads and their breasts, the while, stretched high on the land,
Stiffened their limbs: there were some yet again, whose heads on the sand
Rested, the while in the heaving waters swayed their feet;⁠—
But doomed were they all alike for the birds’ and the fishes’ meat.

And the heroes, so soon as the peril afar from their emprise was driven,
Cast loose the hawsers of Argo before the breezes of heaven.
Forth shot she, and onward they drave, fast cleaving the broad sea-swell.
All day under canvas she ran: howbeit, as twilight fell
No longer the wind-rush steadily held, but the veering blast
Caught them, and swept them aback, till it brought them again at the last
To the guest-fain Dolian men. Then stepped they ashore in the gloom
Of the night; and unto this day is it called the Rock of Doom
Round which the hawsers of Argo in blind haste now did they pass;
Neither did any man deem that the selfsame island it was;
Nor yet were the Dolians ware that again in the night to their coast
The heroes were come, but haply they weened that a Makrian host
Of Pelasgian men for war had sailed to their land overseas:
Wherefore their armour they donned, and uplifted their hands against these.
And with onset of spears and with clashing of shields met they in the strife,
Like to the vehement blast of flame which hath leapt into life
Mid the copses dry, and the red tongues climb: and the battle-din then
Fearful and furious fell in the midst of the Dolian men.
Nor may Kyzikus now overleap his weird, and aback from the war
Win home to the bower of love and the arms of his bride any more.
But, even as he turned on him, full on the king leapt Aison’s son,
And stabbed in the midst of his breast, and shattered was all the bone
Around the spear, and falling in death-throes down on the sands
He filled up the measure of Fate. To escape her resistless hands
Is vouchsafed unto none: as a wide snare compassed we are with her bands.
Even so, as he weened that the bitterness now of death was past
At the hands of the heroes, lo, in her gin were his feet caught fast
In the night, as he battled with them, and many a champion withal
Was slain with the king; by Herakles’ hands did Telekles fall,
And fell Megabrontes; and Sphodris Akastus overthrew;
And Zelys, Gephyrus withal, the battle-swift Peleus slew.
Telamon’s ashen spear through Basileus’ heart is thrust;
Died Promeus by Idas, and Klytius laid Hyakinthus in dust;
And the Tyndarids twain slew Phlogius, slew Megalossakes;
And valiant Itymoneus fell before Oineus’ son amid these,
And Artakes with him, a chieftain of men: and unto this day
Unto all these slain do the people the worship of heroes pay.
Then wavered the ranks and broke; then fled they in panic affright,
As before the swift-winged hawks doth a cloud of doves take flight.
Through the gates in a huddled rout they poured, and the town straightway
With the war-yell was filled, and backward rolled was the woeful fray.
But at dawn were they ware, both these and those, of the cureless ill,
Of the ruinous error; and now did bitter anguish fill
The Minyan heroes, beholding before them Aineus’ child
Stretched in the dust, and Kyzikus lying blood-defiled.
For three whole days with rending of hair did they mourn his doom,
Even they with the Dolian folk. Thereafter about his tomb
Three times in their brazen armour the round of lament did they pace,
And buried him: funeral games held they in the selfsame place,
As was meet, in the meadow-plain where yet before the eyes
Of the folk of the latter day doth the heap of his grave-mound rise.
Yea, neither would Kleitê his wife any more mid the living abide,
Forlorn of her lord; but a woefuller evil she added beside
To the evil done, when clasping her neck with the noose she died.
Ah, but the Wildwood Maids made moan for the beautiful dead;
And of all the tears that to earth from their eyes for her sake they shed
A fountain the Goddesses made, and the name of it far and wide
Hath been heard, even Kleitê, the name of a most unhappy bride.
Ah, that was the darkest day that from Zeus did ever befall
The daughters and sons of the Dolian race, and in none of them all
Was there spirit to taste of food, and their hands for a weary while
By reason of grief hung down, and forgat the millstone’s toil:
But their lives dragged on, while untouched of the fire was the food that they ate.
Yea, the Ionian folk that in Kyzikus dwell even yet,
When they pour drink-offerings year by year, at the city’s mill
Grind ever their corn, for the querns in the houses of mourning are still.

And the wild winds woke at the sound of their mourning to shriek and to rave
Twelve days, twelve nights; and prisoned by wrath of wind and wave
Tarried the heroes from sailing, until, on the thirteenth night,
When the rest of the wanderers lay for the last time bowed by the might
Of slumber on that drear shore, while watch and ward was kept
Of Akastus and Mopsus Ampykus’ son over them that slept⁠—
Then over the golden head of Aison’s son did there fly
A kingfisher: clear through the hush his happy-boding cry
Rang for the lulling of winds; and Mopsus hearkening caught
The shore-bird’s note, and he knew it with happy omen fraught.
And a God’s hand guided its wing, that it wheeled and shot to the height
Of the Argo’s stern, and thereon hath it stayed its arrowy flight.
And the seer touched Jason, there on the fleeces soft as he lay
Of the sheep, and from slumber he roused him with haste, and thus did he say:

“Aison’s son, thou must climb to the temple that standeth there
On Dindymus’ rugged height, and make to the Mother thy prayer,
The fair-throned Mother of all the Blest: and the stormy blast
Shall be stilled. For but now hath a cry by mine ears on the night-wind passed,
The weird sea-kingfisher’s cry; and around thy slumbering head
Wheeling its flight, it uttered the thing that my lips have said.
For swayed by her power be the winds, and the sea, and the earth below,
Yea also Olympus crowned with the everlasting snow.
And to her, when to heaven from her hills she ascendeth, doth Zeus give place,
Even Kronos’ son himself, and all the Deathless Race
Of the Blessèd in reverence bow before her awful face.”

So spake he: to hear that word the heart of Jason leapt.
Gladsome he sprang from his couch, and his comrades, there as they slept,
Did he waken in haste; and he told, as they gathered around him to hear,
The prophecy spoken of Mopsus Ampykus’ son, the seer.
Then steers from the byre the young men drave, and with speed they pressed
Up the steep hill-path with the beasts, till they won to the mountain’s crest.
From the Rock of Doom did others the hawsers of Argo slip:
To the Thracian haven they rowed, and leapt to the strand; and the ship
There guarded they left, for there tarried behind of their fellows a few.
And from Dindymus saw they the Makrian cliffs, and full in view
The stretch of the Thracian Coast oversea on this side lay,
And the Bosporus misty-dim, and the blue hills far away
Of Mysia-land, and the river Aisêpus on that side flowed,
And the town and the plain Nepeian of Adresteia showed.
Then found they the sturdy stock of a vine in the forest that grew,
A tree exceeding old: with the axes the same did they hew
For the Mountain-goddess’s sacred image: with cunning skill
Of the craftsman did Argus carve it; and so on the rugged hill
Did they set it up: for the shrine thereof stood tall oaks round,
Which of all trees root them the deepest beneath the face of the ground.
Then of loose stones built they an altar: with leaves from the oaken spray
They wreathed it around, and the sacrifice thereupon did they lay.
On the Mother majestic, on Dindymê’s Queen, the while did they call,
Who dwelleth in Phrygia: on Tityas they cried, on Kyllênê withal,
Who alone be called the Dispensers of Doom⁠—by the judgment-seat
Of the Mother Idaean who sit⁠—by all that priesthood of Crete,
The Daktylians of Ida, born in the cave Dictaean of yore
When the Nymph Anchialê clutched in the throes of travail, and tore
With the fingers of either hand the earth by Oaxus’ shore.
Knelt Aison’s son to the Goddess, and prayed her with earnest cries
To turn the tempest away, on the flame of the sacrifice
As he poured the wine. And the youths therewithal at Orpheus’ command
Trode round her altar the measure, an armour-sheathèd band,
And clashed with their swords on their shields, that the sound that boded them ill
Might be lost in the air, the wail for the dead, which the people still
In grief for their king sent up; for which cause unto this day
With timbrel and drum the Phrygians worship to Rhea pay.
And the Goddess of them that sought her was found, and inclined her ear
To the sacrifice-prayer: of her grace did tokens of good appear.
For the trees shed fruit in abundance down, and around their feet
The earth mid her tender grass with flowers unsown was sweet.
And the beasts of the wildwood came, forsaking thicket and lair,
Fawning with swaying tails: and another marvel there
Did the Goddess create, for that Dindymus never theretofore
With watersprings flowed; but now did a sudden torrent pour
From her thirsty crest, and the Fountain of Jason they name it still,
The folk that in after days dwell round that sacred hill.
In the Goddess’s honour a feast on the Bears’ Hill then dight they,
And Rhea the all-majestic they hymned: but at dawn of the day
Stilled were the winds, and with oars from the island sped they away.

Then hero was kindled with hero in gallant contention to try
Who last should be spent and refrain; for the peace of a windless sky
Laid level the swirls of the sea, and lulled to sleep the wave.
And putting their trust in the calm, ever onward and onward they drave
The ship by their might; and with her, through the brine as she darted and leapt,
Not even the storm-footed steeds of Poseidon the pace had kept.
Howbeit the surges awoke as from sleep, as the keen blasts blew,
Which swooped from the river-gorges as day to the evenfall drew:
And the heroes forspent with toiling refrained, save only one
Who by might of his hands tugged onward his weary comrades alone;
Even Herakles: quivered the strong-knit beams as he strained to the stroke.
But when, as they fled by the mainland-shore of the Mysian folk,
And Rhyndakus’ outfall they sighted, and, huge against the sky,
Aigaion’s cairn, past Phrygia a little, and slipped thereby,
Even then, through the furrows of roughened surge as he tugged and tore,
Snapped he the ashen blade, and, grasping the half of the oar
Yet in his hands, back Herakles fell, and the half swept down
The tossing wake of the ship. But he rose, and with angry frown
Sat gazing around, for his hands endured not idle to lie.

’Twas the hour when the delver or ploughman aback from the field doth hie
With joy to his hut, and his soul sore craveth the eventide meat,
And bow on the threshold his knees, and totter his weary feet.
All dust-besprent he beholdeth his cramped hands worn with toil,
With many a curse reviling the taskmaster Belly the while⁠—
Then came they to where in the land Kianian nestle her homes
’Neath Arganthônê, where Kios against the sea-tide foams.
Then as friends greet friends did the Mysians with kindly welcoming
Meet them, the people that dwelt in the land, and gifts did they bring,
Even sheep, and wine without stint therewithal gave they for their need.
Then sapless logs did some of them gather, and grass from the mead
Did some bring in, whereof great store for their couches they mowed,
The while in the hands of some the whirling fire-sticks glowed.
Some mingled the wine in the mazer, and ready the feast they dight,
Doing sacrifice to Apollo as deepened the shades of night.

But Zeus’ son spake to his comrades meetly the feast to prepare:
But into the forest himself hath hied, to the end that there,
Or ever he supped, for the grip of his hands he might fashion an oar.
Then found he a pine as he roved, and scant was the burden it bore
Of boughs, nor with heavy-clustering leaves was its shade made dim;
But like to the shaft it rose of a poplar tall and slim:
Even such was the measure thereof to behold in height and in girth.
Swiftly his arrow-fraught quiver hath Herakles cast to the earth
With the shafts therein: from his shoulders the lion’s hide did he strip.
With his brass-heavy club at its roots he smote, till he loosed earth’s grip.
Low down did he grasp the stem about with either hand,
Putting trust in his might: with shoulder against it thrust did he stand
With feet wide set. From the ground, deep-rooted albeit it grew,
Hath his grip upheaved it with all the clods that clave thereto.
And as when unawares the mast of a ship, in the very hour
When Orion’s storm-fraught setting is working in baleful power,
Is struck from on high by a tempest’s swiftly-swooping squall,
And with snapped stays rent from its box, and the wedges therewithal,
Even so he upwrenched that tree; and he gathered up arrows and bow,
And the lion’s hide, and his club; and he hasted him backward to go.

But Hylas the while with a pitcher of brass from the throng hath hied
Seeking a spring’s pure flow; for the feast of the eventide
To draw for him water against his return, and withal to prepare
With speed all things for the time when again his lord should be there.
For in suchlike service did Herakles nurture the lad and train
From the day when, a captive child, by the hero’s hand he was ta’en
From the home of his father Theodamas, slain in Dryopian land
Without ruth, when he dared for his ploughteam’s sake ’gainst the hero to stand.
For it fell, as Theodamas clave with the share the fallow field,
That mischief befell him; for Herakles came, and he bade him to yield
The heifer he ploughed withal unto him in his heart’s despite:
For against the Dryopian folk was he seeking occasion of fight,
For their bane, forasmuch as reckless of right in the land dwelt they:⁠—
But the story thereof should lead me far from my song astray.
So in haste to the fountain he hied him, and Pegae hight that spring
Of the people that dwell in the field thereabout: and the dancing-ring
Of the Nymphs, as it chanced, was there; for all these loved full well⁠—
Even all the Nymphs that about that fair hill wont to dwell⁠—
In hymns through the night-tide ringing to chant unto Artemis still.
But they which inherit the mountain-crest, or the rushing rill,
And the Forest-haunters, were ranged from the fountain far away.
But it fell that the Water-nymph came floating up that day
From the depths of the fair-flowing spring:⁠—lo, over her bendeth his face
In the rosy flush of its beauty, its manifold winsome grace.
For the full moon casting her beams from the height of the firmament
Smote him, and faintness of love on her soul the Cyprian sent,
And scarce she unravelled her thoughts in sweet confusion blent.
But over the fountain’s brim as aforetime aslant hath he bowed,
And plunged in the ripple the pitcher: the water gurgled loud
As into the echoing brass it poured; and the Fountain-maid
Her left arm slid from the depths, and around his neck was it laid
In her yearning to kiss those dainty lips, while, clutched by her right,
Drawn down was his arm, and through swirling eddies he sank from the light.

But his cry as he sank was heard of one of his comrades alone
Who trod that fountainward path, Polyphemus, Eilatus’ son,
To meet that giant hero when back he should fare to the feast.
By Pegae, following the cry, hath he rushed, like a wildwood beast
Unto whom from far away hath been wafted the bleating of sheep,
And with famine afire he pursueth; howbeit he may not leap
On the prey, for already the shepherds have penned them safe from the foe;
And in vehement rage must he moan and howl, till aweary he grow;
So Eilatus’ son made vehement moan, and he roamed to and fro
About the place; and his voice rang piteous, broken with woe.
Then suddenly drew he his mighty blade, and he rushed to pursue,
If perchance he were seized of beasts, or from ambush a robber-crew
Had leapt on him faring alone, and were haling afar their prey.
Then, even as he shook in his hand his naked sword, in the way
Came Herakles’ self to meet him, a giant form that sped
To the ship through the gloom; and he knew him, and straightway a tale most dread
He told, while laboured with heavy panting his heart, and he said:

“God help thee, that I first bring to thee tidings of bitter pain!
Hylas hath gone to the spring, and returned not alive again!
Or robbers have seized him, and hale him away to captivity,
Or evil beasts are rending:⁠—I heard but now his cry.”

Upon Herakles’ temples then did the great sweat-gouts upstart,
As he heard him speak, and the dark blood curdled about his heart.
In fury he flung to the earth the pine, and along that path
Rushed, whithersoever his feet might hurry his aimless wrath.
And as, stung by a gadfly, a bull rusheth onward frenzy-stirred
Forsaking the meadows and marshlands, the while of herdsman or herd
He taketh no heed, pressing on in his wild course now without check,
Now making a moment’s stand, and uplifting his massive neck,
He uttereth bellowings, mad with the sting of the cruel breese;
So he in his frenzy now would be plying his strong swift knees
Unresting, and now from his toil would he cease for a moment’s space,
And shouted:⁠—the mighty voice rang far through the lonely place.

Eftsoons the morning-star rose over the mountain’s crest,
And the winds swept down from the gorges; and Tiphys cried on the rest
To get them aboard in haste, and to hearken the wind’s behest.
So with eager speed they embarked, and the anchor-stones of the ship
Heaved they aboard, and the hawsers thereof in haste did they slip.
And the midst of the sail bellied out with the blast, and far away
From the sea-strand with joy by Poseidon’s foreland wafted were they.
But it fell, in the hour when the dawn glad-eyed from the heaven doth beam,
From the east uprising, and all the earth-ways clearer gleam,
And the dewy wolds are a-sparkle beneath her flashing sheen,
Then were they ware of those that forsaken unwares had been.
Then mighty contention arose, and an indignation-burst
Most vehement-fierce, that any should go, and forsake the first
Of their comrades in prowess. But Aison’s son distraught with amaze
Spake never a word or bad or good in their evil case;
But devouring his soul he sat ’neath wilderment’s heavy load.
Then Telamon’s wrath waxed hot, and thus with the prince he chode:

“Ha! sit thou there at thine ease!⁠—good sooth, for thy profit was this,
That Herakles thus should be left; thou givest no counsel, I wis,
Lest haply his glory in Hellas should overshadow thee,
If the Gods peradventure vouchsafe us the home-return to see!⁠—
What pleasure in words?⁠—I will go, I only, with none of these
Thy comrades, who plotted with thee this treason to Herakles.”

He spake, and on Tiphys Hagnias’ son he rushed, and his ire
Gleamed through his eyes as the leaping flame of the ravening fire.
And now to the land of the Mysian men had they won back again
In despite of the driving surge, and the head-wind’s ceaseless strain;
But the two winged sons of Thracian Boreas rose thereupon,
And with fierce stern words from his purpose withheld they Aiakus’ son.
Unhappy they!⁠—grim vengeance thereafter did Herakles wreak
Upon these who withheld the rest which were fain for the lost to seek.
For when from the games over Pelias dead they were wending again
Homeward, in Tenos the sea-girt he slew them; and heaped o’er the slain
The earth, and above that grave-mound reared he pillars twain,
The one whereof, a marvel exceeding for men to behold,
Sways to and fro in the blast when the North-wind whistleth cold.
Ay, so in the after-time these things were ordained to be.
But now did Glaukus appear unto them from the depths of the sea,
The servant of Nereus divine, the far-discerning seer.
High out of the waves his shaggy head and his breast did he rear
Even to the waist, and his brawny hand did the God stretch out
To the keel of the ship, and unto her eager crew did he shout:

“Wherefore be ye thus purposed against great Zeus’ decrees
Unto Aiêtes’ city to bring bold Herakles?
Lo, this is his weird⁠—in the land of Argos labouring
To accomplish toils full twelve for Eurystheus the tyrannous king,
And to dwell with the Deathless Ones, if he bring to fulfilment yet
A few more toils: grieve ye not therefore with vain regret.
Polyphemus’ weird likewise is to rear, where Kios doth fall
Into the sea, ’mid the Mysians a glorious city’s wall,
And to find in the Chalybes’ land the doom that endeth all.
But Hylas a Goddess-nymph of her love for her spouse hath taken,
For whose sake wandered away those twain unawares forsaken.”

Then downward he plunged, and he wrapped him about with the waves white-wreathing,
And around him the darkling water foamed in eddies seething.
And he loosed from his hand the hollow ship through the brine to flee;
And the heroes were glad: then rose up Telamon hastily,
And Aiakus’ son unto Jason strode, and his hand did he take
In the compassing grasp of his own, and embraced him, and thus he spake:

“Be nowise wroth with me, Aison’s son, if folly-distraught
I have sinned in mine ignorance: anguish exceeding upon me hath wrought
To utter an arrogant word which I could not refrain: let us cast
To the winds my transgression, and knit be our hearts as in days overpast.”

Answered him Aison’s son, and in courteous wise spake he:
“Ah, friend, of a truth ’twas a bitter word that thou spakest to me,
When thou saidst in the midst of us all that a traitor I was unto him
Who to me was a friend!⁠—yet I will not nurse wrath brooding grim,
Though vexed was my soul at the first; since not as for flocks of sheep
Didst thou chafe and wast wroth, nor for hoarded wealth of a treasure-heap,
But all for a comrade’s sake. I were fain thou wouldst champion so
Even me, if need should be ever, against another foe.”

He spake, and they sat them down, as in days overpast made one.
But their lost⁠—by the counsel of Zeus, Polyphemus Eilatus’ son
Was doomed mid the Mysian men to build a city, to bear
The name of the river thereby: but aback must Herakles fare
At Eurystheus’ labours to toil. But he threatened in anger hot
To waste the Mysian land, if her folk for him found not
What doom upon Hylas had lighted, if dead or alive he were.
And pledges they gave for the lost, in that sons most noble and fair
Of their people they chose, and for hostages gave, and an oath they swore
That they would not refrain from the toil of the search for evermore.
Wherefore for tidings of Hylas the Kians unto this day,
For Theiodamas’ son, of the stranger inquire: the warders aye
Guard Trêchis the fair-built; for there did the hero cause to abide
The sons that they sent for their ransom to turn his fury aside.

And the wind all day bare onward the galley and all night through
With a fresh strong blast: but when dawning arose, the breath of it blew
No whit any more; and they spied jutting forth from a curve of the land
A foreland, and broad to behold that dark height swelled from the strand.
So they bent to the oars, and at sunrise the keel up-furrowed the sand.

Book II

There were there steadings of cattle, and Amykus’ farms were there,
Proud king of Bebrykian men, whom erst a wood-nymph bare;
For Bithynian Meliê couched with Poseidon the Lord of Birth.
Overweening was this their son above all the children of Earth,
Who even on wayfaring strangers his tyrannous ordinance laid
That they should not depart from his land till that trial of prowess were made
Against him with the fist: and neighbours full many he smote that they died.
And now to the galley he came; but he scorned in the height of his pride
To inquire of them wherefore they voyaged, or ask what men were they:
But with sudden defiance he challenged them all, and thus did he say:

“Sea-rovers, hearken the thing that is meet and right ye should know.
This is the ordinance⁠—none may depart, from my country to go,
Even none who hath come to Bebrykia’s folk out of alien lands,
Or ever against mine hands he hath lifted in battle his hands.
Choose for you therefore the mightiest man of all your array,
And set ye him here for the strife of the fist against me this day.
But and if ye shall shrink from the trial, and trample my laws underfoot,
Verily mighty constraint shall pursue you with bitter pursuit.”

So spake he in pride overweening, and came upon them as they heard
Fierce anger, but most by his threatening vaunt Polydeukes was stirred.
Straightway he stood for his fellows’ champion forth, and he cried:

“Peace!⁠—threaten not us, whatsoever the name that hath puffed thee with pride,
With brutal mishandling:⁠—yea, unto these thy laws will we bow.
Even I right willingly offer me⁠—lo, I will meet thee now.”

