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
