Book 4

4. Gaius Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica, Book Four.

And these things the father of the gods no longer bore with kindly eyes; and pitying his son's faithful love he sternly rebukes the trembling Juno in burning wrath:

'See how new joys now rise within your silent breast: helpless on lonely shores the Tirynthian rages on, while the forgetful Minyae, careless of their abandoned comrade, hold the deep. So Juno cherishes the Aesonian captain, anxious in her cares; so she furnishes him with arms and allies. Already with what wars I see her wavering and afraid of the Scythian people's might, with what great dread she quakes! I forbid you to assail me with prayers, with tears, or with a suppliant hand; firm is my power over things. Go, rouse the Furies and Venus; the wicked maiden shall pay the penalty, nor shall we leave Aeetes' groans unavenged.'

He spoke, and dew fragrant with secret nectar, which holds deep rest and the power of liquid sleep, he brought, and touched the temples of his wandering son. He, his eyes growing heavy, bearing always Hylas' name upon his echoing lips, since no god's power could prevail, sinks down. At last peace was restored to the weary woods, and the rivers, and the breezes heard upon the empty hills.

Behold, the boy seemed to lift himself from the topmost wave amid the saffron leaves, by the cruel Nymph's gift, and standing above that dear head to utter words like these: 'Why, father, do you waste the hours in vain laments? This grove, and now by fate my wicked home, where the Nymph carries me off by savage Juno's command, into the streams. Now she grants me access to Jove, the very threshold of heaven, and joins me in wedlock and the honours of the spring. O grief, O the sweet quivers we once carried before! Already your comrades have loosed their cables to glad winds, after the son of Oeneus drove them on with furies and unspeakable voice. But with his race and house he shall atone for this, and your power shall aid his cruel mother. Rise up, then, and never fail amid hardships; soon to heaven you shall come, and the stars shall bear you; be always mindful of love, and let not the image of your dear companion fade.'

As he prayed with such words and delighted in the sight, the other reaches out and presses on with empty embraces, and moves in vain the efforts of his failing right hand: his body is dulled with sleep, mocked by the fleeing shade. Then with tears, then with his voice he tries to follow, to break out in laments, when sleep dissolves, and his sad hope dies with the vain act. As when, by chance, the wave from the edge of a sea-sounding rock snatches the brood and home of the wretched halcyon, the grieving mother flies above and laments to the swelling waves, resolved to follow wherever they bear her, daring and dreading, struck by the waters she sinks until her home is swallowed by the flood; she, in her sorrow, gives voice and lifts herself on her wings: not otherwise is the mournful labour of his sleep. He leaps up, frantic, and bathes his cheeks with streaming tears. 'I shall go,' he says, 'alone, and you will hold these mountains and deserted wilds, dear boy, nor will you marvel further at our deeds.' This said, he retraces his ways and comes out from the valleys, uncertain what Juno brings, what wrath she makes ready. And no less he sees his comrades borne far off across the sea headlong, and is silently ashamed that he could be left behind.

And now he had turned his journey toward the Teucri and the friendly walls of Troy, seeking again the promises of the Ilian tyrant, when Latona with sorrowful face, and Diana, stood before Jove, and Apollo speaks thus in supplication: 'For what other Alcides, to what time now do you defer the aged Caucasian, great king? Will you grant no end at all to his sufferings and his punishment? All the race of men entreats you for him; and now the very mountains, best father, and the weary ridges with their woods implore you. Enough for you is the theft of fire and the defended silence of the heavenly table.'

When he had spoken, from the crags, amid the very feeding-grounds of the dread vulture, even he himself wearies Jove with his groaning and sorrowful voice, easing the burnt-out sockets of his eyes scorched by the cruel frosts; the rivers and the Caucasian rocks redouble the din; the very bird is stunned by the god's outcries. Then too Iapetus was heard rising above to the upper heights from Acheron; the grim Erinys keeps the suppliant far off, regarding the law of lofty Jove. He, moved by the tears of the goddesses and by the great honour of Phoebus, sends swift Iris down on rosy clouds. 'Go,' he says, 'let Alcides defer war upon the Phrygians and on Troy; now let him snatch the Titan from the dread bird.' The goddess flies and bears to the hero the parent's commands to be hastened, and fills him eager with glad encouragements.

Now the Minyae, amid the waves beneath the stars of midnight, had set their hollow sails in calm course over the flood, and, remembering, kept turning over thoughts of abandoned Hercules. But the Thracian priest, from the high stern, soothing his comrades with the fates of the gods and the troubles of wretched life, drives away care with his numbers and his healing song; and when its struck note was taken up by the lyre, grief and wrath and toil and the sweet thought of his son yield from the breast.