Roundly he spake; and with rolling eyes glared on him the king
As a lion javelin-smitten, when out on the mountains the ring
Of the hunters hemmeth him round; but, albeit encompassed about
By the throng, he heedeth them not, but his glance ever searcheth him out,
Him only, which wounded him first, yet quelled him not with the stroke.
Then Tyndareus’ son laid by his goodly-woven cloak
Of delicate threads, a gift of remembrance for sweet days past
Of a daughter of Lemnos. His mantle’s dark folds Amykus cast,
With the clasps thereof, to the ground, and the shepherd’s staff that he bore,
The rugged olive his hand from the windy hill-slope tore.
Then looked they, and chose for the combat a spot that was good in their sight;
And all their companions they bade sit down to left and to right.
Then stood they forth, nor in form nor in stature alike to behold:
But the one might be seed of Typhôeus the fell, or a monster of old,
Ay, even as one of the giant brood of Earth, which she bare
To wreak upon Zeus her wrath: but Tyndareus’ son showed fair
As the star of the heaven, whose loveliest beams through the fading blue
Shine in the eventide, when the wings of the night drop dew.
Even such was the child of Zeus, and the soft down bloomed on his chin,
And bright were his dancing eyes: but waxed his breast within
His fury and might like a wild beast’s rage; and he struck out fast
With his hands, making trial if swift were their play, as in days overpast,
Uncramped by the stress of toil and the strain of the weary oar.
But Amykus proved not his limbs, but he glared on his foe evermore
Standing in silence aloof, and he yearned in eager mood
To smite and bespatter the hero’s breast with the spurting blood.
And between them Lykôreus, Amykus’ henchman, cast on the ground
In front of their feet the fighting-gauntlets with thongs overbound,
Strips of the raw hide, dry, all ridged with wrinkles were they.
Then unto the hero the giant with arrogant words ’gan say:

“Whichsoever thou wilt, lo, freely and willingly grant I to thee,
Without casting of lots, that thou mayst not hereafter murmur at me.
Now bind them about thine hands: thou shalt learn, and to others shall tell
How featly I carve the tough bull-hides, how passing well
I wield them withal, to bedabble with blood the jaws of men.”

He spake, but the hero scorned with wrangling to answer again:
And he made no ado, but the pair lying nighest his feet, the same
Lightly smiling he took. Then unto him Kastor came,
And Talaus the mighty, the scion of Bias: they bound on his wrists
The gauntlets in haste, oft bidding him play the man in the lists.
And to Amykus Ornytus came and Arêtus; but naught knew they⁠—
Fools!⁠—that they girded a doomed man then for his latest fray.

So when they were ready, and forth in the lists stood face to face,
Straightway in front of their bodies their brawny hands did they raise.
Then closed they, and matched their might in the grim play furiously.
And now the Bebrykian king, as a charging wave of the sea
With storm-roughened crest overarcheth a ship, and would surely o’erwhelm,
But that scantly she ’scapeth by wisdom of him that swayeth the helm,
When over her bulwark to hurl itself mad is the surge of the wave;
So followed he hard upon Tyndareus’ son to daunt him: he gave
No respite. The hero by cunning keeping him scatheless aye
Baffled his every rush: well marked he his brutal play,
To wot if the giant in might were haply resistless, or no.
So ever he faced him and warded, and flashed back blow for blow.
And even as when the shipwrights with hammers mightily swinging
Smite on the beams of a galley, driving the clamps close-clinging
Sharply together, that bang upon clang cometh crashing and ringing,
And the air is a-shiver; so crack ’neath the buffets the cheeks of the twain,
So crash their jaws, and so clatter their teeth as the swift blows rain.
Nor flinch they nor falter, but facing each other smite they amain,
Till spent are they both, and for laboured panting they needs must refrain.
Then standing apart for a little they wiped from their foreheads away
The streaming sweat, while their deep chests heaved with the toil of the fray.
Then each against other again they rushed, as when on the lea
Two bulls for a heifer are fighting in fury of rivalry.
Then mid their battle did Amykus up to his full height spring
Like an ox-slayer straining a-tiptoe⁠—downward the weight did he swing
Of his gauntleted hand on the hero; but swerving swift from the stroke
By a turn of his head hath he foiled him, hath caught on his shoulder and broke
Its force⁠—he hath slipped past the knee of the giant his knee⁠—he hath rushed
With his whole weight dashing his fist ’neath his ear, and the bones hath he crushed,
That for agony down on his knees he sank, and the Minyans’ shout
Rang; and with one great gasp was the giant’s life poured out.

Uprose the Bebrykian men to avenge the wild king’s fall:
And full upon Polydeukes as one man rushed they all
With rugged clubs and with javelins tossing in furious hands.
But his comrades afront of him closed, and they drew their keen-whetted brands
Out of their scabbards: and Kastor the first with the sword-sweep cleft
The head of a foe, as against him he rushed; and to right and to left
Upon either shoulder aslant did the ghastly halves of it fall.
Polydeukes o’erthrew the giant Itymoneus, Mimas withal;
For, weaponless, one with a sudden leap did he spurn on the breast
With his foot, and in dust he fell; and one, as to conflict he pressed,
Over the left brow smote he with swift right hand, and he tare
The eyelid away, that it left the wretch’s eyeball bare.
And Oreides, Amykus’ henchman, a brawny champion,
Stabbed with his lance at the flank of Talaus, Bias’ son;
Howbeit he slew him not, but sliding along the skin
The brass sped under his belt, neither tasted the flesh within.
And Arêtus at Iphitus smote with a club of the knotted oak,
That Eurytus’ scion, the battle-bider, reeled from the stroke.
Howbeit not yet was the hero doomed unto deadly bane;
Nay, soon was the smiter’s self by Klytius’ sword to be slain.
Then did Ankaius the dauntless son of Lykurgus in haste
Swing up his mighty axe, and around his left arm cast
The bear’s dark fell for a shield, and amidst the Bebrykian array
In fury of onset he plunged, and beside him charged to the fray
Aiakus’ sons, and Jason the valiant leapt to the fight.
And as when mid the folds the grey wolves scare in huddled affright
Vast throngs of sheep on a wintry day, having rushed on the pen
By the keen-nosed dogs unscented, unmarked of the shepherd’s ken;
And in fury they seek to leap the fence, and to seize the prey,
Glaring and glaring, a fierce-eyed ring; and, shrinking away
Upon every side, on each other trample the sheep; even so
Drave they in ghastly rout the haughty Bebrykian foe.
And as when bee-keepers or shepherds fill with the stifling smoke
The cleft of a rock where dwell the honey-fashioning folk,
And the bees for a while all thronging within their cavern-home,
Murmur with muffled hum, till, driven at last therefrom
By the murky fume, they pour from the crag, and they flee away;
Even so not long they abode, but scattered in disarray
Through Bebrykia bearing the tidings of Amykus’ doom did they fly.
Fools!⁠—nothing they knew of another woe even then drawn nigh
All unforeseen, for their orchards were wasted in that same hour,
And amidst of their hamlets did Lykus’ ravening spears devour,
And the Mariandynians slew, forasmuch as their king was afar,
For that aye for the iron-bearing land were the nations at war.
So now had the spoilers fallen on garth and byre and fold;
While seaward the heroes headed their sheep in throngs untold,
And this one to that one cried the while they drave the prey:

“Bethink ye, what price had they paid for their felon folly to-day,
If haply a God had but brought our Herakles hither to aid!
Ha! surely had he but been here, no trial, I ween, had been made
Of strife with the fists; but so soon as the caitiff drew nigh to proclaim
His ordinance, straightway the club should have made him forget the same,
Even as he spake it, yea, and forget the might of his hand.
Ah, but we left him, we left him, alone on a desolate strand,
And we sailed away oversea:⁠—full soon shall we know, each one,
Our baneful folly, seeing our mightiest champion is gone!”

But the counsels of Zeus had wrought all this, beyond their ken.
So here through the night they abode, and the hurts of the wounded men
They tended, and slew to the Gods everlasting the sacrifice;
And a mighty supper they dight: fell sleep upon no man’s eyes,
By the bowl as they sat and the blazing altar the long night through,
With their golden locks enwreathed with the leaves of a bay that grew
Hard by the strand, about whose stem was their hawser bound.
And to Orpheus’ lyre they chanted; their voices’ blended sound
Rang tunefully: all the breathless beach lay tranced with the spell
Of the song; for of Zeus of Therapnae’s child did the sweet hymn tell.

Over the dusky hills did the light of the new sun leap,
As he rose from his far sea-bourn, as he roused the shepherds from sleep.
Then from the stem of the bay did the heroes their hawser uncoil,
And they laid in the galley so much as sufficed for their need of the spoil;
And before the breeze up swirling Bosporus’ flood they steered.
There steep and high the surge, as a mountain’s crown upreared
Afront of the prow, rusheth on them as leapeth a beast on the prey⁠—
Higher, still higher upheaved to the clouds: thou wouldst verily say,
“They cannot escape grim doom, for that full o’er the galley’s side
Swingeth its madding crest like a cloud!” Yet a bark may ride
Safe even o’er such, if she have but a helmsman good at need.
And by Tiphys’ steering-craft even so did the heroes speed
Through the peril unscathed, yet sore dismayed. So the wild day passed,
And the night; and with dawn on Bithynia’s shore the anchor they cast.

There hard by the sea had Phineus Agênor’s son his abode,
Who endured above all men trouble and anguish, a baleful load.
For a spirit of prophecy Lêto’s son had bestowed of old
On him; yet he thrust all reverence aside, and to mortals foretold
The sacred purpose of Zeus, the mind of Heaven’s King.
Therefore did Zeus requite him with eld long-lingering;
And he took from his eyes the pleasant light, and he suffered him not
To have joy of the meats untold which the dwellers around aye brought,
What time to his halls they resorted the purpose of heaven to hear.
But out of their caverns of cloud ever suddenly swooping anear
The Harpies would snatch them away from his lips and his hands evermore
With their talons, and whiles was there left unto him of all that store
No whit, and whiles but a crumb, that for torment his life might be spared.
And they poured over all a loathly stench: was none that dared,
I say not, to carry thereof to his mouth, but even to stand
Far off, so foully the remnants reeked of the banquet banned.
But now, on his ears as their voices and tramp of their coming brake,
He knew that the men were at hand whereof Zeus’ oracle spake
That their coming should bring for him respite, in peace to eat his bread.
And he rose from his couch, as a shadowy dream might rise from a bed,
Bowed over his staff, and with wrinkled feet ’gan creep to the door
Groping along the walls; and for helplessness trembled sore
And for age his limbs as he moved, and with filth was his parchèd skin
All leprous, and nought save this enwrapped the bones within.
So forth of the hall he came, and he bowed on the threshold-stone
His weary knees; and a swoon, like a dark pall over him thrown,
Enshrouded him; under his feet him seemed that the earth reeled round;
And he lay in a strengthless trance, and his lips could frame no sound.
And the heroes beheld him, and round about in a throng they pressed
And marvelled; until at the last the man from the depth of his breast
Drew laboured and difficult breath, and uttered his prophecy:

“Hearken, ye noblest of Hellas’ sons, if ye verily be
The selfsame heroes that Jason leadeth forth on the Quest
Of the Golden Fleece in Argo the ship at a King’s grim hest.
Of a surety ye be: my soul hath knowledge of everything
By her divination yet. Thanks therefore to thee, O King,
O Son of Lêto, I render from depths of affliction and woe!
O friends, by the Suppliants’ Zeus, who is ever the sternest foe
Of transgressors⁠—for Phoebus’ sake, and in awful Hêrê’s name
I beseech⁠—by the Gods I implore you in whose care hither ye came,
Help me: deliver from anguish a most ill-fated man,
Neither hasten away uncaring and leave me in bale and ban,
As ye find me: for not on mine eyes alone hath the fierce foot trode
Of the Vengeance-fiend, and I drag to the end eld’s weary load;
But a curse more bitter than all still hangeth over mine head,
For the Harpies are wont evermore to snatch from my lips my bread,
Swooping adown from a den of destruction, a viewless lair.
Neither find I any device for mine help: nay, easier it were
To escape the ken of mine own heart’s thoughts when I crave to be fed,
Than theirs; so swift through the welkin on hovering wings are they sped.
But if haply ever they leave but a morsel of meat on my board,
It reeketh with most unendurable strength of a stench abhorred.
No man, no, not for an instant, might dare draw nigh to the same,
Not though in his breast were a heart forged all of adamant frame.
But me of a surety doth hard compelling of hunger constrain
To abide, and abiding to stay this famine’s gnawing pain.
But those my tormentors, an oracle saith, shall be made to flee
By Boreas’ sons; neither strangers shall my deliverers be,
If indeed I be Phineus, renowned among men in the days long gone
For my wealth and my soothsaying lore, if Agênor called me son,
If the sister of these, Kleopatra, when over the Thracians I reigned,
Came to mine halls, a bride by a royal bride-price gained.”

So ended Agênor’s son, and compassion’s o’ermastering pain
Thrilled all the heroes, but chiefly the North-wind’s scions twain.
Brushing the tears from their eyes they drew nigh him, and Zethes spake;
And the hand of the grief-worn sire in his hand with the word did he take:

“O hapless, none other is more afflicted than thou, I trow,
Among men!⁠—ah, wherefore on thee is there heaped such a burden of woe?
Baleful in sooth was the folly wherewith through thy prophecy-lore
Against Gods thou transgressedst: for this was their anger exceeding sore.
Howbeit our spirit within us, although we be fain, is afraid
To help thee, if on us indeed a God this honour hath laid.
For to dwellers on Earth the rebukes of Immortals be plain to discern;
And we dare not chase yon Harpies from thee, howsoever we yearn
For thine help, in the hour of their coming, except thou swear to us first
That for this we shall lose not the high Gods’ favour, as men accurst.”

So spake he: the stricken in years uplifted and opened wide
His sightless eyes straightway, and with swift words Phineus replied:

“Hush!⁠—thrust not such thoughts, my son, on a spirit affliction-filled!
Be witness Latona’s son, who taught to me gracious-willed
Prophecy-lore; and be witness this mine ill-starred doom,
And this dark cloud on mine eyes, and the Gods of the Underworld Gloom⁠—
May their curse, if I die with a lie on my tongue, be upon me for aye!⁠—
That on you no wrath of the Gods shall descend for your help this day.”

Then by the oath were they kindled to help him, and fled their fears.
And the young men straightway made ready the meat for the stricken in years⁠—
The last ordained for the Harpies’ spoil⁠—and anigh to him stood
Those twain, to smite with the sword those fiends when they swooped on the food.
Then first his hands on the meats did he lay, that grey-haired sire:⁠—
But sudden as bitter blasts, or as flashes of levin-fire,
Unawares from the clouds they had darted, and swooping adown they yelled
Their awful scream, fierce-eager for prey; but the heroes beheld,
And shouted amidst of their onrush. The fiends at the challenge of war
Swift ravined the meats from the boards, and over the sea afar
Soared they away, but there did their foul sick stench remain.
Then straightway hard on their track did the North-wind’s scions twain
Uplifting their swords follow after them fast, for with tireless might
Zeus filled them: howbeit they had not prevailed to follow their flight
But with Zeus’s help, for that faster than Zephyrus’ blasts they darted
Evermore, when on Phineus they swooped, and whene’er from the wretch they departed.
And as when on the mountain-ridges keen hounds cunning in chase
On the track of the hornèd goats or the deer hard-following race
Swiftly, and ever a little behind the prey as they strain,
Snap at the haunch of the quarry, and clash their teeth in vain;
So Zetes and Kalaïs rushed ever nearer with eager grip,
Clutched at them, smote at them, missed but by sword-point or finger-tip.
Yea, even despite Heaven’s will had they rent them limb from limb,
Overtaking them far away where the Floating Islands swim⁠—
But Iris the Storm-foot beheld them, and downward she plunged from the sky
Through a whirlwind of air, and with words of restraining aloud did she cry:

“Sons of the North-wind, forefended it is that ye smite with the sword
The Harpies, great Zeus’s hounds; but myself will pronounce the word
Of the oath that shall hold them from lighting again on the ancient’s board.”

Then spake she the words of the Oath of the Styx, the oath most dread
Unto all the Gods, whose reverence guardeth the words once said,
That the Harpies should never thereafter draw nigh unto Phineus’ hall,
To the home of Agênor’s son, for so was it doomed to befall.
To the oath then yielded the heroes, and backward they turned their flight
Unto the ship; and the Strophads, the Isles of Return, were they hight
Therefrom, which of old the Floating Isles had been called of men.
And the Harpies and Iris parted, and into their cavern-den
In Krêtê, the land of Minos, they plunged: but Olympus-ward
Uplifted ’twixt heaven and earth on her swift wings Iris soared.

But the heroes bathed and anointed the skin all fouled and sere
Of the ancient the while; and the choice of the fatlings they slew for their cheer,
Of the flock which they bare away of the spoil of Amykus dead.
So when in the halls a plenteous eventide-feast they had spread,
They feasted; and Phineus amidst them was like unto them that dream,
As from ravenous hunger he cheered his heart, so strange did it seem.
So there, when with meats and with wine they had satisfied all their need,
Through the long night kept they vigil, and waited for Boreas’ seed.
And the ancient sat in their midst in the ruddy glow of the fire;
And he told of their voyaging’s bourn, and the end of their desire:

“Give ear unto me:⁠—forefended it is that ye hear all through
Your fate:⁠—whatsoe’er seemeth good to the Gods I will hide not from you.
Mad was I of yore, when I spake unto Earth’s sons Zeus’s will
In all points unto the end: for this is his pleasure still
To reveal unto men his oracles short of the fullness of doom,
That so they may lean on the Gods, and faith and prayer have room.

The Rocks Kyanean first, when that gotten ye are from me,
In the place where the two seas meet, the Dark Blue Crags, shall ye see.
Through that dread pass no pilot, I ween, hath prevailed to go;
For rooted they are not to earth on foundations of rock therebelow;
But with rush and recoil unceasingly each against other they clash:
High over them archeth the crested brine, and the foam-feathers flash
From the seething cauldron: the precipice-foreland thundereth aye.
Wherefore to this my counsel give good heed, and obey,
If indeed with prudent soul and with fear of the Gods on high
Ye essay this Quest, that by doom self-sought ye may not die
As the fool, nor in rashness of youth essay to rush thereby.
First with a bird, with a white-winged dove, shall ye make assay,
Speeding her flight from the ship’s prow. If she shall win her way
Safe ’twixt the Crags of Terror, and out to the open sea,
No longer thereafter from daring the selfsame path shrink ye;
But grip ye the oars in your hands, and put forth your uttermost might
Cleaving the gorge of the sea, for that safety’s deliverance-light
Shall not be in prayer so much as the strength of your hands and the strain.
Wherefore let all else be, and toil ye with might and main
Boldly: but ere then pray as ye list; I say not nay.
But and if the death-trap clutch in the midst the dove, and slay,
Then sail ye aback; for better by far it is that ye
Should yield to the Deathless. The evil fate should ye nowise flee
Of the Rocks⁠—no, not though fashioned of iron your Argo should be.
O wretches, dare not to transgress the warning my tongue hath given,
Though thrice so much ye account me abhorred of the Dwellers in Heaven⁠—
Yea, though it were more than thrice⁠—as I am by my grievous sin,
Yet dare not to flout the omen, to thrust your galley therein!
And these things shall fall as they haply shall fall. But if scatheless ye shun
The rush of the Clashing Rocks, and the Pontus Sea shall be won,
Sailing therefrom, the Bithynians’ land to your right shall ye keep,
Ever heedfully standing out from the reefs, until ye shall sweep
Round the outfall of swift-flowing Rheba, and round the headland dark,
And within the haven of Thynê’s isle shall anchor your bark.
Thence turn ye aback for a little space o’er the long sea-swell,
Till ye beach your keel on the strand where the Mariandynians dwell.
Thereby is a path through darkness descending to Hades’ hall,
And the Cape Acherusian towereth upward, a giant wall.
And swirling Acheron cleaving the mountain’s heart unseen
Suddenly poureth forth his flood from a mighty ravine.
Thereby many column-hills of the Paphlagonian shore
Shall ye pass, the nation whose king was in Enetê born of yore,
Even Pelops; and yet do they boast them sprung from his princely line.
And a headland there is, looking full where the circling Bear doth shine,
A crag exceeding steep, and Karambis it hath to name.
The blasts of the North-wind are sundered about the crest of the same,
So sheer doth it spring from the sea, so sharply it cleaveth the air.
Now when ye have rounded the same, lo, stretcheth before you there
A great beach: far at the end of the gleaming strand’s long sweep
’Neath a jutting foreland the waters of Halys seaward leap
Terribly roaring; and hard thereby doth Iris go,
A lesser river, whose swirls soft-rippling gently flow.
And onward from thence is the bend of a huge cape towering high
Up from the land, and the mouth of the river Thermodon thereby,
Where the height Themiskyrian watcheth the sleeping bay at its side,
Cometh murmuring still of her journeyings over the mainland wide.
There is the plain of Doias, the cities three rise near
Of the Amazon Maids: then they whose lot is of all most drear,
The Chalybes, dwell in a rugged land on a stubborn soil,
Smithying-craftsmen; in forging of iron ever they toil.
And anigh to them dwell Tibarenians, lords of many sheep,
Past Zeus the Defender of Strangers, the fane upon Genetê’s steep.
And next unto these, on their marches, the Mossynoecians dwell
In a land of forests, in many a mountain-cradled dell,
Whose homes be in towers of timber, fashioned and carven well.
But coast past these, and beach your keel on a smooth isle: there
Beat back with your uttermost cunning the ravening scourge of the air,
Those birds, which in countless multitudes haunt, men say, the strand
Of the desolate isle;⁠—therein doth a temple of Arês stand
Of stone, which was built by the queens of the Amazon war-array,
Otrêrê and Antiopê, what time they marched to the fray;⁠—
For there shall a help for your need from the bitter sea arise
Unlooked-for: wherefore, abide there, with kindly intent I advise.
But now what do I, transgressing again?⁠—what need that I
Should tell to you every whit of the tale of my prophecy?
Onward away from the isle, on the mainland shore’s far side,
The Philyrans dwell, and beyond the Philyran folk abide
The Makrônes, and next, the Becheirian tribes, a host untold.
Next after these the Sapeirians’ land shall your eyes behold.
Next these the Bezyrans, their neighbours, dwell; and beyond, at last,
Even the warrior Kolchians: yet shall ye speed on past
Your galley, till stayed at the uttermost bourn of the sea ye are.
There over the mainland Kytaian, from Amaranth mountains afar,
And over the plain Kirkaian rolling evermore,
His broad flood into the sea doth eddying Phasis pour.
Into the selfsame river’s mouth your galley bring:
Then on the towers shall ye look of Kytaian Aiêtes the king,
And the War-god’s grove dim-shadowed. And high on a dark oak-tree
Hangeth the Fleece; and a dragon, a monster fearful to see,
Ever glareth around, keeping watch and ward: never dawn doth arise,
Neither darkness descendeth, when sweet sleep quelleth his ruthless eyes.”

