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
