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