Even so did he speak: straightway as they heard were they thrilled with fear.
Long speechless they sat, till brake at the last that silence drear
Aison’s son, sore wildered that boding of evil to hear:

“O ancient, now hast thou come to the bourn of the toils we must know
On the sea, and hast told us the token, by trust wherein we may go
Through the baleful rocks, and win unto Pontus: but if once more,
If through these we escape, we shall homeward return unto Hellas’ shore,
Exceeding fain were I this also to learn of thee.
How shall I do?⁠—how track such a measureless path o’er the sea,
Who am but a youth, and with youths?⁠—and behold, this Kolchian land
At the ends of the earth doth lie, on the great sea’s uttermost strand.”

So did he cry; but answered the ancient, and spake yet again:
“My son, when once thou hast safely fled through the Rocks of Bane,
Fear not, for a God shall show thee another voyaging-track
From Aia: yea, after Aia guides shalt thou nowise lack.
But, friends, of the guileful aid of the Cyprian Queen take thought;
For of her unto glorious issues shall all your toils be wrought.
And now of the things yet lying beyond these ask me nought.”

So answered Agênor’s son; and lo, those twain stood nigh,
The sons of the Thracian North-wind, swooping adown from the sky.
On the threshold their swift feet set they; and straight from his carven chair
Each hero upsprang, beholding the champions suddenly there.
Eager for tidings were they; and Zetes, still as he drew
Hard breath from the toil of the hunting, told them how far they flew
Chasing them, told how Iris restrained them at point to slay;
Of the oaths which the Goddess gave of her grace; how in sore dismay
’Neath Dictê’s cliff in a cavern vast they had plunged out of sight.
Then were the heroes all in the mansion filled with delight
For the tidings, and Phineus withal. Then spake unto him straightway
Aison’s son, and with love overflowing his soul ’gan say:⁠—

“Of a surety a God, O Phineus, there was, in compassion that bent
To look on thy grievous affliction, and us from afar he sent
Hither, that Boreas’ sons might drive thy tormentors from thee.
Now if he would give but light to thine eyes, such gladness in me
Would stir, as though with the Fleece I were come to mine home, I trow.”

He spake, but the head of the ancient sank, and he answered low:
“Nay, Aison’s son, it is past recall: no dawn shall arise
Balm-breathing on them, for blasted are these my sightless eyes.
Nay, death let a God bestow right speedily, rather than this:
Then, when I am dead, shall I enter at last into perfect bliss.”

So spake they, and each unto other the answering speech returned.
And amidst of their converse in no long space the dawn-flush burned
Of the Child of the Mist: then gathered the neighbours to Phineus’ door
Which in time past day by day wont thither to come evermore;
And, despite the curse, from their own a portion of meat each brought.
And to all did the ancient⁠—yea, to the poor whose hands bare nought⁠—
Speak kindly his oracles; yea, from afflictions many he freed
By his soothsaying: wherefore they came, and they ministered unto his need.
And came with the rest Paraibius, he that was dearest of all
Unto him, and with joy was he ware of the presences thronging the hall.
For the ancient to him long since had foretold that a chieftain-band,
Unto Aiêtes’ city faring from Hellas-land,
On the beach of the Thynian coast should make their hawsers fast,
And by these should the Harpies of Zeus be restrained from tormenting at last.
So with words of wisdom and love the ancient gladdened each heart
Ere he let them go; but Paraibius suffered he not to depart,
But bade him abide with the chieftains, and sent him, making request
Of his friend to go to the flock, and to bring the goodliest
Of the sheep unto him. So when to perform his behest he had sped,
To the chieftains gathered there spake Phineus, and lovingly said:

“O friends, not every man is overweening of mood,
Neither forgetful of kindness; so loyal of heart and so good
Is yon man. Hither he came on a day to inquire of his fate:
For, when never so hard he toiled, sore labouring early and late,
Yet ever his need grew greater, his poverty waxed alway,
With leanness wasting his frame: day followed on evil day
Yet worse: no respite there was to his weariful pain. But herein
Was this man paying the debt of his father’s ancient sin.
For once on the mountains alone the trees of the forest felling
He had set at nought the prayers of a Nymph in an oak-tree dwelling.
For with earnest entreaty she moaned her request, and besought him with tears
To spare that trunk which had grown with her growth, wherewith through the years
Of long generations her life was bound; but in folly and pride
Of his youthful arrogance hewed he on: and the Tree-nymph died.
Wherefore the Wood-maid caused that her death thereafter should be
For a curse unto him and his children. And I, when he came unto me,
Knew of the ancient sin; and an altar I bade him raise
To the Thynian Nymph, and atonement-victims to give to the blaze,
Praying to ’scape from the weird pronounced on his father of yore.
Then, when from the doom of the Goddess deliverance came, never more
Forgat he me, nor neglected: and sorely against his will
From my doors do I send him fain to attend mine afflictions still.”

So spake Agênor’s son; and straightway returned again
His friend with fatlings twain from the flock. Rose Jason then
And rose the North-wind’s sons at the ancient prophet’s word.
Eftsoons called they on the name of Apollo the Prophecy-lord;
Then slew they the sheep on the hearth as sloped the sun to the west.
And the younger men of their band made ready the plenteous feast.
So when they had eaten, they turned to their rest, as each man chose,
By the hawsers of Argo these, through the mansion in clusters those.
But at dawn the Etesian breezes blew, which o’er every land
Equally blow in their season by Zeus’s high command.

Kyrênê, ’tis told, in the meads where Peneios’ waters roll
Pastured her sheep in the olden days; for dear to her soul
Were her maidenhood and her couch unstained: but, even as she strayed
By the stream with her flock, did Apollo snatch from the earth the maid
From Haimonia afar, and mid Chthonian Nymphs did he set her down,
Where over their Libyan haunts the steeps Myrtosian frown.
There did she bear Aristaius, and Phoebus’ son did they call
In Haimonia the Shepherd Lord, and the Mighty Hunter withal;
For the God of his love to a Nymph transformed her, and made her there
The Lady of the Land, long-lived: but his child he bare,
A babbling infant yet, to be nurtured in Cheiron’s cave.
And to him, when he grew unto manhood, a bride the Muses gave;
And cunning in healing they taught him, with prophecy-wisdom they fed;
And their tender of sheep did they make him, that all their flocks he led,
In the plain Athamantian of Phthia that pastured, by Othrys’ side,
And where the sacred streams of the river Apidanus glide.
But when Sirius glared on the isles of Minos with scorching blaze,
Neither came to the dwellers therein any respite for many days,
For this Aristaius they sent, by the Archer-god’s command,
To avert the plague; and he left at his father’s behest the land
Of Phthia, and dwelt in Kos, and assembled thither the folk
Of Parrhasia, even the people sprung from Lykaon’s stock.
So to Rain-giver Zeus he builded a mighty altar there,
And he offered sacrifice meet to the star of the fiery glare
On the hills, and to Zeus himself the son of Kronos; and so
O’er the earth from Zeus the cool Etesian winds yet blow
For forty days: and, or ever the red Dog-star doth rise,
The priests in Kos unto this day offer him sacrifice.

So telleth the tale: and there were the heroes constrained to stay
Land-bound by the selfsame winds. But the Thynians day by day,
Of their love for Phineus, brought to them gifts of abundant cheer.
And thereafter unto the Blessèd Twelve did the wanderers rear
On the further strand an altar, and victims offered they there
Ere they entered the sea-swift galley to row: yet forgat not to bear
In Argo a trembling dove, but Euphêmus clutched her fast
In his hand, as with terror she shrank and cowered; and so at the last
Loose from the Thynian land the hawsers twain they cast.

Yet not unmarked of Athênê onward again did they fare:
Swiftly her feet hath she set on a cloud light-floating in air
Which should waft her along, for she caused that the weight divine it bore.
So seaward she swept to the help of the toilers at the oar.
And as when one roveth afar from his own land⁠—oftentimes thus
We men in our hardihood wander, and no land seemeth to us
Too far away, but all paths lie within our ken⁠—
And he thinketh upon his home, and all in a moment then
Him seemeth the track over sea and o’er land thereunto lieth plain,
And the eyes of his soul in his eager pondering thitherward strain;
Even so swiftly the Daughter of Zeus through the welkin hath sped,
Till her feet on the perilous strand of the coast Bithynian tread.

So when they were come to the narrow gorge of the winding strait
Where to right and to left stern cliffs pent in that grim sea-gate,
Then the swirling rush of the surf dashed, bursting up from below,
O’er the ship as she went, and onward in sore dismay did they row.
And now the thud of the rocks, as each against other they clashed,
Ceaselessly smote on their ears, and thundered the cliffs brine-lashed.
Even then Euphêmus uprose firm-grasping the dove in his hand,
And on to the prow he strode, and the oarsmen obeyed the command
Of Tiphys Hagnias’ son, that they rowed with might and main
To drive the Argo betwixt the rocks through the perilous lane,
Putting their trust in their strength; and the crags, as asunder they leapt,
Opening they saw⁠—of all men last⁠—round a bend as they swept.
And their spirit was melted within them:⁠—but now Euphêmus hath sped
The flight of the wings of the dove: each man uplifted his head,
Watching what now should befall:⁠—on, onward between them, on
Flew she; but face to face those charging walls of stone
Came rushing together, and crashed, and the seething brine uproared
Vast-volumed like to a cloud; and the madding sea-gulf roared
With an awful voice, and thundered the welkin wide all round.
And out of the caverns under the rugged cliffs the sound
Of a hollow rumbling came, as the sea surged inward; and high
O’er the cliffs from the dashing waves did the spurts of the white foam fly.
The ship broached-to in the wave-rush: shorn by the rocks was the tip
Of the dove’s tail-feathers; but onward she flew, by the death-gin’s grip
Unscathed. Loud shouted the oarsmen; and Tiphys cried to them then
To row with their might, for the crags were parting asunder again.
But for trembling they faltered in rowing, until the indraught caught
The ship in the strength of its sweep back-swinging; and lo, they were brought
Betwixt those rocks. Then fell upon all most ghastly dread,
For destruction that none could escape was hanging above each head.
Even now through the gap wide Pontus to right and to left was beheld:
But all unawares at their bows a mighty surge upswelled
Overbowed like a precipice-frown; and they saw as the green arch gleamed,
And with cowering heads did they shut their eyes⁠—to their souls it seemed
That down on the ship’s whole length it would leap, and overwhelm;
But, while yet to the rowing she laboured, did Tiphys’ touch on the helm
Ease her, and under the keel hath it rolled, as leapt the prow:
High hath it lifted the stern, and afar hath it swept her now
From the rocks, and the galley ’twixt earth and heaven was tossed on high.
But Euphêmus strode down the line of the rowers with cheering cry
To bend to the oars with their uttermost might: and they tore through the deep
The blades with a shout. And far as a ship to the stroke will leap,
Even twice so far leapt Argo away, and the tough oars bent
Like bended bows, such might to the stroke the heroes lent.
On-rushing, up-towering, a breaker came, overarched like a cave;
But suddenly light as a roller she rode the furious wave.
Forward through yawning gulfs she plunged; but caught was her prow
By a whirlpool sea-rush betwixt the Clashers:⁠—on each side now
Swaying forward they thundered, and shivered the hull to the coming shock.
Then did Athênê backward thrust one massy rock
With her left hand, touching their bark with her right to speed her through;
On, like a wingèd arrow ’twixt billow and air she flew.
Yet shorn away was the tip of the galley’s arching stern
By the rocks in their clash never-resting. Then did Athênê return
Far up to Olympus soaring, when now their peril was past.
But the Crags in the selfsame place that moment were rooted fast
Each hard against other for ever, as fated they were to remain
By the Blest, when a man in his ship should have passed therethrough unslain.
And now for the first from dismay blood-curdling did those breathe free,
Now gazing around on the sky, now o’er the expanse of sea
Far stretching away; for they weened that from Hades safe they had fled.
Then first of them Tiphys brake that awe-struck hush, and he said:

“Now I deem we have ’scaped it, we and the Argo, in very deed:
And herein none other, save only Athênê, hath helped us at need,
Who breathed into Argo spirit divine, when Argus the wright
Knit her with bolts, that she could not be trapped in doom’s despite.
O Aison’s son, for the hest of thy king no more fear thou,
Since a God hath vouchsafed unto us to flee all scatheless now
Through yonder rocks: yea, all thy toils which are yet to be done
Shall lightly be compassed, as Phineus foretold, Agênor’s son.”

So spake he; and forward past the Bithynian land he sped
The ship right on through the midst of the sea. But Jason said⁠—
And sad was his voice and low as he answered the hero-chief:⁠—

“Ah, Tiphys, to what end thus wouldst thou hearten me in my grief?
I have sinned: with baneful and cureless madness have I transgressed.
For I ought, in the very hour when Pelias uttered his hest,
To have straightway refused this Quest, yea, though I were doomed to die
By the hands of tormentors, limb from limb hewn pitilessly.
But exceeding dread and cares unendurable now be mine,
With haunting fear as I sail the sea’s chill paths of brine
In the ship, and with haunting fear wheresoever we set our feet
On the land, for that foes evermore on every shore do we meet.
And ever, when past is the day, through a night of sighs I wake,
Even from the hour when first ye gathered for Jason’s sake,
For all things aye taking thought. With a light heart cheerily
Thou speak’st, who for nought but thine own life needest to care; but I
For mine own care never a jot; but for this man and that man’s bane,
And for thee, and for other my comrades I bear this burden of pain,
Lest haply never I bring you alive unto Hellas again.”

So spake he, trying the heroes’ souls; but with words of cheer
Shouted they: glowed his heart that gallant chiding to hear.
And again he uplifted his voice, and he hailed that hero-crew:

“O friends, your manful spirit hath quickened my courage anew.
Wherefore, not though through abysses of Hades my way should be,
Will I suffer that dread shall lay hold on my soul, so steadfast do ye
Abide amid heart-wringing terror⁠—yea, seeing that now through the strait
Of the Clashing Rocks we have sailed, I trow there lieth in wait
No terror hereafter like unto this, if in truth we obey
The counsel of Phineus the seer, as we track the printless way.”

So spake he; from words of misgiving their lips thenceforth they refrained:
But they fell to the ceaseless labour of rowing; and quickly they gained
Rheba the swift-flowing river: Kotône’s height they descried,
And shortly thereafter past the Headland Dark did they glide.
Thereby was Phyllêis’ outfall, where in the days bygone
In the halls of his palace Dipsakus welcomed Athamas’ son,
What time from Orchomenus-city he fled, on the winged ram borne.
A Nymph of the Mead was his mother: the tyrant’s arrogant scorn
He loathed, but contented beside his father’s streams dwelt he
With his mother, and pastured his sheep in the meadows beside the sea.
And quickly they sighted his shrine, and the broad low banks of the stream,
And the plain, and of Kalpê’s deep-flowing waters they caught the gleam
For a moment, and passed it by, and still, when the daylight waned,
’Neath the stars of the windless night at the tireless oars they strained.
And even as ploughing oxen cleaving the rain-soaked soil
Labour the furrows adown, and abundant sweat of their toil
Streameth from flank and from neck, and aye from beneath the yoke
Are the tired beasts turning their eyes askance; and as furnace-smoke
In hot gasps snort they the breath from their mouths; and, deep in the clay
Thrusting their hoofs, at the plough they tug through the livelong day;
So toiled those heroes tugging the oars through the brine alway.

When the dawn divine not yet hath arisen, nor utter night
Reigneth, but over the darkness stealeth a faint grey light⁠—
The twilight-tide is it named of slumber-stinted men⁠—
Into a desolate Thynian island’s haven then
They ran, and with weary toil sore-spent won they to the strand.
And to them lo, Lêto’s son, coming up from the Libyan land,
As he fared to the countless folk of the Hyperborean race,
Appeared; and his tresses golden-gleaming about his face,
Ever, as onward he moved, in the breezes floated and swung.
In his left hand held he the silver bow, and his quiver slung
From his shoulders was gleaming adown his back: and the isle all o’er
Quaked ’neath his feet, and surged the billow high on the shore.
Then fell on them ’wildered fear as they looked: was none dared turn
His face to gaze with his eyes on the God’s eyes lovely and stern.
But with heads bowed down to the earth they stood: and onward he passed
Faring afar through the air to the sea. Then Orpheus at last
After long hush spake, and he cried to the hero-chieftains all:

“Come now, an ye will, this island the Sacred Isle let us call
Of Apollo the Dawn-god, seeing at dawning revealed to our eyes
O’er the isle he hath passed. Such things as we have let us sacrifice,
On the shore upbuilding an altar: and if in the days to come
To Haimonia-land he vouchsafe us return, safe-speeding us home,
Then with the thighs of hornèd goats will we pay our vow.
But with sacrifice-steam and libation I bid you propitiate now
The God. Be gracious, O King manifested!⁠—be gracious thou!”

So did he counsel: an altar with speed ’gan these uppile
Of shingle, and those through the island wandered, seeking the while
If they haply might light on a fawn, or the wild goat’s restless brood
That in multitudes seek their pasturage far in the depths of the wood.
And Lêto’s son unto these gave booty; and carving out
The thighs, on the altar they laid them with fat-folds wrapped about:
And they burnt them, hailing Apollo the Lord of the Fair Dayspring.
And around the blaze they stood in a wide encompassing ring:

“All hail, fair Healer Apollo! Hail, thou Healer of Bane!”
They sang: and amidst them Oeagrius’ goodly son hath ta’en
The Bistonian lyre, and uplifted his voice in the clear-ringing lay,
Singing how on the rocky flanks of Parnassus once on a day
Delphinê the monster the young God slew with his arrow-flight,
When he yet was a beardless youth, rejoicing in locks of light:⁠—

“Be gracious!” he sang, “Unshorn, O King, be thy tresses aye,
Ever unravaged, as Heaven’s will is! One only may lay
Love-lingering hands thereupon, even Lêto Kôeus’ child.”
And the daughters of Pleistus oft, the Korykian Nymphs of the wild,
Caught up the refrain⁠—“Hail, Healer!” their gladdening echoes ring.
So born was the lovely hymn that to Phoebus yet men sing.

Then, when with the dance and the song they had honoured the God, they swore,
By the holy libations taking the oath, that evermore
They would stand each one by his fellow, and help in unity.
On the victims laid they their hands as they spake; and yet may ye see
A temple to gracious Unity there, which their own hands reared
In the day that they took for their wayfaring-fellow the Goddess revered.

And now when the dawn of the third day came, a fresh strong wind
From the west upsprang, and they left the island-cliffs behind.
Overagainst the mouth of the river Sangarius then,
And the land exceeding rich of the Mariandynian men,
The streams of Lykus, the mere of Anthemoïsia⁠—these
They sighted, and ran thereby, and ever the sheets in the breeze
Quivered, and all the tackling, as onward they sped their flight.
But at dawn⁠—forasmuch as the wind had fallen asleep in the night⁠—
Gladly the haven they won of the Acherusian Head.
Upward it soareth to heaven with cliffs no foot may tread,
Fronting the sea Bithynian; below it the craggy rocks
Ever lashed by the brine stand rooted: around them with thunder-shocks
Ever crashes the wallowing surge; and above the turmoil on high
Wide-spreading planes on the brow of the mountain rest on the sky.
And aback of the headland, and sloped therefrom away from the shore
Is a glen in a hollow: therein is a cave, even Hades’ Door,
With forest and rocks overroofed, and thereout an icy breath,
Chill-blowing unceasingly up from unfathomed abysses of death,
Freezeth the dews evermore, neither melteth the glistering rime
From the leaves, till the hour when the sun to his noonday height doth climb.
And o’er that headland grim doth silence never brood,
But it murmureth ever with sound confused of the booming flood
And of leaves that shiver in blasts from the mountain-clefts that blow.
There also the outfall is of the river Acheron’s flow:
Through the heart of the headland bursting it hurleth its flood to the sea
Eastward, through yawning chasms plunging suddenly.
But “Saviour of Sailors” in days thereafter called they its name,
Even Megaran folk of Nisaia, when seeking a home they came
In the Mariandynian land; for deliverance from peril it gave
Unto them and their ships from the stress of stormy wind and wave.
Through the gorge of the cape Acherusian ran the heroes their prow,
And seaward-facing abode; for the wind had lulled but now.

