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