Meanwhile, as now the great stars were sinking, the caverns of the Titaness sound at the bridling, by the cradle-spring of Ocean; the Sun, while the golden-haired Hours gird him round, puts on his many-rayed splendour and the breastplate woven with twelve signs; the belt that varies for mortals the rippling bow against the clouds binds it fast. Then over the lands and the horns of the eastern mountain he flashed forth and drew the day across the shining waves, and the Minyae, at the sight of Phoebus, were left by the winds.

The nearest shores of the Bebrycian realm are spread open, a rich soil, a land not grudging to its hardy bulls. The king is Amycus; trusting in the king's fate and his power, they have not girded their homes with walls, nor do they keep any covenants of law or rights that hold minds at peace. Like the raging Cyclopes in the Aetnaean caves, who under the winter night watch the straits, where by cruel winds some ship may be driven to bring you dread fodder and wretched feasts, Polyphemus: so on every side, on all the roads, they look out and run, to drag the bodies they have taken to their king. He himself, fierce, beyond the sacrificial rock of the ridge, in the midst of the waters, hurls and drives them to Neptune his father. But if any guest of fairer form be there, then he bids them take up arms and meet him in turn with the gauntlets taken up; this is the fairest lot of a wretched death. When Neptune felt that the ship had been borne hither on the flood, and looked out upon his son's last on the shores and the fields once glad with their lord's contests, he groaned and unrolled such laments from his breast: 'Unhappy Melie, once snatched beneath my deepest waves, and not rather then joined to the great Thunderer, does grim fate so await my offspring of every kind, from whatever origin? So I felt you of old go on, Jupiter, when by the arms of an unjust maiden my unhappy Orion fell, and now fills Chaos. Let neither valour now, nor trust in us, give you courage, my son; trust not beyond your father's power. Now, now other forces and the fates of Jove, mightier than our blood, prevail; his care for his own is the greater. And therefore I neither tried to turn this ship aside with swelling winds nor held it back, nor will there now be any delay to your death. Press hard, harsh one, the lesser kings.' Then the father turned his eyes away, and leaving his son and the sad battles, laved the lands with his bloody tide.

First the captain bids them explore the rivers, the people, and the shores, and Echion, going out a little way, finds a young man dragging his groans in a dark valley, secretly, and mourning the name of a slain friend. When he saw the man coming toward him, and his temples shaded after his father's manner with the Parrhasian cap, and in his hand the useless emblems of the peace-bringing wand, 'Alas, flee,' he says, 'whoever you are, doomed man, with sure step, while it is given.' The Nonacrian offspring was struck dumb at the sight, wondering what it might mean. When he sees him warning him to go back more swiftly, and persisting in the same words, he seizes him and forces him to tell his comrades what these things are. The man, stretching out his hand, says, 'This land is no land of welcome to you, men, no reverence for any rites fills these hearts; death dwells here, and savage fights upon this shore. Soon dread Amycus will come, who will command us to take up the gauntlets, and who beats the clouds with his vast head. Such a one, believed Neptune's offspring, rages eternally against those who come, and, lacking equal valour, sets them like sluggish bulls before the wicked altars of the gods, that at last he may wash his arms in their wretched brains. Take counsel, and do not scorn the time still left for flight. For in vain would any man dare to close with that monster; and what pleasure would there be to have seen such a thing?' To this the captain says, 'Do you come as a Bebrycian bearing a heart at variance with your king (for often the will of the crowd is better), an enemy, or borne by fate from foreign shores? And why has Amycus not yet crushed your face with the gauntlet?' 'A name,' he says, 'most sweet to me, and following the name of Otreus, one with me in heart. He, the glory and glad renown of his own, no companion to be scorned in your deeds, when he sought Hesione and the joys of his Phrygian bride, stood here against Amycus by command, and I joined my hands with his; but scarcely was he raising his face, when from afar the lightning right hand struck his brow and scattered and shed his eyes. Me he never deemed worthy of death or arms, but rather I am consumed by tears and idle grief. Yet there is hope, if a messenger has appeared on these shores by my report, and has reached the ancestral cities of the Mariandyni, from whence are the man's race and his brother — but may even he rest, I pray, nor let Lycus increase the slaughter with vain arms.'