Nor long unmarked of Lykus, the lord of the selfsame land,
And the Mariandynian folk, they came, that hero-band,
The slayers of Amykus, seeing their rumour before them had run:
So a league with the wanderers made they because of the great deed done.
And, for Prince Polydeukes, they hailed him as though of the Gods he were,
Thither flocking from every side; for through many a stormy year
Had they warred with the proud Bebrykians, and faced the battle-blast.
So they went up into the city, and all together they passed
Into Lykus’ palace, and that day through by the meat and the bowl
In all lovingkindness they sat, and with converse gladdened their soul.
And Aison’s scion his lineage told, and the names of the rest
Of the hero-helpers withal, and the tale of Pelias’ hest;
And how the women of Lemnos in kindness dealt with them well;
And of all that in Kyzikus, land of the Dolian men, befell;
How to Mysia they came, and to Kios, where Herakles lion-souled
Sore loth they forsook; and the words of the Sea-god Glaukus he told;
And how they laid the Bebrykian people and Amykus low;
And of Phineus’ prophecies told he and all his weary woe;
And how they escaped through the Crags Dark-blue, and beheld on the isle
Lêto’s son: and still, as he told all, Lykus the while
Hearkened in gladness of soul; but with grief did the heart of him ache
For Herakles left behind, and unto them all he spake:

“O friends, what a hero’s help ye have lost for the way ye must go
Far-sailing to halls of Aiêtes!⁠—myself have beheld him, and know
What manner of man he was; for in Daskylus’ halls did he stand,
Even here in the halls of my sire, when he marched through the Asian land
Afoot, that belt of the battle-revelling queen to win,
Hippolytê: then did he find me with youth’s soft down on my chin.
Here, when Priolaus my brother was unto his grave-mound borne⁠—
Who was slain by our Mysian foes, and for whom the people mourn
With exceeding piteous dirges from that day forth⁠—in the lists
Against Titias the strong he stood, and prevailed in the strife of the fists
Over him who amidst of our young men never his match had found
In stature and might: but Herakles dashed his teeth on the ground.
Beneath my father’s sceptre withal the Mysians he bowed,
And the Phrygians, for hard by our marches their fields our foemen ploughed.
And the tribes of Bithynians he smote, and won their land by his might,
Even to the outfall of Rheba, and unto Kolonê’s height.
And the Paphlagonians of Pelops yielded, nor faced that foe,
Even all round whom Billaios’ darkling waters flow.
Then came the Bebrykians; and Amykus’ lawless tyranny,
While Herakles dwelt afar, reft these my possessions from me,
Long carving out of my land huge cantles, till stretched the line
Of their bounds to the meads where Hypius’ deep-flowing waters shine.
But ye made them to pay requital for all: it was not, I wot,
But by will of the Gods that war by Tyndareus’ son was brought
That day on Bebrykia’s sons, when their champion giant he slew.
Wherefore what thanks soever Lykus may render to you
With joy will I render; for meet and right it is that the weak,
When the strong for their helping arise, by deeds their thanks should speak.
Lo, Daskylus now will I bid that he be of your company,
Even my son, and if this man your fellow in wayfaring be,
With kindly greeting shall all men hail you, and welcome fain
Through all your way, till the mouth of the river Thermodon ye gain.
But to Tyndareus’ sons on the Acherusian foreland’s steep
A temple on high will I rear: far off across the deep
Shall seafarers mark that fane, and to these in prayer shall they call.
Rich fields of the fertile plain will I set apart withal
Unto them, as unto the Gods, without the city-wall.”

Even so through the livelong day at the banquet revelled they on.
But with dawning down to the strand they hied them, in haste to be gone.
Then went with them Lykus, and gifts in their galley to bear gave he
Without number, and sent his son, their voyaging comrade to be.

There did the doom fate-spoken descend upon Abas’ son,
Idmon, in soothsaying peerless: but safety for him was there none
In his soothsaying lore, for that now must he die by the doom decreed.
For it chanced that there lay in a reedy river’s water-mead,
Cooling his flanks and his mighty belly wallowed in mire,
A wild boar gleaming-tusked, so baleful a monster and dire
That of him were the meadow-haunting Nymphs themselves adread.
No man knew his lair; alone in the fen wide-stretching he fed.
But it chanced unto Abas’ son o’er the marshy rises to fare
Of the plain, and the beast on a sudden, forth of his unseen lair
High-leaping out of the reed-bed, gashed in his sidelong rush
His thigh, that the sinews were severed, and snapped was the bone by the tush.
With one sharp cry to the earth he fell, and with answering shout
His comrades ran to the stricken; and Peleus in haste thrust out
With his hunting-spear, as the murderous monster fled to the fen.
Then turned he, and charged full on them; but Idas stabbed him then,
And harshly screaming he fell impaled on the keen spear-head.
There on the earth as he lay, unheeded they left him dead.
But their friend to the galley in death-throes gasping his comrades bore
Sore grieved: but he died in their arms or ever they reached the shore.

Then from their voyaging stayed they, they cared not now to depart:
To their dead friend’s burial turned they in heaviness of heart.
For three whole days they wailed, and their dead, when the fourth day broke,
Did they bury as one of the princes; and Lykus and all his folk
Had part in the woeful rites; and victims of sheep not a few,
As meet and right for the dead it is, by his grave they slew.
And a barrow that standeth yet unto this man there did they raise,
And a token is there, to be seen by the men of the unborn days,
A galley’s roller of olive-wood; into leaf doth it break
But a little below Acherusia’s height: and⁠—if I may speak
This too by the power of the Muses that stirreth within my breast⁠—
To Boeotian men and Nisaian Apollo spake his behest,
Worship to him as unto their city’s protector to pay,
And around that ancient olive a city’s foundations to lay.
But by this is tradition dim, and they render the honour-meed
Unto one Agamestor, and not unto Idmon, Aiolus’ seed.

Now who was the next that died?⁠—for the heroes again in grief
Another earth-mound heaped for another perished chief:
Yea, there be memorials twain of the wanderers yet high-reared.
Now telleth the tale how Tiphys the Hagniad died; for his weird
Was to voyage no further thereafter; but him, far away from his home,
Short sickness hushed into sleep, the endless sleep of the tomb,
While yet were the death-rites rendered to Abas’ son by the folk:
And grief unendurable seized them for this new ruin-stroke.
Yea, and when hard by the seer him too they had buried there,
On the shore of the sea did they cast them adown in utter despair,
Rolled in their mantles from head to foot, all hushed: no part
Had meat nor drink in their thoughts; but in bitterness of heart
They spake not, for hope of returning was dead in each man’s breast.
And for grief had they gone no further, had there made end of the Quest,
But that Hêrê enkindled exceeding courage within the soul
Of Ankaius, whom Astypaleia, where Imbrasus’ waters roll,
Bare to the Sea-god, a man most deft in the steering of ships.
So now unto Peleus he turned him, and spake with eager lips:

“Is it well done, Aiakus’ son, that, forgetting the great work, we
On an alien shore should linger and linger?⁠—I, even he
Whom Jason brought on the Quest of the Fleece from Parthenia afar,
Have knowledge of ships⁠—yea, even beyond my cunning in war.
Wherefore, as touching the plight of our ship, no whit fear thou.
Yea, others in steering deft came hitherward with us, I trow:
Whomsoever of these at the helm we set, no hurt shall befall
Our seafaring. Haste then, and unto our fellows tell forth all,
And unto the high emprise arouse them with heartening word.”

So spake he; the soul of the other with gladness exceeding was stirred.
No whit did he tarry, but straight in the midst of them all did he say,

“Ho, friends!⁠—why cherish we thus a bootless sorrow for aye?
For I ween these twain by the doom first drawn with their life’s lot died:
But in this our array there be found with us other helmsmen beside,
Yea, many an one: let us put them to proof: make we no stay;
But rouse ye unto the deed, and cast your griefs away.”

But in helpless despair unto him did the son of Aison say:
“O Aiakus’ son, these helmsmen of thine⁠—now where be they?
For they which concerning their cunning therein once vaunted loud,
Even these yet more than I with vexation of spirit are bowed.
For us then, as for the dead, ill doom doth mine heart foretell,
Whose lot shall be never to win to the town of Aiêtes the fell,
No, neither ever again to pass through the grim sea-gate
To the land of Hellas returning; but now shall an evil fate,
As we wax old deedless, enshroud us nameless and fameless here.”

He spake: but Ankaius eagerly proffered himself to steer
The sea-swift ship; for within him the power of the Goddess was strong.
Erginus and Nauplius then, and Euphêmus forth from the throng
Strode, eager all for the helm: but their comrades drew back these,
For that none would they have but Ankaius to guide them over the seas.

So then on the twelfth day hied them adown the Argo’s crew
At dawn; for the West-wind now, the mighty wafter, blew.
Speedily out of the Acheron’s mouth with the oars they passed,
And they shook the broad sail forth to the wind, and far and fast
With outspread canvas cleaving the leagues of summer wave,
By the outfall of Kallichorus the river swiftly they drave,
The place where the child Nysaian of Zeus, as the tale doth tell,
When, leaving the tribes of the Indians, in Thêbê he came to dwell,
Held revel, and dances in front of the cave did the God array
Wherein, through the nights unsmiling, in hallowed slumber he lay.
Wherefore the people called it the River of Dances Fair,
And the cavern the Bedchamber, seeing a God once slumbered there.

Thereafter espied they the barrow of Sthenelus, Aktor’s son,
Who, when from valorous battle against the Amazon
He was turning aback⁠—for with Herakles thither to war had he hied⁠—
By an arrow was smitten, and there on the surf-lashed sea-strand died.
Nor yet for a space did they sail on thence; for Persephonê, won
By his prayers and tears, sent forth the spirit of Aktor’s son
A moment to gaze upon men of passions like to his own.
So he mounted the crest of his barrow: on Argo looked he down,
Even such to behold as when to the war he went. On his head
His beautiful helm four-crested flashed with its plume blood-red.
Then down into blackness of darkness returned he: they looked thereon,
And marvelled. Then by the word of prophecy Ampykus’ son,
Mopsus, caused them to land, and to pay drink-offerings due.
So furled they the sail in haste, and the hawsers forth they threw;
And there on the strand round Sthenelus’ grave-mound gathered they.
Drink-offerings they poured, and the fatlings of sacrifice did they slay.
And, besides the libations, an altar they built, laying thighs on the blaze
To Apollo the Saviour of Ships; and his lyre did Orpheus upraise
And dedicate; wherefore the “Lyre” from that day called they the place.

Then straight, when the wind blew strong, did they board the galley again,
And they dropped the sail from the yard, and the feet thereof did they strain
On either hand with the sheets; and over the sea did she fly
Swift-racing, as when some hawk through the welkin soaring high
To the breeze committeth his wings, and is borne fast: onward sweeping
He stirreth them not, on restful pinions in mid-heaven sleeping.
And lo, by the streams of Parthenius’ seaward-murmuring water,
Most softly-sliding of rivers, they passed, where Lêto’s Daughter,
What time from the hunting she cometh, ere up to the heaven she go,
In its lovely ripples cooleth her limbs from the summer-glow.
Then through the night-tide onward and onward unresting they sped.
Past Sêsamus, past the long Erythinian steeps they fled;
By Krôbialus and by Krômne, Kytôrus the forest-crowned;
Then, as the sun’s shafts glanced o’er the waters, swept they around
Karambis; and still by an endless strand the oars they plied
Through the livelong day, and on through the night, when the daylight died.

On the shore of Assyria they landed, where Zeus to Sinopê, the child
Of Asôpus, had given a home. By his own rash promise beguiled
Zeus’ self bestowed on the maiden the gift of her maidenhood.
For he longed for her love, and he promised that, whatsoever she would,
He would give her her heart’s desire, and he sealed the pledge with his nod:
And she in her subtlety asked her maidenhood of the God.
So in like wise made she a mock of Apollo, whose soul was fain
Of her couch, and of Halys the river withal. Nor did any man gain
His desire, in the arms of love to embrace her, and humble her pride.
Now there did noble Trikkaian Deïmachus’ sons abide⁠—
Even three, Deïleon, Autolykus, Phlogius withal, were these⁠—
Since the day when they wandered away from the host of Herakles.
And these, when they marked draw near the warrior-chiefs’ array,
Went shoreward to meet them, and told them in all truth who were they.
Neither willed they there to abide any longer, but fared with the crew
In Argo, so soon as the cloud-dispelling south-wind blew.
So in their company went they borne by the breeze swift-blowing,
And Halys the river they left, and Iris beside him flowing,
And the river-delta land of Assyria: the selfsame day
They rounded the headland that sheltered the Amazons’ harbour-bay.

Melanippê, Arêtus’ child, forth-faring, by ambuscade
Of Herakles there was caught, and her sister Hippolytê paid
For her ransom the Belt of renown, the splendour-gleaming band:
So the hero sent her back, and she gat no hurt of his hand.
In the harbour that beareth her name, where seaward Thermodon pours
Ran they ashore, for that contrary now was the wind to their course.
That river⁠—on earth there is not his like; there is none that doth spread
Over the land so many streams from his fountain-head.
There should lack but four of a hundred, if one should tell them o’er
Each after each, and from one true fountain do all these pour.
Down from the mountains high to the plains it sendeth its rills,
From the heights which be called, men say, the Amazonian Hills.
Thence over the hilly country inland-straying they flow
Ever onward, albeit their paths in manifold windings go
This way and that evermore, wheresoever on low-lying ground
They may light, so roll they along; and this one afar shall be found,
And that one anear; and nameless many an one is lost
Swallowed up in the sands; and a blended remnant of all that host
Into perilous Pontus plunge with arching crests high-tossed.
And, there as they tarried, in battle against the Amazon horde
Had they closed, and in that grim strife had blood been as water outpoured;
For all ungentle the Amazons are, neither have they regard
Unto justice, the terrible ones who the plain Doiantian ward;
But the deeds of the War-god they love, and outrage of tyrannous scorn;
For the daughters of Arês they are, of the Nymph Harmonia born:
For she bare to the Man-destroyer the battle-revelling maids,
When their couch was spread mid the folds of Alkmonian forest-glades:⁠—
But again from Zeus ’gan blow the breath of the fair south-wind;
So sped by the blast they left the rounded foreland behind,
While the Themiskyreian Amazons yet were arming for war:
For in one great city assembled they dwelt not, but sundered afar
From their fellows throughout the land were the tribes of them parted in three;
In the one place Themiskyreians, whose queen was Hippolytê
In that old time; and there the Lykastians dwelt, and anon
Dart-hurling Chadisians yonder. The next day sped they on,
And at nightfall unto the land of the Chalyban men they won.

That folk drive never the ploughing oxen afield: no part
Have they in the planting of fruit that as honey is sweet to the heart;
Neither lead they the pasturing flocks over meadows a-glitter with dew:
But the ribs of the stubborn earth for the treasure of iron they hew,
And by merchandise of the same do they live: never dawning broke
Bringing respite of toil unto them, but ever midst mirk of smoke
And flame at the forge are they moiling and plying the weary stroke.

Round the headland of Zeus the All-begetter swept they then;
And safely they sped by the land of the Tibarenian men.
When a woman in that land beareth a child to her lord, on his bed
Doth her husband cast him adown, and he groaneth with close-swathed head
As in anguish of travail, the while the woman with tender care
Doth nurse him and feed, and for him the child-birth bath doth prepare.

The Sacred Mountain thereafter, and that land passed they by
Wherein the Mossynoecians dwell amid mountains high
In their towers of timber goodly-wrought, and they call the same
“Mossyni,” wherefrom moreover the nation hath gotten its name.
Strange is the justice of these, and customs uncouth have they.
Whatsoe’er we be wont to do before men in the sight of the day,
Or the market-stead, all this they perform their houses within;
And whatso we do in our chambers apart, they account it not sin
Without, in the midst of the streets of their city, to do unblamed.
No modesty have they in love, but as rooting swine unshamed,
No whit abashed for the eyes of beholders that stand thereby,
On the earth for their bed of love with their women unwedded they lie.
In their loftiest block-house sitteth their king, and holdeth his court,
Decreeing his righteous judgments to them that thither resort.
Ah, luckless wight!⁠—if perchance in his sentence he swerve from the right,
Unto prison they hale him, therein to fast till falleth the night.

These passed they by, and well-nigh overagainst the shores
Of the Isle of Arês they cleft them a path with unresting oars
Through the livelong day, for the gentle breeze in the gloaming died.
Then all in a moment one of the War-god’s birds they espied,
Which haunt that isle, through the welkin darting high overhead;
And behold, his pinions he shook, and down on the ship as she sped
A feather keen hath he shot: to the leftward shoulder it sprang
Of Oïleus: he dropped from his hands his oar at the sudden pang
Of the stroke, and they marvelled all when the feather-arrow they saw.
But the shaft from the flesh did his rowing-mate Eribôtes draw;
And he bound up the wound; for his baldric-band he unclasped, that bare
His sword-sheath hanging beside him. Sweeping on through the air
Came another of those fell birds: but already the bow was bent
Of the hero Klytius, Eurytus’ son: from the string hath he sent
A swift-flying arrow against that fowl, and the shaft struck home.
Down whirling beside the swift ship splashed the bird in the foam.
Then cried Amphidamas Aleus’ son, and thus spake he:

“Nigh to us now is the Island of Arês: ye know it, who see
Yon fowl of ravin; and little shall arrows avail us, I trow,
To win us a peaceful landing thereon; but contrive we now
Some other device for our help, if indeed we be minded to land,
Remembering Phineus’ word, and the sightless seer’s command.
For not great Herakles’ self, to Arcadia-land when he came,
Availed with his arrows to drive away those birds that swam
The Stymphalian mere: yea, I with mine eyes beheld that thing.
But he stood on a crag exceeding high, loud-clattering
With clash and clang in his hands his brazen battle-gear;
And far away did they flee wild-screaming in panic fear.
Wherefore contrive we now even such device as his⁠—
Yea, I will speak it, who heretofore have thought upon this:⁠—
Set we upon our heads our helmets of lofty crest,
And changing about in turn let the half of us row, and the rest
With polished lances and bucklers fence the galley about;
And all with one accord upraise ye a mighty shout,
That the birds by the noise may be scared, by the wild unwonted cry,
As they look on our nodding crests and the bright spears tossed on high.
And if through the storm of their shafts to the island itself we shall win,
Then with clashing of brazen bucklers raise ye a mighty din.”

So spake he, and good in the sight of them all that counsel seemed.
On the heads of the heroes straightway the brazen helmets gleamed
Terribly flashing; above them tossed the plumes blood-red.
And the half of them now in their turn the galley with oars on-sped;
And with lances and shields did the rest for Argo a covering raise.
And as when with tiling a man hath roofed his dwelling-place,
For a beauty upon his abode and a fence from the rain thereto,
And close-set each after each are they ranged in order due;
Even so did they lock their shields, so roofed they the galley o’er.
And as when from a warrior-throng upriseth the onset-roar,
When the ranks are sweeping on, when the squadrons in battle close,
Even so from the galley on high to the welkin the shout of them rose.
Now none of the birds yet saw they: but when, as they touched the strand
Of the island, they clashed on their bucklers, straightway on every hand
From the earth by tens of thousands uprose they in sudden dread.
And as when by the Son of Kronos the hail thick-falling is shed
From the clouds on a town and its dwellings; the house-abiders the while,
As they hearken the clatter that rattles unceasing on timber and tile,
Untroubled are sitting: the stormy tide hath smitten the roof
Not unforeseen; long since had they made all tempest-proof:
So on the men thick-showering feather-shafts did they pour,
As they darted on high o’er the sea to the hills on the farther shore.

Now what was the purpose of Phineus in bidding that hero-array
Land on the War-god’s isle? What help against the day
Of their need were they destined to win of their tarrying there on the way?

The sons of Phrixus unto Orchomenus voyaging
Had been sent from Aia forth by Kytaian Aiêtes the king.
In a galley of Kolchis they sailed, that the measureless wealth might be theirs
Of their sire, for in death had he so commanded these his heirs.
And exceeding nigh that day to the isle had they drawn; but lo,
The might of the wind of the north did Zeus awaken to blow,
Marking with rain the watery path of Arcturus the star.
Yet through the day-tide he stirred but the leaves on the mountains afar,
Breathing but lightly over the uttermost ends of the sprays:
But at night on the sea he descended, a tempest-Titan, to raise
The surge with his blasts wild-shrieking: a black mist shrouded the sky,
And never the gleam of a star might the mariners’ ken descry
Through the clouds, but over the sea’s face brooded murky gloom.
And the sons of Phrixus quaking for fear of a horrible doom
Were helplessly hurled o’er the surges, and drenched with the flying spume.
And the sail by the might of the blast was snatched away, and crashed
Their ship’s hull, shattered in twain by the breakers thereover that dashed.
Then by the Gods’ own prompting they clutched, and as one man clung
Those four to a mighty spar⁠—for that many an one had been flung
Wide from the scattered wreck⁠—firm-knit by the strong bolts’ clasp;
And on to the isle, evermore but a little beyond death’s grasp,
The waves and the sweep of the tempest bare them in misery.
Then burst forth rain: no tongue could tell it⁠—it rained on the sea,
On the island; and overagainst the island the floods of it fell
Over all the land where the lawless Mossynoecians dwell.
And along with the massy beam the sweep of the surges bore
The sons of Phrixus on to the island’s rocky shore
In the black dark night. But the floods of Zeus-descended rain
Ceased with the dawn: and they met full soon, those companies twain.
Then Argus first found voice, and to Argo’s crew spake he:

“We beseech you by All-beholder Zeus, whosoever ye be
Of men, to have mercy and succour us now in our helplessness;
For buffeted long have we been on the sea by the rough winds’ stress,
Till sundered and shattered the beams of our crazy galley were.
By your knees we entreat you then, if ye haply will hearken our prayer,
To cover our nakedness now, and to take us whither ye go:
As youths taking pity on youths, compassionate ye our woe!
O reverence ye the strangers and suppliants for Zeus’s sake,
Who is Lord of the stranger and suppliant⁠—yea, both names we take,
Even strangers and suppliants of Zeus; and over us all is his eye.”

But with heedful questioning then did Aison’s son reply,
For he weened that fulfilment of Phineus’ prophecy now was nigh:

“All these will we give straightway with kindly heart and hand.
But prithee now answer me truth, and tell how name ye the land
Wherein ye be dwellers;⁠—for what need thus have ye sailed the sea?
And your names of renown tell out, and the lineage whereof ye be.”

Then Argus, as one in despairing wretchedness, answered low:
“How Phrixus the Aiolid came unto Aia from Hellas, I trow,
Yourselves have certainly heard, have heard ere this the renown
Of Phrixus, who came on a day to Aiêtes’ fortress-town
Bestriding the ram which Hermes created all of gold:
Yea, and the fleece thereof this day may ye yet behold;
For the ram by the beast’s own counsel a sacrifice did he give
To Kronion the Fugitives’ Zeus. And him did Aiêtes receive
In his palace, and gave him to wife his daughter Chalkiopê,
Nor for gifts of wooing he asked, in the joy of his heart and the glee.
Of these twain we be the children; but Phrixus our father hath died,
An old man stricken with years, in Aiêtes’ halls of pride.
And straightway we, giving heed to the word that our father spake,
To Orchomenus journey, Athamas’ goods in possession to take.
And if, as thy word was, thou wouldst that our names be made known unto thee,
Behold, Kytisôrus is this man named, and Phrontis he;
And yonder is Melas, and Argus me myself shall ye call.”

He spake, and for this forgathering glad were the heroes all:
And they ministered unto them, marvelling much: but Jason again
Spake as was meet and right, for his heart of the tidings was fain:

“Lo now, of a surety kinsmen ye are of my sire, which have prayed
That with merciful hearts we would look upon this your affliction, and aid.
For of one blood, even brethren, Krêtheus and Athamas were;
And Krêtheus’ grandson am I, with these my companions who fare
From the selfsame Hellas, and unto Aiêtes’ city I sail.
But of all these things to commune shall another time avail.
But now put raiment upon you: it came to pass, I trow,
By devising of Gods that ye came to mine hands in your sore need so.”

