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 {1330}
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 {1340}
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. {1350}
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 {1360}
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.
Therewere 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: {10}
‘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. {20}
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 {30}
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 {40}
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. {50}
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: {60}
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 {70}
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 {80}
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 {90}
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. {100}
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, {110}
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 {120}
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 {130}
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, {140}
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. {150}
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. {160}
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,— {170}
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 {180}
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. {190}
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 {200}
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 self-same heroes that Jason leadeth forth on the Quest {210}
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 Phœbus’ 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 {220}
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, {230}
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 {240}
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; {250}
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!— {260}
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 {270}
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, {280}
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.’ {290}
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. {300}
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: {310}
‘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 fulness 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; {320}
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, {330}
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. {340}
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. {350}
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, {360}
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, {370}
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 Mossynœcians dwell
In a land of forests, in many a mountain-cradled dell, {380}
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 {390}
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, {400}
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: {410}
‘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, {420}
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 {430}
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. {440}
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 {450}
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, {460}
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: {470}
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 {480}
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 Agenor’s son; and straightway returned again {490}
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 {500}
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 Phœbus’ 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. {510}
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 {520}
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. {530}
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. {540}
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, {550}
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. {560}
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. {570}
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 {580}
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, {590}
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. {600}
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: {610}
‘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— {620}
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. {630}
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,