So spake he, and out of the ship he gave them raiment to don.
And all together now unto Arês’ fane are they gone
For the sacrificing of sheep, and in all haste round about
The altar they ranged them, which stood that roofless fane without,
An altar of pebbles: within was a mighty stone upreared,
A holy thing, which of yore the Amazons all revered.
And it was not their wont, from the further strand when they came o’er the deep,
On this same altar to burn in sacrifice oxen nor sheep;
But horses they slew, and for this great herds were they wont to keep.
There sacrificed they, and they ate of the flesh of the victims slain.
Then Aison’s son in their midst uprose, and he spake yet again:

“Zeus’ self upon all things looketh, nor ever escape we his ken
Of a surety, such as be god-revering and righteous men.
Even so your father delivered he out of the murderous hand
Of a stepdame, and gave to him measureless wealth in a far-away land:
And even so you also scatheless again did he save
From the baleful storm. Now in this ship, whithersoever ye crave,
This way or that, may ye fare; or aback unto Aia’s shore,
Or the wealthy city that godlike Orchomenus builded of yore.
For our ship did Athênê fashion, and clave her beams with the brass
By Pelion’s crest, and her fellow-craftsman our Argus was.
But that your galley was shattered, and whelmed in ruining surge,
Ere nigh to the rocks ye came, the which in the wild sea-gorge
Each against other the livelong day are clashing amain.
But go to now, be ye helpers with us; for lo, we be fain
To bring that Fleece of Gold to the land of Hellas again.
Be our voyaging guides. Lo, thus do I sail to atone for their deed
Who would sacrifice Phrixus, and brought Zeus’ wrath upon Aiolus’ seed.”

So spake he exhorting, and ceased; but with horror they heard that thing,
For they deemed they should find Aiêtes nowise a gentle king
Who would win that Fleece of the Ram. Then Argus spake the word,
In vexation of spirit that these unto suchlike quest should be stirred:

“O friends, so far as availeth our strength, no whit at all
Our help shall fail you at need, what trial soever befall.
But terribly armed is Aiêtes with murderous cruelty;
Wherefore I dread exceedingly thither to fare oversea.
And he vaunteth himself the Sun-god’s seed, and around him dwell
The Kolchian tribes untold. In the awful onset-yell,
And in giant strength, might he match him with Arês’ self in the fray.
Nay, nay, not easy it is to take that Fleece away
From Aiêtes, so mighty a serpent around and about it is coiled,
Deathless and sleepless. The Earth brought forth that dragon-child
Mid Caucasus’ glens, where the Rock Typhonian standeth: they say
There Typhon, smitten by levin-bolts of Zeus, in the day
When against Kronion he lifted his brawny hands in fight,
Dropped from his head hot-gushing the gore, and in such ill plight
To the hills and the Plain Nisaian he came, and to this day there
’Neath the waters whelmed doth he lie of the dark Serbonian mere.”

So spake he, and many a face of them that heard grew white
To know what manner of emprise was this. But spake forthright
Peleus, and answered with words of gallant chiding, and said:

“Nay, good my friend, not thus let thy spirit be over-adread,
For that not so lacking in prowess be we, that our hearts should fear
To make trial of manhood against Aiêtes in battle-gear.
Nay, but I trow we also have somewhat of cunning in war
Which thitherward fare; for by blood of the kin of the Blessèd we are.
If therefore in all lovingkindness he yield not the Fleece of Gold,
Little, I ween, shall avail him his Kolchian tribes untold.”

In such wise each unto other they spake, and in such wise replied,
Till they turned to their rest, fulfilled of the feast of the eventide.
And at dawn, when they wakened from slumber, a light wind softly blew;
And they hoised up the sail: in the breeze of the morning the canvas drew.
And away from the War-god’s Island sped they far and fast;
And now at the falling of night by Philyra’s island they passed.
There Kronos, Ouranos’ son, what time in Olympus he reigned
O’er the Titans, and Zeus yet a babe in the Cretan Cave was sustained
In life by the priests, the Curêtes of Ida⁠—with Philyra lay
When he baffled Rheia’s watch; but the Goddess amidst of their play
Came suddenly on them: and Kronos leapt from the dalliance-bed,
And away in the form of a steed of tossing mane he sped.
But Ocean’s daughter forsook that land and folk in her shame;
And unto the long Pelasgian ridges Philyra came,
Where Cheiron the monster, the half of him horse, but otherwhere
Goodly to see as a God, for a pledge of love she bare.

Thence past the Makronian people, and past the far-stretching land
Of Becheirans they ran, past overweening Sapeirans’ strand,
And past the Byzêrans thereafter; for forward cleaving the seas
Went rushing the prow evermore, on-borne by the gentle breeze.
And to them, as they sped by, opened a Pontic gulf cleft deep;
And lo, the Caucasian mountains’ precipice-wall rose steep⁠—
Sheer cliffs; and Prometheus there, with his limbs to the rough rocks gripped
By brazen gyves, whose knots no writhings have riven nor slipped,
Fed with his liver an eagle that aye swooped back on the prey.
High over their mast at even a whir and a rush heard they;
And anigh to the clouds they beheld it: yet even from that far height
Did it shake the sail with the fanning of those vast pinions’ flight:
For the form and the measure thereof was like no fowl of the air,
But as polished oars most huge its swift-swaying wing-feathers were.
Nor long thereafter they heard an exceeding bitter cry,
As torn was Prometheus’ liver, and rang the vault of the sky
With his screaming, until again from the mountain darting back
They marked where the ravening eagle sped on the selfsame track.
And at nightfall, by guidance of Argus, the broad-flowing stream did they gain
Of Phasis, and there was the uttermost bourne of the Pontic main.

Then straightway the sail they furled, and the yard-arm let they fall,
And stowed in the mast-trough then; and the mast unstepped they withal,
And lowered in haste, till it lay along: then rowed they fast
Into the river’s mighty stream; round the prow as they passed
He surged as he yielded them way; and they had on the leftward hand
High Caucasus now, and the city Kytaian of Aia-land;
And to rightward the plain and the holy grove of the War-god lay
Where keepeth the serpent watch and ward on the Fleece alway,
As it hangeth amidst of the thick-leaved boughs of an oak outspread.
And Aison’s son himself from a golden chalice shed
Into the river libations of sweet unmingled wine
Unto Earth, to the Gods of the land, to the Spirits of Heroes divine
Which had died, and with bowed knees prayed them their sorrowless help to give
Of their grace, and with welcome propitious the hawsers of Argo receive.
Then straightway Ankaios spake the word to his fellows, and cried:

“Lo now, to the Kolchian land have we won, where the waters glide
Of Phasis:⁠—the time is come for counsel, to choose our part,
If with soft words now we shall make assay of Aiêtes’ heart,
Or if other endeavour perchance shall avail us in this our need.”

So spake he, and Jason thereon commanded, by Argus’ rede,
To a backwater leaf-overshadowed to run the galley aside,
And to warp her up to the anchor-stone, off-shore to ride:
Now the place was anigh to them then. So slept they there through the night,
And soon to their longing eyes appeared the dawning’s light.

Book III

Come, Erato, now, stand by me: of thy lips let me be taught
In what manner thereafter Jason the Fleece to Iolkos brought
Through the love of Medea: for thou in the things by the Cyprian ordained
Hast part, and maidens unwedded by thine enchantments are chained;
Wherefore it is that a name that telleth of love thou hast gained.

So there in the close-pleached covert of river-reeds unseen
Did the heroes in ambush wait. Then marked them Hêrê the queen
And Athênê withal; and aloof from Zeus’ self turned they aside,
And the rest of the Gods everlasting, and into a chamber they hied
For counsel: and first spake Hêrê, to try Athênê therein:

“Thyself now first, O daughter of Zeus, our counsel begin.
What needeth to do? Wilt thou frame some subtle device, that these
May win from Aiêtes and bear unto Hellas the Golden Fleece?
Or with words shall they overpersuade him, with soft speech melt him to ruth?
Now nay, for a proud and haughty scorner he is in sooth:
Yet it may not in any wise be that our emprise turn aside.”

So did she speak; and straightway to her Athênê replied:
“Yea, mine heart even as thine herein was pondering
When with questions thou searchedst me, Hêrê. Howbeit, as touching the thing,
Not yet in mine heart have I found this wile, which shall help the need
Of the soul of the chieftains: and yet have I mused upon many a rede.”

She spake; and their eyes on the threshold before their feet they cast,
As they pondered of this and of that, till Hêrê cried at the last⁠—
For a thought in her heart had birth, and her word was first again:⁠—

“Let us hence to the Cyprian Queen; and when we be come, we twain
Will pray her to bid her son, if perchance he will do this deed,
At Aiêtes’ sorceress-daughter a shaft from his bow to speed,
And bewitch her with love for Jason: by her devising, I trow,
Bearing the Fleece away unto Hellas the hero shall go.”

She spake; and her counsel of wisdom pleased Athênê well;
And she answered⁠—and now from her lips soft words of persuasion fell:⁠—

“Hêrê, my father begat me unweeting of shafts of love:
Nothing I know of desire, or the magic spells thereof.
But if this word pleaseth thyself, of a truth will I go with thee.
Yet thou must speak our request when the Cyprian’s face we see.”

Then soared they away, and unto the mighty palace they came
Of Kypris: her lord the Halt-foot God had builded the same
For his bride, when he led her forth from the halls of Zeus of yore.
So they entered the courts, and under the chamber-corridor
Stood, where the hands of the Goddess the couch of Hephaistus prepared.
But he at the dawning thence to his forges and anvils had fared
In the cavern wide of a sea-washed isle, where he aye wrought on
With the fire-blasts fashioning manifold marvels: but she alone
Facing the doors of the palace sat in a carven chair.
Over her shoulders white had she loosened the waves of her hair,
And a golden comb through their ripples she drew, and now would she braid
The long plaits up; but before her beheld she the twain, and she stayed
Her hand, and she rose from her throne, and she bade them within her hall,
And on couches she caused them to sit; thereafter herself withal
Sat down, and her uncombed tresses coiled she about her head;
And smiling innocent-arch to the Goddesses twain she said:

“Dear sisters, what purpose or need hath brought you hither at last
Who have tarried so long afar? Why come ye? In days overpast
Not oft hath your presence been here⁠—too great for such as I!”

Then unto her did Hêrê with stately speech reply:
“Thou mockest, the while our heart with calamity’s shadow is dark,
For that even now in Phasis the river moored is the bark
Of Aison’s son, and the rest on the Quest of the Fleece that have come.
For all their sakes⁠—for that nigh is the deed and the hour of doom⁠—
Exceeding sorely we fear, but most for Aison’s son.
Him I⁠—yea, though unto Hades now he were voyaging on
To break those fetters of brass wherewithal Ixion is bound⁠—
Will deliver, so far as strength in these my limbs is found,
Lest Pelias should laugh, having ’scaped the doom, his iniquity’s price,
Who in pride of his heart hath left me unhonoured with sacrifice.
Yea, and before that Jason was passing dear unto me,
Even since, when Anaurus’ outfall in full flood poured to the sea,
In the day when men’s heart-righteousness fain would I prove and know,
Coming back from the hunting he met me; and all overmantled with snow
Were the mountain-ridges and towering peaks, and adown from them poured
The wintertide floods, and the rolling torrents rattled and roared;
And he pitied the grey old crone, and he took me up at my prayer,
And over the seaward-madding flood on his shoulders he bare.
Therefore I honour him now, and will honour: unharmed shall he be
Of Pelias’ spite⁠—yea, though his return be unaided of thee.”

So spake she: the lips of Kypris could frame no word for a space,
In her awe to behold great Hêrê asking of her a grace.
And with courteous-gentle speech then spake she answering:

“O Goddess dread, may there never be found any viler thing
Than Kypris, if I shall set at naught desire of thine
Or in word or in deed, whatsoever these frail hands of mine
May avail; and for all that I do nor thank nor requital would I.”

So spake she; and Hêrê again in her wisdom made reply:
“It is nowise for lack of might that we come, nor of strength of hand.
But thou to thy child in peaceful quietness speak thy command
To bewitch Aiêtes’ daughter with love for Aison’s seed;
For if she with her counsel shall help him, with loving favour lead,
Lightly, I ween, shall the hero win the Fleece of Gold,
And return to Iolkos, seeing the maiden is subtle-souled.”

So did she speak; and the Lady of Cyprus answered thereto:
“Hêrê, Athênê, my child would render obedience to you
More than to me: in your presence a little abashed shall he be,
Bold boy though he be:⁠—but nothing at all he regardeth me.
But ever he striveth against me, and laugheth mine hests to scorn.
Yea, I am minded, by that his naughtiness overborne,
His evil-sounding shafts and his bow therewithal to break
Full in his sight: for of late this threat in his anger he spake,
That, if I refrained not mine hands while his passion within him was strong,
My scathe upon mine own head should be, upon me the wrong.”

So spake she: the Goddesses smiled, and each in her fellow’s eyes
Looked: but again she spake, and her speech was burdened with sighs:

“Unto others my griefs be for laughter alone, and I ought not so
To tell them to all:⁠—enough that mine heart must its bitterness know.
Howbeit, if this be all your soul’s desire this day,
I will try, and with soft words win him: he shall not say me nay.”

She spake; and with touch caressing did Hêrê her slim hand take,
And, softly smiling the while, she answered, and thus she spake:

“Even so, Kythereia, with speed perform thou this our request
As thou sayest; and vex not thyself, neither strive with angered breast
With thy child: from his troubling of thee hereafter shalt thou have rest.”

She spake, and she rose from her seat, and Athênê passed at her side,
As forth they sped and away, they twain: but the Cyprian hied
To Olympus, and down its ridges, seeking her child, she passed.
And in Zeus’s fruitful orchard-close she found him at last,
Not alone, Ganymedes was with him, the boy whom Zeus on a day
From earth unto heaven had brought to abide with Immortals for aye,
When he greatly desired his beauty. With golden dice these two
Were playing, even as boys like-minded be wont to do.
And already Eros the greedy the palm of his left hand pressed,
Filled full with the golden spoils of his winning, against his breast,
Standing upright; the while a sweet flush mantled and glowed
O’er the bloom of his cheeks: but the other was crouching on bent knees bowed
In downcast silence: he had but twain; on the earth he flung
One after other, by Eros’s gibing laughter stung.
But, even as fared the former, he lost them, the last of his dice;
And with empty and helpless hands he went; and his down-drooped eyes
Marked not the coming of Kypris. Before her child did she stand,
And with loving chiding she spake, as she laid on his lips her hand:

“Why smil’st thou in triumph, thou naughty varlet? Hast thou not beguiled
Thy playmate?⁠—and fairly hast thou overcome that innocent child?
Go to now, accomplish my bidding, the thing that I shall ask;
And the plaything exceeding fair of Zeus shall requite thy task,
Which was fashioned by Adresteia his nurse for her babe’s delight,
When, a child, he thought as a child, in the cave ’neath Ida’s height.
A ball fair-rounded it is: no goodlier toy, I wot,
Couldst thou get thee mid all the marvels by hands of Hephaistus wrought.
Of gold be the zones of it fashioned; and round each several one
Twofold be the seams of broidery-thread that encircling run.
But the stitches thereof be hidden: there coileth around them all
A spiral of blue. From thine hand if thou cast it on high, that ball
Even as a star shall flash through the air in a fiery glow.
This will I give thee⁠—but thou must bewitch with a shaft from thy bow
Aiêtes’ daughter with love for Jason. But see that herein
Thou tarry not; else a meaner requital than this shalt thou win.”

So spake she, and welcome the word was; with gladness he heard that thing:
And he cast away those toys, and with eager hands did he cling
Clasping the Goddess’s raiment about on either side.
And he pleaded with her even then to bestow it: but Kypris replied
With gentle words⁠—and his cheeks unto hers she drew the while,
And clasping him close she kissed him, and answer she made with a smile:

“Be witness now thy beloved head, yea, also mine,
That I will not defraud thee: indeed and in truth the gift shall be thine,
When the heart of Aiêtes’ daughter is pierced by thine arrow divine.”

Then gathered he up his dice, and the tale of them heedfully told,
And he cast them into his mother’s glistering bosom-fold.
By his baldric of gold he slung from his shoulder the quiver that leant
On a tree-trunk, and took the bow for sorrow of mortals bent.
From the fruitful orchard of Zeus’s palace forth did he fare,
And thereafter came to Olympus’ portals high in air.
Thence is a sheer-descending path from the height of the sky;
And there the Poles, twin mountains, uplift their heads on high,
Precipice-steeps, earth’s loftiest-towering crests, whereon
With his earliest rays at the dawning uplifted resteth the sun.
Far under, the life-sustaining earth and the cities slept
Of men, and the sacred rivers; anon before him upleapt
Hill-peaks, and outspread the sea, through the wide air on as he swept.

Now the heroes apart on the thwarts of their galley in ambush yet,
Where the backwater gleamed of the river, for taking of counsel were met:
And the son of Aison himself was speaking, and all they heard,
As row upon row in their places they sat, and none spake word:

“O friends, of a truth the thing that seemeth good in mine eyes,
That will I utter; howbeit with you the fulfilment lies.
This Quest all share, and in counsel and speech all ye have part.
Whosoever in silence withholdeth his rede and the thoughts of his heart,
Let him know, he only bereaveth of home-return our Quest.
Now I counsel that ye by the ship with your war-gear abide at rest.
But I, even I, will go forth first to Aiêtes’ hall.
I will take but the sons of Phrixus, and twain of the rest therewithal.
And I, when I meet him, with words will first make trial, to know
If he haply for lovingkindness the Fleece of Gold will bestow,
Or will grant it not, but in pride of his might will set us at naught.
For so, when the lesson of evil first by himself hath been taught,
Shall we then advise us, whether the ordeal of battle to try,
Or if other device shall avail us, refraining the onset-cry.
But let us not rashly, or ever persuasion be put to the test,
Despoil this man of his own possession:⁠—nay, it were best
To come before him, and first with speech his grace to win:⁠—
Yea, oft fair speech hath prevailed in a matter, and lightly⁠—wherein
Little had prowess availed⁠—for that winsomely it stole
On the heart: yea hereby Phrixus wrought on the grim king’s soul,
When a stepdame’s guile and the sacrifice-stroke of a father he fled,
To receive him: in no man’s breast is shame so utterly dead,
But he honoureth Guest-ward Zeus, and regardeth his ordinance dread.”

Then praised they with one accord the counsel of Aison’s seed,
Nor did any man turn therefrom, to utter another rede.
Then called he on Phrixus’ children to follow, and chose of his band
Telamon and Augeias; moreover himself took Hermes’ wand.
Forthright from the ship over water and reed-fringed river-side
Passed they, and out beyond o’er the swell of the plain they hied.
The Plain Kirkaian, I wot, is it called, and, row upon row,
Willows and osiers there exceeding many grow.
Mid their topmost branches cord-bound corpses be hanging there;
For to Kolchians unto this day an abomination it were
To burn on the pyre their men which have died; nor yet in the ground
Is their wont to lay them, and heap thereover the token-mound.
But in hides untanned of oxen they roll them, and hang midst trees
Without the city. Yet earth hath equal share in these
With the air; for in graves of the earth be they wont their women to lay.
Lo, this is their custom, and this their ordinance for aye.

Now, anigh as they drew, did Hêrê with loving thought for the men
Spread thick mist all through the city, that so they might ’scape the ken
Of the thousands there, to Aiêtes’ hall while fared they on.
And when from the plain to Aiêtes’ city and palace they won,
Then straightway Hêrê scattered again that cloudy haze.
At the entrance they stood, and they looked on the courts of the king in amaze,
On the gateways wide, and the columns that all around the walls
In ordered lines uprose; and high on the roofs of the halls
Did a coping of stone upon rows of brazen triglyphs lie.
And over the threshold in peace they went. And hard thereby
Were garden-vines in fullness of blossom, mantled o’er
With green leaves, high uplifted in air. And fountains four
Ever-flowing beneath them ran, which were delved with magic spell
By Hephaistus, the one whereof did with gushing of milk upwell,
And the second with wine, and the third with incense-breathing oil.
And with water the fourth ran; steaming for heat did the same upboil
At the setting-tide of the Pleiads; but out of its rock-hewn cave
Cold even as ice in their rising-season bubbled the wave.
Even such were the marvellous works that Hephaistus the craftwise God
Fashioned within Kytaian Aiêtes’ palace-abode.
And he wrought for him brazen-footed bulls, and their mouths were of brass,
And the terrible splendour of blazing flame the breath of them was.
Moreover a plough of unbending adamant, all in one,
Did he forge for him, making therein his requital of thanks to the Sun,
Who had taken him up in his chariot, faint from the Phlegra fight.
There also was builded the inner court, and around it were pight
Many chambers on either hand with two-leaved doors fair-dight;
And without them a rich-wrought corridor ran to left and to right;
And athwart them the loftiest buildings rose upon either side,
Whereof one over its fellows uplifted its crest of pride:
Therein with his queen Aiêtes abode, the lord of the land;
And thereby did the mansion fair of his son Absyrtus stand,
Whom a Nymph Caucasian, Asterodeia, bare to his bed
Or ever he led Eiduia home, his wife true-wed,
Daughter of Tethys and Ocean, even their youngest one:
But the sons of the Kolchians gave him a new name, Phaëthon,
“The Shining,” for all the youths were in beauty by him outshone.
In the rest did the handmaid-train and Aiêtes’ daughters abide,
Chalkiopê and Medea. And now had Medea hied
From her chamber forth to her sister’s; for Hêrê restrained her that day
That she went not abroad: but little she wont theretofore to stay
In the palace, but all day long in the temple of Hekatê
Her conversation she had, for the Goddess’s priestess was she.
And she saw them, and cried aloud; and suddenly heard was her call
Of Chalkiopê: and her handmaids down at their feet let fall
Their yarn and their threads, and forth of the chamber ran they all
In a throng, and amidst them the mother: and there beholding her sons
She cast up her hands in her gladness; and those re-given ones
Greeted their mother, and lovingly gazed on her, folding her round
With their arms, till her words mid sobbings broken utterance found:

“So then ye were not to leave me in lonely childless pain,
And to wander afar; and fate hath turned you backward again.
O hapless I!⁠—what yearning for Hellas awoke in your breasts,
By some strange woeful madness, at Phrixus your father’s behests?
Bitter affliction did he ordain, when dying he lay,
For mine heart!⁠—O why to Orchomenus’ city far away⁠—
Whosoe’er this Orchomenus be⁠—for Athamas’ wealth should ye go,
Leaving your mother alone to bear her burden of woe?”

So spake she, and last came forth Aiêtes hastening,
And came Eiduia herself, the wife of Aiêtes the king,
When the outcry of Chalkiopê she heard. And the court straightway
Was filled with a noisy throng; for some of the thralls ’gan flay
A huge ox, some with the brass ’gan cleave the billets dry,
And some with the fire ’gan heat the baths. There was none thereby
That lagged in his task, as they toiled beneath that stern king’s eye.

But Eros the while through the mist-grey air passed all unseen
Troubling them, even as heifers that hear the piping keen
Of the gadfly⁠—“the breese” do the herders of oxen name the thing.
In the forecourt beneath the lintel swiftly his bow did he string:
From his quiver took he a shaft sigh-laden, unshot before:
With swift feet all unmarked hath he passed the threshold o’er,
Keen-glancing around: he hath glided close by Aison’s son:
He hath grasped the string in the midst, and the arrow-notch laid thereon.
Straightway he strained it with both hands sundered wide apart,
And he shot at Medea; and speechless amazement filled her heart.
And the God himself from the high-roofed hall forth-flashing returned
Laughing aloud. Deep down in the maiden’s bosom burned
His arrow like unto flame; and at Aison’s son she cast
Side-glances of love evermore; and panted hard and fast
’Neath its burden the heart in her breast, nor did any remembrance remain
Of aught beside, but her soul was melted with rapturous pain.
And as some poor daughter of toil, who hath distaff ever in hand,
Heapeth the slivers of wood about a blazing brand
To lighten her darkness with splendour her rafters beneath, when her eyes
Have prevented the dawn; and the flame, upleaping in wondrous wise
From the one little torch, ever waxing consumeth all that heap;
So, burning in secret, about her heart did he coil and creep,
Love the destroyer: her soft cheeks’ colour went and came,
Pale now, and anon, through her soul’s confusion, with crimson aflame.

Now when ready-dight was the banquet by labour of handmaid and thrall,
And by steaming baths’ refreshment their faces were lightened withal,
Gladly they feasted and drank till their souls were satisfied.
Thereafter unto the sons of his daughter Aiêtes cried:
And this was the word of his mouth, as inquisition he made:

“Ye sons of my daughter and Phrixus, the man unto whom I paid
Honour above all men that have stood mine halls within,
How came ye to Aia returning?⁠—did some dark curse of sin
Break short in the midst your escape? Ye would not hear nor obey
Me, when I set before you the endless length of the way.
For I marked it, when once I was whirled in my father the Sun-god’s car,
In the day wherein he wafted my sister Kirkê afar
Unto Hesperia-land, till the chariot at last made stay
On the Tyrrhene mainland-shore, where even unto this day
She abideth, exceeding far from the land where the Kolchians dwell.
What profit or pleasure in words? Speak out and plainly tell
What happed in the midst of your journey, and say who these men be
That have come with you hither. And where from your galley ashore came ye?”

So did he question; and answered him Argus before the rest⁠—
But his heart misgave him concerning the son of Aison’s quest;⁠—
With soft words spake he, seeing that he was the elder-born:

“Aiêtes, that our ship full quickly asunder was torn
By stormy blasts, and we, unto beams of the wreck as we clung,
On the beach of the War-god’s Isle by the sweep of the surges were flung
In the murky night. Some God from destruction redeemed us, I trow;
For even the birds of Arês, that wont to haunt ere now
That desolate isle of the sea, even these we found no more;
But these men drave them away when they landed the day before
From their galley: and there by the purpose of Zeus, compassionate
Of our plight, were they kept from departing, or bound peradventure by fate.
Straightway to our need with food and with raiment they ministered,
So soon as the name of Phrixus the far-renowned they heard,
Yea, and thine own: for unto thy town be they voyaging.
And if thou wouldst know their need, I will hide not from thee the thing.
A certain king being fain with exceeding vehement spite
From his land and possessions to drive this man, forasmuch as in might
Of his hands he was peerless amongst the heroes of Aiolus’ seed,
Sendeth him hither on desperate venture. For fate had decreed
That Aiolus’ line shall escape not the soul-afflicting ire
Of implacable Zeus, and his wrath, and the curse unendurably dire,
And the vengeance for Phrixus, till cometh to Hellas the Fleece of Gold.
And his ship did Pallas Athênê fashion: not such is her mould
As the fashioning is of the ships that be found ’mid the Kolchian folk⁠—
Whereof our hap was the vilest, for even at a touch it broke
Of the raging surge and the wind;⁠—but this ship holdeth fast,
Gripped by her bolts, through the buffeting fury of every blast.
And swiftly alike she runneth before the wind, and when
She is sped by the oars unresting in hands of stalwart men.
He hath gathered within her whatso mightiest heroes there are
In Achaia-land, and hath come to thy city from wandering far
By cities, by dread sea-gulfs, if thou haply wouldst grant his request,
That the thing he desireth may be: for nowise he cometh to wrest
Aught from thine hands by force: he is minded to pay unto thee
Fair quittance for this thy gift. Of the bitter enmity
Of the Sauromatai hath he heard; he will quell them to bow to thy sway.
And their name and their lineage, if fain thou wouldst hear them, as thou dost say,
What men they be, I will tell to thee all in order due.
This man, for whose helping assembled from Hellas a hero-crew,
Jason they call him, the son of Aison, Krêtheus’ seed.
Now, if this man of Krêtheus’ lineage cometh in very deed,
Of a truth by the father’s blood shall he be of kin unto us,
For that Krêtheus and Athamas both were the children of Aiolus,
And Phrixus moreover was child of Athamas, Aiolus’ son.
And, if aught thou know’st of the Sun-god’s seed, lo, here is one,
Augeias; and Telamon this, the son of the mighty in fame
Aiakus; yea, and of Zeus’s loins great Aiakus came.
And in like wise all the rest, which have hither companioned his way,
The sons and the grandsons they are of the Gods which abide for aye.”

So Argus spake: but the wrath of the king waxed hot as he heard,
And his soul like a stormy sea with a tempest of fury was stirred.
Fuming he spake⁠—with the sons of his daughter above the rest
Was he wroth, for he weened that of these had Jason been moved to the Quest:
And the light of his anger leapt from his eyes as levin-flame:

“And will ye not straightway be gone from my sight, ye felons of shame,
And depart from the land afar with the guile of your treachery,
Ere a bitter Fleece and a bitter Phrixus here ye see,
With your friends back faring to Hellas? Not for the Fleece come ye!
Nay, but my sceptre and kingly honour ye come to take!
Now, if ye had broken not bread at my table or ever ye spake,
Your tongues had I surely cut out, and had hewn from the wrist each hand,
And had sent you forth with naught but your feet to fare through the land:
So should ye refrain you thereafter from coming on suchlike quest!⁠—
Lo, and the lies ye have spoken concerning the Gods ever-blest!”

So passioned the king: but even to its depths the spirit burned
Of Aiakus’ son, and hotly his soul within him yearned
To fling back a deadly defiance. But Jason, or ever he spake,
Stayed him, and gently speaking an answer of peace did he make:

“Bear with me, Aiêtes, as touching this Quest: no such wild dream
To thy city and halls hath brought us as thou peradventure dost deem.
Nought such do we covet:⁠—what man of his will, from an alien to wrest
His possessions, would fare over such wide seas? By the ruthless behest
Of a tyrannous king was I hitherward sent, and the doom of a God.
Show favour to this our entreaty; and so will I publish abroad
Thy name and thy glory all Hellas through. Yea, ready we are
To render for this unto thee requital of service in war,
Whether it be that ye fain would bow the Sauromatans’ pride
Under your sceptred sway, or whatso nation beside.”

Then ceased he, with gentle utterance proffering love: but the king
A twofold purpose the while in his soul was pondering,
Whether to make assault on them then and there, and to slay,
Or to put their might to the test. And he counted the better way,
Thus as he pondered, the second, and answered in subtlety:

“Stranger, what hast thou to do to tell all this unto me?
For if ye be seed of the Gods in truth, or if ye which have hied
To the aliens’ land be peers of Aiêtes in aught beside,
I will give thee to bear away, if thou wilt, the Fleece of Gold,
When first I have tried thee. Nought I begrudge to the hero-souled,
Even as ye tell me of him that in Hellas beareth sway.
And the test of your valour and prowess shall be a certain essay,
Which mine own hands compass, fraught though it be with deadly bane.
Two brazen-footed bulls have I: on the War-god’s plain
They pasture: the breath from their mouths in flames of fire doth stream.
These yoke I, and drive through the War-god’s stubborn glebe that team,
Four ploughgates; and even to the end my ploughshare cleaveth it fast.
No seed of the Lady of Corn in the furrows thereof do I cast,
But the teeth of a terrible serpent; and up from the earth they grow
In fashion of armèd men; but straightway I lay them low
With the thrusts of my spear, as around me they throng, a battle-ring.
With the dawning I yoke my team, and I cease from mine harvesting
At the eventide hour. And thou, if thou bring such deeds to pass,
That day shalt win this Fleece, as thy king’s commandment was.
But I give it thee not ere then; neither hope it; for shame should it be
That a mighty champion should yield to a man that is worser than he.”

So spake he: but silent the hero sat, with his eyes on the ground.
Speechless he sat: no help for the desperate evil he found.
Long time he communed with his heart; no way through the darkness gleamed
To take on him stoutly the task, for a mighty deed it seemed.
But late and at last he spake, and he answered warily:

“Full straitly, Aiêtes, within thy right art thou shutting me.
Yet this will I dare, this emprise mighty beyond all thought;
Yea, though my doom be to die: for a man may light upon nought
More dread to encounter than ruthless fate’s overmastering hand,
Which hitherward also constrained me to come at a king’s command.”

So spake he, filled with despair; but the king made answer to him,
Sore troubled there as he sat, with words exceeding grim:

“Come then to the gathering, thou who art fain this toil to essay.
But if thou shalt fear on the necks of the oxen the yoke to lay,
Or if from the deadly harvesting backward thou shrink in dismay,
Then will I look unto this, that another, taught by thee,
May shudder to come in such malapert sort to a mightier than he.”

Roundly he spake, and he ceased; and Jason uprose from his seat,
And Augeias and Telamon with him; but followed them only the feet
Of Argus; for even at the moment a sign to his brethren he cast
There in their place to tarry: so forth of the hall they passed.
But the son of Aison outshone all there in wondrous wise
In goodlihead and in grace: ever wandered the maiden’s eyes
Askance unto him, as she stealthily parted her veil’s soft gleam.
And her heart was a smouldering fire of pain; and her soul, as a dream,
Stole after her love, flitting still in his track as his feet fared on.
So they from the halls in exceeding vexation of spirit are gone.
But Chalkiopê, from the wrath of Aiêtes shrinking in dread,
Hastily unto her bower with those her sons had fled.
And Medea thereafter followed; and surged like a rushing river
The thoughts through her breast⁠—the thoughts that Love awakeneth ever.
And before her eyes the vision of all evermore she had⁠—
Himself, even like as he was, and the vesture wherein he was clad,
How he spake, how he sat on his seat, how forth of the doors he strode,
And she dreamed as she mused that all the world beside had showed
None other such man. In her ears evermore the music rung
Of his voice, and the words that in sweetness of honey had dropped from his tongue.
And she trembled for him, lest the bulls or Aiêtes himself might slay
Her beloved, and took up a mourning for him, as though he lay
Dead even now; and adown her cheeks soft-stealing tears
Flowed, of her measureless pity, her burden of haunting fears.
And she mourned, and the low lamentation wailed from her tortured breast:

“Why, wretch that I am, is this anguish upon me?⁠—or be he the best
Of heroes, who now is to perish, or be he the vilest of all,
Let him go to his doom!⁠—yet O that on him no scathe might fall!
Oh might it be so, thou Daughter of Perseus, Goddess revered!
Oh might he but win home, ’scaping his doom!⁠—but if this be his weird,
By the bulls to be overmastered, or ever it be too late
Might he know it, that I be not forced to exult o’er the thing that I hate!”

So was the maiden distraught by the cares that racked her mind.
But when those others had left the folk and the city behind,
On the path whereby at the first from the river-plain they had gone,
Even then, and with these words, Argus spake unto Aison’s son:

“This counsel of mine, O Aison’s son, thou wilt haply despise:
Yet in desperate strait to forbear from the trial seemeth not wise.
Thou hast heard me tell of a maiden that practiseth sorcery
Under the teaching of Perseus’ daughter Hekatê.
Now if we might win her to help us, thou needest not fear any more
To be vanquished in this thine endeavour:⁠—howbeit my fear is sore
Lest haply my mother will take not upon her to move her thereto.
Yet in any wise back will I wend to essay what entreaty may do;
For over us all alike is destruction hanging this day.”

So spake he in kindness of heart, and in answer did Jason say:
“Dear friend, if this seemeth good in thy sight, I say not nay.
Hasten thou then, and with words of weight to thy mother pray
Till thou stir her to help us:⁠—howbeit a pitiful hope is the best
For our home-return, if this in the keeping of women must rest.”

So spake he; and soon to the backwater came he: with hearts full fain
Did their comrades greet them, and question, beholding them again.
But unto them Aison’s son in heaviness spake the word:

“O friends, the heart of Aiêtes the ruthless is wholly stirred
With anger against us: of all those things whereof ye inquire
Nor for me nor for you appeareth the goal of our desire.
Two brazen-footed bulls on the War-god’s plain, he saith,
Pasture; in flames of fire from the mouths of them streameth the breath:
And with these must I plough him ploughgates four of a fallow field;
And seed of a serpent’s jaws will he give, and for crop shall it yield
Earth-born warriors in harness of brass. In the selfsame day
These must I slay. And of this⁠—for I found no better way,
In mine heart as I pondered⁠—I promised outright to make essay.”

He spake, and it seemed unto all an impossible task. For a space
Silent they sat, and each man gazed in his fellow’s face,
By despair bowed down, by calamity crushed, till Peleus at last
With stout words spake to hearten the heroes all aghast:

“Full time is it now to be counselling what we shall do. In rede
Small profit, I trow, shall be found; strong hands must help our need.
If thou then art minded to yoke the bulls of Aiêtes the king,
O hero Aison’s son, and thine heart is good for the thing,
Up then, and keep thy promise, and gird up thy loins for the toil.
But if aught thine heart mistrusteth her manhood, and feareth the foil,
Neither goad thyself on, nor yet for another of these look round
As thou sitt’st in their midst: for one that shall nowise flinch hath been found,
Even I; for the bitterest pang is but death, to which all men are bound.”

So spake Aiakus’ son; and Telamon’s spirit was stirred,
And swiftly in haste he uprose; and Idas uprose for the third
With heart uplifted; and rose the sons of Tyndareus then;
And rose with them Oineus’ son, who was numbered among strong men,
Albeit not yet so much as the tender down on his chin
Showed; with such hero-might was his spirit uplifted within.
But the rest unto these gave place, and were still: then spake straightway
Argus to these for the contest that longed, and thus did he say:

“Friends, haply to this may we come at the last: but ere that be,
Help for our need shall be found with my mother, it seemeth me.
Wherefore refrain you a little yet, how eager soe’er,
And abide in the ship as aforetime: for better it is to forbear,
Than reckless-hearted to choose the path to destruction’s lair.
In the halls of Aiêtes nurtured a certain maiden doth dwell
Whom Hekatê taught strange cunning in herbs of the witch-wife’s spell,
Even all that on solid land or in fleeting water grow.
And therewith she turneth to balm the fire-blast’s fervent glow,
And rivers in mid rush roaring she suddenly causeth to stand,
And constraineth the stars and the paths of the holy moon with a band.
Of her we bethought us, the while from the palace we trod the way,
If haply my mother, seeing that sisters born be they,
Could persuade this maiden, that so for the contest her help she may lend.
And if this thing appeareth good in your eyes, of a truth will I wend
To the palace-hall of Aiêtes aback this selfsame day
To try her:⁠—a God peradventure will help when I make essay.”

He spake, and the Gods of their kindness sent forth a sign in their sight;
For a fearful dove from the might of a hawk swift-winging her flight
From on high into Jason’s bosom fell in her panic affright.
But the hawk swooped blindly, and fluttered impaled on the high stern-crest.
Then on Mopsus a spirit of prophecy came, and he cried to the rest:

“Unto you, O friends, by the will of the Gods this token is sent;
For in none other wise shall ye better interpret the sign’s intent
That we seek to the maiden, and woo her with speech of entreaty fair
With our uttermost wit; and I ween she will not reject our prayer,
If Phineus foretold that your home-return should be brought to pass
With help of the Cyprian Goddess. Her gentle bird it was
That escaped from destruction. As now mine heart doth in vision foresee
As touching this omen, O that so in the end it may be!
Friends, let us cry to the Queen of Kythera to help our need;
And straightway obey ye the counsel of Argus with diligent heed.”

He spake, and the young men praised it, calling to mind the word
Of Phineus the prophet; but Idas alone rose anger-stirred
Shouting aloud in his fierceness of wrath, and thus did he say:

“Out on it!⁠—were women our voyaging-fellows through all that way?
We men that be calling on Kypris now for our help to arise,
And not on the War-god’s mighty strength?⁠—and by turning your eyes
On doves and on hawks shall ye ’scape from the toil, shall ye win the prize?
Away!⁠—let the deeds of war no more in your hearts find place,
But the cunning in pleading that winneth a weakling maiden’s grace!”

Even so hot-hearted he spake; and many of them that heard
Low murmured thereat; howbeit none of them answered a word.
Then sat he down yet scowling in wrath; and rose thereupon
Jason to stir them to deeds, and thus spake Aison’s son:

“Let Argus be sent from the ship, seeing all commend this thing;
But let us which remain from her hiding-place in the river bring
And openly moor to the shore our galley; for now gone by
Is the time for hiding as cravens that cower from the onset-cry.”

So did he speak: and he hasted the feet of Argus again
To return to the city with speed, and the hawsers drew they then
Out of the stream inboard at Aison’s son’s command;
And a little above the backwater rowed they the galley aland.

But Aiêtes assembled for council the Kolchian men in haste
Aloof from his halls, in the place where they gathered in days overpast,
Devising against the Minyans trouble and treachery grim.
And he purposed, so soon as the bulls should have torn him limb from limb⁠—
This man who had taken upon him the heavy task to fulfil⁠—
To hew the oak-grove down that crested the shaggy hill,
And to burn the ship and her crew, that so amid fume and flame
They might vent that insolence forth for a king’s defiance that came.
Yea, and he had not received, he said, even Aiolus’ son
In his halls in his sorest need, even Phrixus, the man who outshone
All strangers in courtesy and in fear of the Gods on high,
But that Zeus’ self sent unto him his messenger down from the sky,
Even Hermes, bidding him give to the stranger the welcoming hand.
How much less therefore, when pirate-rovers came to his land,
Should they long ’scape griefs of their own, the caitiffs whose only toil
Was to stretch forth their hands in the taking of other men’s goods for a spoil,
And to weave dark webs of guile, and on herdmen folk to fall
With soul-dismaying shouts, and to harry steading and stall?
Yea, and the sons of Phrixus should render to him therebeside
Meet penalty, they who had dared in returning thither to guide
Felons, consorting with men which were minded to drive even him
Light-hearted from honour and sceptre; as spake that prophecy grim,
The warning whereof he heard from his father the Sun erewhile,
Bidding him, “See thou beware of thine offspring’s secret guile,
And the plots of thy seed, and the curse of their crafty iniquity;”
For which cause also he sent them, even as they craved, oversea,
By their father’s behest, to Achaia a long way:⁠—yet there came
On his soul no shadow of fear of his daughters, lest these should frame
Treason: no fear of his son Absyrtus his heart had chilled;
But he said, “In the children of Chalkiopê shall the curse be fulfilled.”
And bodings of awful revenge on the strangers foamed on his lip
In his fury; for loudly he threatened to hale to the flames their ship
And her crew, that none through the meshes of ruin’s net might slip.
But Argus had gone to the halls of Aiêtes the while, and with speech
Of manifold pleading now did the prince his mother beseech
To pray to Medea to help them; yea, and herself theretofore
Was full of the selfsame thought, but the fear on her soul lay sore
Lest haply fate should withstand, and in vain she should speak her fair,
For her dread of her father’s deadly wrath; or if to her prayer
She should yield, yet all should be brought to light, and her deeds laid bare.

Now the maiden had cast her down on her couch, and slumber deep
Of her anguish relieved her; but straightway dreams came haunting her sleep,
Such visions dark and deceitful as trouble the anguish-distraught.
For it seemed that the stranger had taken upon him the task; but she thought
That it was not the Fleece of the Ram that he longed to win for a prize,
Nor yet for the sake of this had he fared in any wise
To Aiêtes’ city, but only to lead her, his wedded wife,
Unto his home; and she dreamed that herself did wrestle in strife
With the bulls, and exceeding lightly the mighty labour she wrought.
Howbeit thereafter her parents set their promise at naught,
For that not to their child, but to him, was the challenge to yoke that team.
Wherefore contention of wrangling clashed through her troubled dream
’Twixt her sire and the strangers: and lo, in her hand the decision they laid,
That the issue should follow her will, and the thoughts of the heart of the maid.
And straightway the stranger she chose: all reverence thrust she aside
For her parents; and measureless anguish seized them, and loud they cried
In their fury, and sleep forsook her at that heart-thrilling sound.
And all a-quiver with fear she upstarted: she stared all round
On the walls of her chamber; her fluttering spirit back to her breast
Scarce drew she: the words like a panic-struck throng through her pale lips pressed:

“O wretched I!⁠—how nightmare visions my spirit appal!
I fear me lest awful ills from the heroes’ voyage befall:
And my heart, my heart for the stranger is tossed in a storm of dismay.
Let him woo some girl in his own Achaia far away,
And be maidenhood mine, and mine in the house of my parents to stay!
Yet⁠—yet⁠—though mine heart be by love made reckless, the desperate deed
I will try not unbid by my sister⁠—never!⁠—except she plead
With Medea to help in the toil, in her anguish of fear for the sake
Of her sons: this might peradventure assuage my sore heart-ache.”

She spake, and she rose from her bed, and she opened her chamber door
Barefooted, in vesture of linen alone; and she yearned full sore
To go to her sister, and over the threshold stole the maid:
Yet lingering⁠—lingering⁠—long at the door of the chamber she stayed
Held by her shame. Then backward in sudden panic she fled,
And into her bower she darted, and shrank to the shadows in dread.
And backward and forward her purposeless feet ever paced in vain;
For whenso she braced her to go, shame fettered her feet with its chain,
And ever as shame plucked back, bold passion spurred her amain.
Thrice she essayed, thrice stayed she; but now at the fourth essay
Down on her bed on her face did she cast her, and writhing she lay.
And as when some bride in her desolate bower for her lord maketh moan,
Unto whom her brethren and parents espoused her a little agone;
And for shame and for thinking on him awhile she cannot face
The eyes of her handmaids, but silent she sits in a secret place.
Some doom hath destroyed him, or ever the crown of their desire
Was attained of these: and there in her chamber, with heart on fire
Stilly she sitteth and weepeth, beholding her couch left lorn;
Stilly⁠—for fear of the mock of the women, the laugh of their scorn
Like her did Medea make moan: but with sob and with broken cry
While yet she lamented, it chanced one heard as she passed thereby,
Which had been from a child a handmaid tending her lady’s bower
So she told it to Chalkiopê: now she sat in the selfsame hour
With her sons, devising to win her sister to help their need;
And she hearkened the strange tale told of the handmaid with diligent heed,
Neither put it lightly aside; but she hastened in startled dismay
Forth of her bower and on to the bower where the maiden lay
Anguish-racked, while her frenzied fingers tore each cheek.
And her eyes all drowned in tears she beheld, and thus did she speak:

“Ah me, Medea, ah me!⁠—and why art thou weeping so?
What hath befallen?⁠—how came to thine heart this terrible woe?
Is it some disease heaven-sent that hath suddenly smitten thy frame?
Or what, hast thou heard some deadly threat from our father that came
Touching me and my sons? Would God I had never so much as seen
My parents’ home, nor the town, but my dwelling afar had been
At the ends of the earth, where never was heard the Kolchian name!”

She spake: but Medea’s cheeks flushed crimson; and maiden shame
From the answer she yearned full sore to render withheld her long.
And now was the word awake, and fluttered upon her tongue,
And backward anon to her breast it flew like a startled bird.
And often she parted her lovely lips to utter the word;
Yet fainted her voice on the threshold of speech: but at last of her guile
Thus spake she⁠—and ever the bold Loves thrust her onward the while:

“O Chalkiopê, mine heart for thy sons is disquieted sore,
Lest my father destroy them forthright with the men from the alien shore;
So ghastly a dream, while a moment I slumbered, but now did I see⁠—
And oh may the Gods forefend that the vision accomplished should be,
Forbid that thy love for thy sons should be made heart-anguish to thee!”

So spake she, proving her sister, longing to hear her pray,
Unprompted of her, for her help for her sons in the evil day.
Strong anguish swept o’er the mother’s soul like a surging tide,
For her terror at that she had heard, and with fervent beseeching she cried:

“Yea, and to this same end did I come with eager speed,
If with me thou wouldst haply devise and prepare some help for our need.
But swear thou by Earth and by Heaven that thou wilt conceal in thine heart
Whatsoever I say unto thee, and wilt bear therein thy part.
By the Blessèd I pray thee, by thine own soul, by thy parents’ name,
That thou see not my sons in torment destroyed by a doom of shame
Horribly: else with my dear-loved sons will I die, and come
A hateful vengeance-spirit to haunt thee from Hades’ home!”

So spake she, and straightway gushed her tears in torrent flow;
And around her knees did she fling her arms in a passion of woe,
And adown on her bosom she bowed her head; and there they two
Over each other made piteous lament, and the dim halls through
Went wailing low the sound of anguished women’s cry.
And to her disquieted sorely Medea made reply:

“God help thee!⁠—what healing can I bring thee?⁠—what talk is thine
Of horrible curses and vengeance-spirits!⁠—would God it were mine,
Mine by a power firm-stablished, to save thy sons from bane!
Be witness⁠—the mighty oath of the Kolchians, the oath thou art fain
I should swear⁠—be witness the broad-arched Heaven, and the Earth below,
Mother of Gods, that, so far as the bounds of my strength may go,
I will fail thee not, if thy prayer be a boon that man may bestow.”

So spake she, and Chalkiopê made answer to her, and she said:
“Now couldst thou not dare for the stranger⁠—himself too asketh thine aid⁠—
By wile or by wisdom achievement of this emprise to win
For the sake of my sons? Lo, now is his messenger Argus within,
Praying that I would essay to win for them help of thy grace.
In the mid-court left I him when I came to seek thy face.”

So spake she, and bounded within her Medea’s heart for delight:
Her fair skin suddenly crimsoned, and swam before her sight
A mist, as she flushed and burned; and answer she made thereunto:

“Chalkiopê, according to that which is pleasing to you,
Even so will I do. May I see with mine eyes the dawn not again,
Nor mayst thou behold me long in the land of living men,
If I count aught dearer to me than the lives of thee and thine,
Even thy sons: for verily these be brethren mine,
My kinsmen belovèd, my childhood-playmates: myself I call
Thine own, own sister, my sister’s own little daughter withal,
Since even as them the baby me to thy breast didst thou hold:
So still have I heard the tale by the lips of my mother told.
But go thou, in silence bury this my kindness, that so
I may work out unwares to my parents my promise. At dawn will I go
Unto Hekatê’s fane, to bear thither the drugs that shall cast a spell
On the bulls for the stranger for whose sake all this strife befell.”

So the mother returned from the chamber, and spake to her sons full fain
Of her sister’s help. But now did the tide of shame again
And of terrible fear o’er the soul of Medea in solitude rise,
That she in her sire’s despite for a man such deeds should devise.

Then night drew darkness over the earth; on the lonely sea
The sailors gazed from their ships on the Bear and the flashing three
Of Orion; and came upon every wayfarer longing for sleep,
And on each gate-warder; and mothers, that daylong wont to weep
For children dead, with the peace of slumber were folded around.
No barking of dogs through the city there was any more, no sound
Of voices, but all the blackening gloom was with silence bound.
But not o’er Medea did sleep sweet dews of forgetfulness shake;
For many a care in her yearning for Jason held her awake,
Adread of the mighty strength of the bulls, ’neath the fury of whom
He must die in the War-god’s acre, must die by a shameful doom.
And with thick fast throbbings struggled the heart in her breast alway;
As when on the wall of a dwelling the leaping sunbeams play
Flung up from the water that into a cauldron but now fell plashing,
Or into a pail, and hither and thither the sunbeam flashing
In lightning eddy and flicker is dancing in mad unrest,
So quivered and fluttered the heart within the maiden’s breast.
And the tears from her eyes were flowing for ruth, and through all her frame
Like a smouldering fire her anguish burned, and coiled its flame
Round every fine-strung nerve, and thrilled to her beating brain
Where sharpest of all the pang strikes in, when the shafts of pain
Are shot to the heart by the Loves that rest them never from harm.
And now did she say that the drugs she would give that should bind with a charm
The bulls, and now would she not, but with him would she cease to live.
Swift changed her mood: she would not die, she, nor the drugs would she give,
But in silence endure her fate, the curse that was doomed to betide.
Then, there as she sat, she wavered this way and that, and she cried:

“Oh hapless I, whether this way or that into ruin I fall!
On every hand is despair for my soul: no help is at all
From woe, but it burneth, a furnace unquenchèd!⁠—would God it had been
Mine to be slain ere this by the shafts of the Huntress-queen,
Or ever I saw him, or came to Achaia-land the sons
Of Chalkiopê, whom a God, or the awful Avenging Ones
Hither, for sorrow to us, and for many a tear, have led!
—Let him perish amidst of the struggle, if this be his weird, to be sped
On the fallows of doom!⁠—for how shall I ’scape my parents’ ken
As the drugs I prepare? With what manner of words shall I blind them then?
What wile, what cunning device for mine hero’s help shall I find?
If I see him apart from his friends, shall I meet him with greeting kind?
O ill-starred!⁠—though he should die, yet cannot I hope that so
Assuaging should come of my pain: nay, this should be but for my woe
If he of his life were bereft⁠—oh, get thee behind me, shame!
Beauty, avaunt!⁠—So scatheless by mine endeavour he came
Out of peril, then might he fare wheresoever seemeth him best.
But for me⁠—on the selfsame day when triumphant he bideth the test,
Then let me die, from the rafters straining my neck in the noose,
Or tasting of poisons that rend the soul from the body loose.
Ah, but after my dying!⁠—what scoffs and what mocks will they fling
On my grave!⁠—and far and near how every city will ring
With the tale of my doom; and from lip to lip shall be tossed the jeer,
And a mock shall I be in the mouths of the daughters of Kolchis that sneer,
‘Lo, she that so lovingly cared for a man of an alien race
That she died!⁠—lo, she that on home and on parents heaped disgrace,
Giving reins to her lust!’ What shame should not be loaded on me?
Ah me, my infatuate folly!⁠—better by far should it be
In this same night to forsake my life these chambers within
By a fate of mystery, ’scaping from slander’s fiendish din,
Or ever that hideous befouling, that nameless defilement, I win!”

She spake, and she rose, and a casket she brought, wherein there lay
Many a drug, some helpful to heal, some mighty to slay.
On her knees she laid it, and brake into weeping: her bosom-fold
Was wet with her tears; from the wounds unstanched of her heart they rolled,
As she bitterly wailed for her fate: and her soul was exceeding fain
To choose her a murderous drug, and to taste oblivion of pain.
And the eager fingers now of the hapless maid ’gan part
The bands of the casket, to take it forth⁠—but, with sudden start,
With an awful fear of Hades the hateful shuddered her heart.
Long spellbound sat she in speechless horror: around her thronged
Visions of all sweet things for the which through life she had longed.
She thought of the hours delightsome the lot of the living that fill,
And she thought of her merry playmates, even as a maiden will.
And sweeter than ever was grown the sun unto her to behold⁠—
No marvel, seeing she yearned for all so passionate-souled!
So she put from her knees the casket, and laid it down again
All changed by the promptings of Hêrê: no more did she waver then
In her purpose; but now did she long for the dawning with speed to awake,
For the dayspring to rise, that so to her hero the drugs she might take
For the spell, as her covenant pledged her, and meet him face to face.
And many a time she unbarred the doors of her chamber, to gaze
Forth for the far faint gleam, and welcome flashed upon her
The Child of the Mist, and throughout the city the folk ’gan stir.

Then Argus spake to his brethren, bidding them there to abide
To learn the mind of the maiden, and how should her purpose betide;
But himself turned backward again, and unto the galley he hied.

Now soon as the maiden beheld the splendour of dawn outrolled
O’er the heavens, gathered she up with her hands her tresses of gold,
Which over her shoulders in careless disarray hung loose:
And she bathed her feverish cheeks, and with perfume shed from the cruse
All nectar-scented her body shone; and a robe fair-wrought
She donned, and with brooches cunningly-fashioned its folds upcaught.
And the cloud of a veil did she cast o’er her head unearthly fair,
And as silver it shimmered: she trode the floors of the palace there
Pacing unfaltering to and fro, forgetful of all
Those heaven-sent woes at the door, and of others that yet should befall.
And she summoned her bower-maidens; twelve by tale were they:
Through the night at the entering-in of her odorous chamber they lay,
Young as herself, nor yet on the bridal couch embraced.
And these she commanded to harness the mules to the wain in haste
To bear their lady to Hekatê’s passing-beautiful fane.
Wherefore the bower-maidens hasted and harnessed the mules to the wain.
And Medea the while took forth from the casket a drug of might,
The magic root that they say is the Herb of Prometheus hight.
For if any with midnight sacrifice upon Daira shall call,
The only-begotten, and smear his body therewithal,
No stroke of brazen weapon shall wound the flesh of him,
No, nor from blazing fire shall he flinch; but his strength of limb
And his prowess throughout that day shall all their might confound.
First-born it upshot from the clod in the hour when dropped to the ground
From the ravening eagle’s beak, where the crags of Caucasus frowned,
The ichor, the blood of a God, of Prometheus in torments bound.
And the flower of it blossomed a cubit the face of the earth above:
As the glow of the crocus Corycian, so was the hue thereof,
Upborne upon pale stalks twain, and below in its earthy bed
The root thereof as flesh new-severed was crimson-red.
And the blood thereof, like a mountain-oak’s dark sap, in a shell
From Caspian strand she gathered, to weave thereof a spell,
When seven times she had bathed her in waters unresting that glide,
And seven times upon Brimo the Nursing-mother had cried⁠—
Night-wandering Brimo, the Underworld Goddess, the Queen of the dead⁠—
And in dusky vesture clad through the blackness of night did she tread.
And the dark earth shuddered and quaked deep down with muttering moan,
As the Titan root was severed; yea, and Iapetus’ son
In frenzy of heart-wringing agony groaned a fearful groan.
This, from the casket ta’en, in her odorous girdle she laid,
The girdle enclasping the waist divinely sweet of the maid.
Then forth of the portal she paced, and she set her foot on the wain,
And beside her went upon either hand bower-maidens twain.
To her left hand gave they the reins, and the fair-fashioned whip hath she ta’en
In her right; and adown through the city she drave; and the rest of the train
Of her handmaids laid their hands on the wain, behind it to run
Adown the highway broad, for their tunics delicate-spun
Each maiden had kilted up above her ivory knee.
’Twas as when, where Parthenius’ soft-flowing ripples slide through the lea,
Or as when, coming up from her bath in Amnisus’ crystalline water,
High-borne on her golden chariot rideth Latona’s Daughter,
Driving betwixt the hills the fleet-foot roes of her car,
To greet the sacrifice-steam of a hecatomb afar;
And the Nymphs in throngs upon throngs attend her, gathering some
By the green well-head of Amnisus’ self, and others that come
By the glens and the fountain-flashing heights; and fawn and whine
The cowering beasts, as onward cometh the presence divine:
So through the city they sped, and to this side and that of the street
The people made way, neither dared they the eyes of the princess to meet.
But when she had left behind her the city’s fair-paved ways,
And was now drawn nigh, as she drave through the plain, to the holy place,
Then from the smooth-running wain she stepped to the earth straightway
In haste; and unto her maidens thus did Medea say:

“O friends, I have verily grievously sinned, for I took no thought
To have nought to do with the strangers whose wandering feet have sought
Our land:⁠—lo now, with amazement’s perplexity smitten sore
Is all the city, that none of the women, which heretofore
Hitherward have assembled day by day, be now gathered here.
But seeing that we be come, and that none beside draweth near,
Come then, with delightsome song without stint or stay let us sing
To our soul’s satisfying, and pluck we the lovely flowers that spring
Mid the tender grass; and in this same hour on the homeward way
Will we wend. Ye also with many a gift shall return this day
Homeward, if now with mine heart’s desire ye will gladden me.
For the pleading of Argus prevaileth with me, and of Chalkiopê:⁠—
But hide in your hearts that ye hear from me; let your lips be dumb,
Lest to my father’s ears peradventure the story should come:⁠—
They beseech me to take rich gifts, and to save in his emprise fell
Yon stranger who took it upon him the might of the bulls to quell.
Yea, and their counsel was good in mine eyes, that I bade him appear
In my presence this day, alone, with none of his comrades near,
That we may divide those presents amongst us, if haply he bring
The gifts in his hand, and may give him a spell-drug, a balefuller thing
Than the strength of the bulls. But stand ye aloof when he draweth anigh.”
So spake she, and pleased them all her counsel of subtlety.

Now Argus apart from his comrades had sundered Aison’s son,
So soon as he heard from his brethren how that Medea had gone
Forth in the misty dawning to fare unto Hekatê’s fane;
And over the plain did he lead him, and Mopsus companioned the twain,
Ampykus’ son, most wise to interpret the tokens aright
Of the coming of birds, and the signs to discern of their parting flight.

Never yet had there been such a man in the days of the men of old⁠—
Nor of them of the lineage of Zeus, nor the champions hero-souled
Which sprang from the blood of the rest of the Gods that endure for aye⁠—
Such a man as the bride of Zeus made Jason to be that day
In glory of bodily presence, in witchery of his tongue.
And ever his comrades gazing upon him in wonderment hung
On his radiance of manifold grace: and glad for the way they should wend
Waxed Ampykus’ son, as foreboding, I trow, how all should end.

Now there is by the path through the plain, as ye draw to the temple anigh,
A poplar that waveth his tresses of countless leaves on high;
And thereon had the crows ever-babbling pitched as it were their tent,
Whereof one, clapping her pinions, beneath her as these twain went,
The counsel of Hêrê chanted, mid high boughs swayed to and fro:

“Lo there, what a pitiful seer!⁠—even that which the children know
His wit can in no wise conceive, how that no word sweet and dear
Maiden will murmur to man, while strangers be loitering near!
Avaunt, vile prophet and witless!⁠—on thee not the Cyprian Queen,
On thee not the gentle Loves of their kindness are breathing, I ween!”

So ceased the voice of her chiding, and Mopsus smiled to hear
The heaven-sent cry of the bird, and spake to the heroes the seer:

“Now pass thou on to the Goddess’s temple: therein shalt thou find
The maiden, O Aison’s son: thou shalt prove her passing kind
By the promptings of Kypris, who also thine helper shall be in thy toil,
Even as prophesied Phineus, Agênor’s son, erewhile.
But we twain, Argus and I, thy coming again will abide
Aloof, yea, in this same place: but thou, with none beside,
With wise words plead with the maiden, and win her thy will to do.”
So in his wisdom he spake, and the others consented thereto.

But Medea⁠—her thoughts unto nought else turned, upon nought could be stayed,
Howsoever she sang⁠—but never a song, howsoe’er she essayed,
Pleased her, that long its melody winged her feet for the dance;
But ever she faltered amidst them, her eyes ever wandered askance
Away from the throng of her maidens unresting; and over the ways,
Turning aside her cheeks, far off ever strained she her gaze.
O the heart in her breast oft fainted, whenever in fancy she heard
Fleet past her the sound of a footfall, the breath of a breeze as it stirred.
But it was not long ere the hero appeared to her yearning eyes
Stately striding, as out of the ocean doth Sirius uprise,
Who climbeth the sky most glorious and clear to discern from afar,
But unto the flocks for measureless mischief a baleful star:
Even so came Aison’s son to the maiden glorious to see⁠—
But with Jason’s appearing dawned on her troublous misery.
Then it seemed as her heart dropped out of her bosom; a dark mist came
Over her eyes, and hot in her cheeks did the blushes flame.
Nor backward nor forward a step could she stir: all strength was gone
From her knees; and her feet to the earth seemed rooted; and one after one
Her handmaidens all drew back, and with him was she left alone.

So these twain stood⁠—all stirless and wordless stood face to face:
As oaks they seemed, or as pines upsoaring in stately grace,
Which side by side all still mid the mountains rooted stand
When winds are hushed; but by breath of the breeze when at last they are fanned,
Stir they with multitudinous murmur and sigh⁠—so they
By love’s breath stirred were to pour out all in their hearts that lay.

Then Aison’s son beheld how the maiden’s soul was adread
With wilderment heaven-sent, and kindly-courteous he said:

“Wherefore, O maiden, dost fear me so sorely, alone as I am?
Never was I as the loud-tongued blusterers, void of shame,
No, not when aforetime I dwelt in my fatherland oversea:
Wherefore be thou not, maiden, over-abashed before me,
That thou shouldst not inquire whatsoever thou wilt, or utter thy mind.
But, seeing we twain be met with friendly hearts and kind
In a place where sin is of heaven accurst, in a hallowed spot,
Speak thou, and question withal as thou wilt: but beguile me not
With pleasant words, forasmuch as thou gavest thy promise erewhile
To thy sister, to give me the charm that I long for, the herbs of guile.
I beseech thee in Hekatê’s name⁠—for the sake of thy parents I pray,
And of Zeus, that o’er stranger and suppliant stretcheth his hand alway!
Lo, a suppliant am I, a stranger withal, which am come to thee here,
In sore straits bending the knee; for in this my task of fear
Shall I nowise prevail, except I be holpen of thine and thee.
And to thee will I render requital of thanks in the days to be⁠—
As is meet and right for them in a far-away land which dwell⁠—
Making glorious thy name and thy fame, and mine hero-companions shall tell
The story of thy renown, when to Hellas again they have won;
Yea, and the heroes’ wives and mothers, who now make moan
For us, I ween, on the strand as they sit by the sighing brine:
And to scatter in air their bitter affliction is thine⁠—is thine!
Not I were the first⁠—was Theseus not saved from the ordeal grim
By Minos’ child for her kindness’ sake which she bare unto him,
Ariadne, born of the Sun-god’s daughter Pasiphaê?
But she, when slumbered the wrath of Minos, over the sea
Sailed with the hero, forsaking her land. The Immortals divine
Loved well that maid: in the midst of the firmament set is her sign,
A crown of stars, which they name Ariadne’s diadem,
All night circling amidst of the signs that the heavens begem.
Thou also shalt have of the Gods like thanks, if thou shalt redeem
From destruction so goodly a host of heroes⁠—ah, needs must it seem
That through form so lovely as thine should the beauty of kindness beam!”

Extolling her so spake he; and her eyelids drooped, while played
A nectar-smile on her lips; and melted the heart of the maid
By his praising uplifted: her eyes are a moment upraised to his eyes,
And all speech faileth: no word at the first to her lips may rise;
But in one breath yearned she to speak forth all her joy and her pain.
And with hand ungrudging forth from her odorous zone hath she ta’en
The charm, and he straightway received it into his hands full fain.
Yea, now would she even have drawn forth all her soul from her breast,
And had laid it with joy in his hands for her gift, had he made request,
So wondrously now from the golden head of Aison’s son
Did Love out-lighten the witchery-flame; and her sweet eyes shone
With the gleam that he stole therefrom, and her heart glowed through and through
Melting for rapture away, from the lips of the rose as the dew
At the sun’s kiss melteth away, when the dayspring is kindled anew.
And these twain now on the earth were fixing their eyes abashed,
And anon yet again their glances each on the other they flashed,
As with radiant eyelids they smiled a heart-beguiling smile:
And bespake him the maiden at last, yet scarce after all this while:

“Give thou heed now, that my counsel may haply be for thine aid.
What time at thy coming my father within thine hands shall have laid
The crop of the serpent’s jaws for thy sowing, the teeth of bane,
Then shalt thou watch for the hour when the night is sundered in twain.
Then thou, when first in the river’s tireless flow thou hast bathed,
Alone, with none other beside thee, in night-hued vesture swathed,
Shalt dig thee a rounded pit, and over the dark earth-bowl
Shalt thou slaughter a ewe, and shalt burn the unsevered carcase whole
On a pyre, the which on the very brink of the pit thou hast piled,
And propitiate only-begotten Hekatê, Perseus’ child,
Out of a chalice pouring the hive-stored toil of the bee.
So when thou hast sought the grace of the Goddess heedfully,
Then turn thee to pass from the pyre, and beware lest any sound
Or of footfalls behind thee startle thee, so that thou turn thee round,
Or of baying of hounds, lest all that is wrought be undone thereby,
And thyself to thine hero-companions never again draw nigh.
And in water at dawn shalt thou steep this herb, and thy limbs shalt thou bare,
And even as with oil shalt anoint thee therewith; and prowess there
Shalt thou find, and strength exceeding great: thou wouldst nowise say
That with men thou couldst match thee in might, but with Gods that abide for aye.
Therewithal be thy lance and thy buckler besprent with the magic dew,
And thy sword: then shall not the spear-heads prevail to pierce thee through
Of the Earth-born men, nor the fiery breath of the bulls of bane
Unendurably darting. Yet no long time shalt thou thus remain,
But only for that same day: notwithstanding flinch not thou
From the toil; and another thing yet for thine help will I tell to thee now:
So soon as the mighty bulls thou hast yoked, and by manifold toil
And by strength of thine hands hast sped the share through the stubborn soil,
And adown the furrows the bristling harvest of giants shall stand,
Where fell on the dusky clods the serpent’s teeth from thine hand,
Even as thou mark’st them in throngs through the fallows upbursting to day,
Cast thou in their midst unawares a massy stone: and they,
As ravening hounds o’er a gobbet of flesh that wrangle, shall slay
Each one his fellow: thou also in battle-fury shalt fall
On the rout. So the Golden Fleece unto Hellas, if this be all,
From Aia afar shalt thou bear:⁠—O yea, turn thou and depart
Whithersoever it pleaseth thee: seek the desire of thine heart!”

She spake, and her eyes to the earth at her feet in silence she cast;
And her cheeks divinely fair were wet as her tears fell fast,
As she sorrowed because that far and afar from her side o’er the main
He must wander away. And she looked in his eyes, and she spake yet again
With mournful word, and his right hand now hath she ta’en in her own;
For the shamefastness now from her eyes on the wings of love had flown:

“But O remember, if ever thou com’st to thine home afar,
Medea’s name: and in like wise I, when sundered we are,
Will forget thee not. But tell, of thy good will, where is thine home,
Whitherward bound thou wilt fare in thy galley over the foam.
Is it unto Orchomenus’ wealthy burg that thy feet shall go?
Or anigh to Aiaia’s isle? Of the maiden fain would I know,
Some maiden far-renowned, whom thou namedst the daughter, I wis,
Of Pasiphaê: kinswoman unto my sire that lady is.”

So did she speak; and over him stole, as the maiden wept,
Love the victorious; and answering speech to his lips hath leapt:

“Yea, verily, never by night, I ween, and by day nevermore
Shalt thou be forgotten of me, if unto Achaia’s shore
Unscathed I shall ’scape indeed, and Aiêtes before me set,
For mine hands to achieve, none other toil more desperate yet.
But if this hath pleased thee, to learn what land I call mine own,
I will tell thee⁠—yea, and mine own heart biddeth me make it known
A country there is⁠—steep mountain-ramparts around it run⁠—
A land of streams and of pastures, wherein Iapetus’ son,
Even Prometheus, begat the valiant Deukalion,
Who of all men was first that builded a city, or reared a fane
To the Deathless, and first was he of the kings over men that reign.
That land do the folk that around it dwell Haimonia call.
Therein is my city Iolkos found: therein withal
Stand many beside, where not so much have they heard as the name
Of Aiaia’s isle: but rumour hath told how Minyas came
Thereout, even Minyas Aiolus’ son, and builded the town
Of Orchomenus; over the marches Kadmeian her towers look down.
Yet why should I speak things vain as the wild winds’ empty sound
Of our home, of the daughter of Minos, the princess far-renowned
Ariadne⁠—the glorious name whereby that heart’s desire
Was called among men, the maiden of whom thou dost inquire?
Would God that, even as Minos his heart unto Theseus inclined
For her sake, so would thy father with me be in friendship joined!”

So spake he, with tender words and caressing the maiden to woo.
But anguish exceeding bitter was thrilling the heart of her through:
And in sorrow of spirit with vehement words she made reply:

“O haply in Hellas ’tis good to be heedful of friendship’s tie:
But Aiêtes is not such a man among men as thou saidst but now
Was Minos, Pasiphaê’s lord; and with Ariadne, I trow,
May I nowise compare me: wherefore of guest-love speak not thou.
Only remember thou me, when safe thou hast sped thy flight
To Iolkos; and I will remember⁠—yea, in my parents’ despite
Will remember thee: and from far may a rumour come unto me,
Or a messenger-bird with the tidings, when I am forgotten of thee!
Or me, even me, may the swift-winged blasts from the earth’s breast tear,
And away hence over the sea to the land of Iolkos bear,
That so I might cast reproaches on thee, yea, unto thy face,
And remind thee that all by mine help thou escapedst⁠—but oh that my place
That day were of right in thine halls, the place of a queen at the board!”

So spake she, and down her cheeks the piteous tears aye poured.
But he caught up her words even there, and with comforting speech did he say:

“O stricken one, leave thou the empty blasts at their will to stray,
And the messenger-bird to roam, for thy words are but vanity!
But if ever thou come unto those abodes, if Hellas thou see,
Honour and worship of men and of women then shall be thine;
Yea, they shall reverence thee as a very presence divine,
Because that again to their homes did the sons of the Hellenes win
By thy devising, yea, and the brethren of these, and their kin;
And many a stalwart husband of thee hath received his life.
Then shalt thou enter the bridal bower with me⁠—my wife;
And nothing shall come between our love, and nothing shall sunder,
Till death’s shroud fold us around, and our hearts are chilled thereunder.”

He spake, and to hear him her soul was melted within her then:
Yet she shuddered to see the deeds whose end was beyond her ken.
Ah hapless!⁠—not long was she doomed to refuse a home in the land
Of Hellas, for hereunto was she guided of Hêrê’s hand,
To the end that for Pelias’ bane Aiaian Medea might come
Unto Iolkos the hallowed, forsaking her fatherland-home.

But by this from afar were the handmaids glancing towards these twain
Full oft in disquiet; for need was now, as the day ’gan wane,
That the maiden unto her mother should turn her homeward again.
But she thought not yet of departing, such joy did her spirit take
Alike in his goodlihead, and the winsome words that he spake.
But Aison’s son took heed, and late and at last did he say:

“Lo now, it is time to depart, lest the sun’s light fade away
Before we be ware, and lest some stranger should haply espy
All this. Yet again will we meet, coming hitherward, thou and I.”

So in sweetest communion did these try each the other’s heart
Thus far; and thereafter they sundered. And now did Jason depart
Unto his friends and the ship, while his heart for joy beat high;
And she to her handmaids, and all in a troop did these draw nigh
To meet her: she marked them not, as unto her side they drew;
For her soul to the clouds had soared far up ’twixt earth and the blue.
And with feet that moved in a dream she mounted the fleet-running wain:
In her left hand grasped she the reins, in her right the whip hath she ta’en
Curious-fashioned, to drive the mules; and fast did they flee,
As on to the city they sped and the palace; and Chalkiopê
’Gan ask her of all that befell, for her sons’ sake anguish-stirred;
But rapt in a trance of thoughts back-drifting she heard not a word,
And to all that eager questioning never a word she said:
But adown on a lowly stool did she sit at the foot of the bed,
On her left hand propping her cheek as she wearily drooped aside;
And with tears were her eyes brimming over, as surged the dark chill tide
Of remembrance of emprise dread that the covenant bound her to bide.

Now when Aison’s son had wended aback to the place where stayed
His comrades, what time he had left them in faring to meet the maid.
Then, telling them all the story the while, with these did he hie
To the throng of the heroes; and now to the galley drew they anigh.
And they saw him, and lovingly greeted, and asked him of all that befell:
And he in the midst of them all did the maiden’s counsels tell;
And he showed them the dread spell-drug. One only of all sat apart,
Idas, nursing his wrath: but the others with joyful heart
Turned them, when darkness fell, their hands from their labour to stay,
And in great peace laid them down to their rest: but with dawning day
To Aiêtes, to ask for the seed of the serpent, sent they away
Two men; and foremost Telamon Arês-beloved they sent,
And Aithalides, glorious scion of Hermes, beside him went.
So went they, and not for nought, for to these at their coming were given
Of Aiêtes the king the teeth for the grim strife hard to be striven,
The teeth of the dragon Aonian, that, seeking the wide world through
For Europa, Kadmus found in Ogygian Thêbê, and slew,
The monster that lurked, a warder, beside the Aretian spring.
There also he dwelt, by the heifer led, which Apollo the king
By the word of prophecy gave for his guide, that he should not stray.
These teeth did Tritônis the Goddess tear from its jawbone away,
And the gift on Aiêtes and him that had slain the beast she bestowed.
On the plain Aonian Kadmus the teeth of the serpent sowed;
And an earth-born nation was founded there of Agênor’s son,
The remnant left when the harvest of Arês’ spear was done.
So the teeth to bear to the galley Aiêtes gave full fain,
For he weened that to win to the goal of his task he should strive in vain,
Yea, though to the yoking of those dread bulls he should haply attain.

And the sun down under the dark earth far away in the west,
Beyond the uttermost hills of the Aethiops, sank to his rest;
And the Night was laying her yoke on the necks of her steeds. Then spread
On the shore by the hawsers of Argo the heroes each his bed.
But Jason, so soon as the flashing stars of the circling Bear
Had set, and under the firmament hushed was all the air,
Unto the wilderness even as a thief all stealthily hied
With whatso was needful; for all had he taken thought to provide
In the day: and fared with him Argus, and milk from the flock he bore,
And a ewe therewithal; for these had he ta’en from the galley’s store.
But when he beheld the place, which was far aloof from the tread
Of men, where under the unscreened sky the clear meads spread,
There first of all in the flow of the sacred river he bathed
His limbs full reverently, and all his body he swathed
In a dark-hued cloak, which Hypsipylê, daughter of Lemnos’ race,
Gave him aforetime, memorial of many a loving embrace.
Thereafter he digged him a pit in the plain of a cubit wide,
And the billets he heaped, and the lamb’s throat cut by the dark pit’s side.
And the carcase he stretched on the pile, and he thrust thereunder the fire
And kindled the brands, and mingled libations he poured on the pyre,
Calling on Hekatê Brimo to draw for his helper nigh.

And when he had called on her, backward he fared, and she hearkened his cry.
Out of nethermost caverns of darkness the Awful Queen drew near
To the Aisonid’s sacrifice, and about her did shapes of fear,
Even serpents, in horrible wreaths and knots, mid the oak-boughs hang:
And flashed a fitful splendour of torches unnumbered; and rang
Around her wild and high the baying of hounds of hell.
And all the meadow-land trembled under her tread; and the yell
Pealed of the marish-haunting Nymphs of the river, that dance
In the pastures wherethrough Amaryntian Phasis’ ripples glance.
And terror gat hold upon Aison’s son; but, for all his dread,
Yet he turned him not round as his feet thence bore him, until he had sped
Back to his friends: and by this over Caucasus’ snow-flecked height,
As she rose, was the Dawn mist-cradled shooting her shafts of light.

And now did Aiêtes array in the corslet of stubborn mould
His breast, the corslet that Arês gave, in the day when rolled
Mimas of Phlegra beneath his hands in the dust of doom.
And he set on his head the golden helmet of fourfold plume
Flaming like to the world-encompassing sun’s red gleam,
When first in the dawning he leapeth up from the Ocean-stream.
He uplifted his manifold-plated shield, and he grasped in his hand
His terrible spear and resistless: was none that before it might stand
Of the rest of the heroes, since Herakles now they had left afar:
He only against it had matched his might in the shock of war.
And his fair-fashioned chariot of fleet-footed steeds was stayed for the king
By Phaëthon hard by; then to the chariot-floor did he spring;
And he drew through his fingers the reins, and forth of the city-gate
Drove he along the broad highway, by the lists of fate
To stand; and a countless multitude hastened forth at his side.
And as when to the Isthmian athlete-strife Poseidon doth ride
High-borne on his car, or Tainarus-wards, or to Lerna’s mere,
Or Hyantian Onchestus, the temple-grove that the nations revere;
And as when to Kalaurea ofttimes his chariot-wheels have rolled,
And Haimonia’s rock, and Geraistus’ town that the forests enfold,
Even so was Aiêtes, lord of the Kolchian folk, to behold.

But Jason the while, obeying the rede from Medea that came,
In water hath steeped that drug; and he sprinkled his shield with the same,
And his sturdy spear and his sword; and his comrades with might and main
Made proof of his harness, thronging around: yet essayed they in vain
To bend that spear, though it were but a little; but evermore
Unyielding and stark it abode in their strong hands, even as before.
But Idas, Aphareus’ son⁠—for with wrath was the heart of him black⁠—
With his great sword hewed at the shaft by the butt; but the blade leapt back
As hammer from anvil, jarred by the shock; and a mighty shout
From the heroes rejoicing in hope of the trial’s end rang out.
Thereafter his own limbs Jason sprinkled; and lo, he was filled
With terrible prowess, unspeakable, aweless; the hands of him thrilled
Tingling with strength, as waxed their sinews with gathering might.
And even as when a battle-steed afire for the fight
Leapeth and neigheth and paweth the ground, and glorying rears
His neck like a stormy-crested billow, and pricketh his ears,
Even so in the pride of his prowess triumphant was Aison’s son,
And hither and thither on high he bounded now and anon,
In his hands uptossing his brazen shield and his spear’s tough ash.
Thou hadst said that adown through the murky welkin the leaping flash
Of the tempest-levin was gleaming and flickering once and again
From the clouds that are bringing hard after their burden of blackest rain.
Nor long time now would they tarry from faring forth to essay
The emprise, but row after row upon Argo’s thwarts sat they,
And onward exceeding swiftly to Arês’ plain they sped.
Overagainst the city so far before them it spread
As the space from the start to the turning-post that the car must win
What time, when a king unto Hades hath passed, his princely kin
For hero and horse ordain the strife of the funeral game.
There found they Aiêtes, and other the tribes of the Kolchian name,
The folk on the cliffs Caucasian in lines far-stretching arrayed,
While the king by the winding brink of the river their coming stayed.

And Aison’s son, when his comrades had made the hawsers fast,
Then with his spear and his shield to the mighty trial passed,
Bounding from Argo forth; and there was he bearing with him
His gleaming helm with the dragon’s sharp teeth filled to the brim,
With his brand on his shoulders slung, bare-limbed, and in some wise seeming
As Arês, in some wise Apollo the lord of the sword gold-gleaming.
O’er the fallow he glanced, and the brazen yoke of the bulls he espied.
And the plough, hewn solid of massy adamant, therebeside.
So he strode thereunto, and beside it his strong spear planted upright
On the butt-spike thereof, and leaning against it the morion he pight.
Then tracing the countless tracks of the bulls right on did he fare
With nought but his shield: but suddenly forth from an unseen lair,
From a den in the bowels of the earth, wherein was their grimly stall,
Whereover the lurid-gleaming smoke ever hung as a pall,
Forth rushed they together as one, outbreathing the splendour of flame;
And the heroes quaked when they saw. But Jason, as onward they came,
Set wide his feet; and even as a rock in the sea doth abide
The charging surges whereon the scourging storm-blasts ride,
Before him he held to withstand them his shield; and the terrible twain
Their strong horns bellowing dashed against it with might and main:
Nevertheless by their onset they stirred him never a jot.
And even as when the armourers’ bellows of stout hide wrought
In the piercèd melting-pot anon with murmur and sigh
Kindle the ravening flame, and anon doth the breath of them die;
And an awful roar goeth up therefrom as the flames leap higher
From beneath, even so these twain outbreathing the rushing fire
Roared from their mouths, and about him as lightning leapt and played
The devouring blaze: yet warded him ever the spells of the maid.
Then grasped he the tip of the horn of the right-hand monster, and so
Mightily haled with his uttermost strength, till he bowed it low
To the brazen yoke, and, striking its hoof of brass with his foot,
Suddenly cast it adown on its knees, and its fellow brute,
Even as it charged him, with one thrust down on its knees did he throw.
Then his broad shield cast he away on the ground, and, to and fro
To this side and that side striding, he kept them fall’n in their place
On their fore-knees, swiftly moving athwart the fervent blaze,
While marvelled the king at the hero’s might. Then drew nigh two,
Even Tyndareus’ sons⁠—for that thus long since had he bidden them do;⁠—
And they lifted and gave him the yoke on the necks of the bulls to be bound:
And deftly thereon did he bind it, and ’twixt them upraised from the ground
The brazen pole, and he made it fast by its pointed tip
Unto the yoke: and they twain back from the fire to the ship
Withdrew. Then he caught up again, and cast on his shoulders his shield
Behind him; the helmet strong with the serpent’s sharp teeth filled
He grasped, and his spear resistless, wherewith, as a ploughman wight
Pricketh his oxen with goad Pelasgian, so did he smite
The flanks of the monsters, and starkly and steadily still did he hold
Unswerving the plough-heft cunningly fashioned of adamant mould.
But the bulls were raging the while with fury exceeding sore
Outbreathing the ravening splendour of fire: as that mad roar
Of the buffeting winds was the blast of their breath, when the seafarers quail
At their yelling above all else, and furl the straining sail.
Yet it was not long ere the beasts, as the stern spear bade them to toil,
Moved on, and behind them was broken the fallow’s rugged soil
Cloven apart by the might of the bulls and the ploughman strong.
And terribly crashed and groaned, the ploughshare’s furrows along,
The clods uprent, of a man’s load each, and with sturdy stride
Trampling the path the hero followed, and aye flung wide
The teeth of the serpent over the clods upheaved by the share,
Ever heedfully turning his head, lest haply, or e’er he was ware,
The harvest fell of the Earth-born against him should rise: and with strain
Of brazen hoofs on laboured the while that fearsome twain.
And it was so, that when the third part now was left of the day,
From the dawn as it waned, when the toil-forwearied labourers pray
“O come to us, sweet unyoking-tide! O tarry thou not!”
Even then by the stalwart ploughman the fallowfield’s earing was wrought,
For all it was ploughgates four; and the bulls from the yoke loosed he,
And with shouting and smiting he scared them over the plain to flee.
Then back toward Argo he hied him again, while yet all clear
Of the Earth-born brood the furrows he saw; and with cheer on cheer
His comrades hailed him and heartened. He plunged the brazen gleam
Of his helm mid the river’s waters, and slaked his thirst from the stream.
Then bent he his knees till supple they grew; and he filled with might
His great heart, battle-aflame as a boar, when he whetteth for fight
Against the hunters his tushes, and drippeth the plenteous froth
Down from his jaws to the ground, as he churneth their foam in his wrath.
Now by this was the harvest of Earth-born men over all that field
Upspringing; and all round bristled with thronging shield on shield
And with battle-spears twy-pointed, and morions glorious-gleaming
The garth of the death-dealing War-god: the splendour thereof upstreaming
Through the welkin lightened, and up to the heaven of heavens did it go.
And as when on the face of the earth hath fallen abundant snow,
And the wind-blasts chase the wintry clouds in scattered rout
Under the mirk of the night, and all the hosts shine out
Of the stars through the darkness glittering; so those Earth-born men
Flashed, o’er the face of the ground upgrowing: but Jason then
Remembered the rede that Medea the cunning-hearted spake;
And a huge round boulder up from the earth in his grasp did he take⁠—
A terrible quoit for Arês the War-god: there should not be found
Four stalwart men of strength to upraise it a span from the ground.
This caught he up in his hand, and afar with a leap did he throw
Into their midst, and behind his buckler himself crouched low
Awelessly. Loudly the Kolchians shouted⁠—it rang as the roar
Of the shouting sea when his surges over the sharp reefs pour.
But speechless amazement seized on Aiêtes at that vast sweep
Of the massy crag: and the Earth-born as fleet-foot hounds ’gan leap
Each on his fellow, and yelling they slew: the embattled lines
On their mother the earth, by their own spears slain, were falling, as pines
Or as oaks which the down-rushing blasts of the tempest have scourged and riven.
And even as leapeth a fiery star from the depths of the heaven,
Trailing behind him a splendour, a marvel to men which mark
How he darteth in shattering glories athwart the firmament’s dark,
Even so seemed Aison’s son on the Earth-born rushing: he bare
His sword from the scabbard outflashed; and here he smote them and there,
Mowing them down: full many on belly or flank did he smite
Which had won to the air waist-high, and some which had risen to light
But shoulder-high, and some as they stood but now upright,
And other some, even as their feet ’gan strain in the onset of fight.
And like as, when round the marches the war upstarteth from sleep,
A husbandman, fearing lest foemen the toil of his hands may reap,
Graspeth a curvèd sickle newly-whetted in hand,
And moweth in haste the crop yet green, neither letteth it stand
Until it be parched in the season due by the shafts of the sun;
Even so of the Earth-born the harvest he reaped; and with blood did they run,
Those furrows, as hurrying runnels that brim from a fountain’s plashing.
Fast fell they, some on their faces, bowing their knees, and gnashing
Their teeth on the rough clods⁠—this one stayed on his palm, and he
On his side: as they wallowed they seemed as the monster-brood of the sea.
And many, or ever their feet from beneath the earth had come,
Pierced through, from the height whereunto they had risen, even therefrom
Down-drooping, were resting their death-dewed brows on the earth again.
Even so, I ween, when Zeus down-poureth the measureless rain,
Droop orchard-shoots new-planted, till low on the earth they lie,
Snapped hard by the roots, that the gardener’s toil is doubled thereby,
And there come on the heart of the lord of the vineyard, which planted the same,
Confusion of face and deadly anguish in such wise came
On Aiêtes the king vexation of spirit and heaviness.
And back to the city he wended amidst of the Kolchian press,
Dark-plotting to bring the heroes’ purpose with speed to nought.