When the young men, moved by no fear, receive these words, and see him persist with so hard a mind, he bids them follow at his back and join their hurrying steps. On the farthest shore a huge cavern appeared, covered over with trees and a threatening ridge, not such as the gifts of the gods, nor such as draws the fire of heaven, an unhappy house, trembling with the roar of the deep. But before the rock, varied terrors: here are the severed arms of men, snatched by the whirling and dead in the clenched gauntlet, bones foul with decay, and a most mournful row of heads. You might look on those for whom, beneath the wound that faced them, there was now no face nor name; in the midst his own arms, holy with dread, are set upon the altars of his great father. Here first the warnings of the host Dymas returned, and dread, and the image of the absent monster rose upon them, and silent they all held their eyes upon one another, until Pollux, fearless, with his starlike face, 'Yet you, whoever you are,' he says, 'this terror of yours I shall make your own woods soon bear, if only you have blood and limbs.' In all there was the same spirit, to settle it by brave fight, and they long for the man and demand to meet him face to face.

Just as one opens a passage for a foaming stream from its very depths through unknown lands, and soon all the flock, its fear driven off, follows behind, and now goes before from the midst of the waves.

But far off from the woods the savage giant bore himself and his herds into the caves. His own throng, watching him, goes with the silent dread of one secure. Nowhere remain the marks of a mortal; he is the likeness of a crag that goes highest on the high mountains and stands alone, far from every ridge. Thence he flies down raging, nor does he ask first by what road, nor whither nor whence they have set out, nor of their race, but thunders forth in such wrath: 'Begin, O young men. For confidence, I believe, has brought you here to shores you challenge of your own accord, having heard of them. But if by a wandering of the way, and a mind not yet knowing the place, this is the house of Neptune; I myself am Neptune's offspring. Here is my law: to raise the gauntlets and the opposing arms against me. So the great region of Asia, and all that lies to the right through the north and the sea on the left, has visited my hospitality; from this contest all kings return. Long now the gauntlets have lain idle, and the cold ground is dry with scattered teeth. Who will join a covenant with me? For whom does my hand bear the first gifts? Soon for all the same honour shall come. No flight beneath the earth, no flight through the air. Neither tears (offer no prayers) nor the gods called upon move my heart; for other shores Jupiter is king. I will see to it that no ship can cross the Bebrycian strait, and that the Symplegades fly over an empty sea.'

Such words he was giving, when at once fierce Jason and at the same time the sons of Aeacus, and Calydon's foster-son, and the son of Neleus, and Idas first, names that rise greatest; but Pollux had already stood with bared breast. Then dread and chill blood fixed Castor fast. For he sees no battle before the Elean shores of their father, nor sounds the Oebalian cheer of the arena, nor the known ridges of Taygetus, where the victor washes by his native streams, nor the steed as prize, nor the bull of the sacred sand, but for reward the shades and the unbarred door of death. Amycus, eyeing him neither grim of brow nor dreadful in bulk, scarcely yet scattering the signs of first youth, goes round him with a smiling face and rages that he has dared, and rolls his bloodshot eyes with burning furies. Not otherwise did Typhoeus, when, bearing now the realms of heaven, now the captured stars, he grieved at Bacchus before the lines, at Pallas first of the gods, and the maiden's snakes set against him. So indeed he pursues, and so with rabid muttering terrifies him: 'Whoever you are, unhappy boy, make haste; no longer shall this grace of your fair brow remain to you, nor will you bear a face known to your mother. Were you chosen by unjust comrades? Will you die by Amycus' hand?' Delaying no more, he thrust forward his huge shoulders and the broad bones of his chest and his dreadful limbs with their shapeless muscles. The Minyae fail at the sight, and the son of Tyndareus himself marvels; the longing for Alcides returns now too late, and with a vacant eye they scanned the mournful mountains. But the son of the sea-king then speaks thus: 'Look on these coils too, hardened on raw bulls' hide; nor do I seek the help of the lot, but put on what gauntlets you can.'

He spoke, and through the late atonement of urging fate he, not knowing this was the last, gave his hands to his servants to bind with arms, and the Laconian his too. Bitter hatreds rise between men unknown before, and with kindled minds the blood of Jove and the offspring of Neptune are borne to the middle. On this side and that, silences intent on doubtful prayers, and father Tartarus at last sends out the praying shades of the slain through a hollow cloud, to the spectacle of the deserved fight; the summits of the highest mountain grow dark. At once the Bebrycian, like a snatching whirlwind from the crag of rugged Malea, scarcely letting the men raise their faces, scarcely their arms, drives them headlong in a torrent on every side, enwrapping them in his rushes, and huge he pursues over all the sand. But Pollux, watchful in his fear, with breast and arms now this way and now that, his neck always drawn back, always on his toes and in the dust of the field's surface, flung forward, returns. As, on the foaming deep, when the Pleiad is set, a ship that the trembling care of the master alone holds fast cuts the mad sea unharmed while the winds contend, so Pollux, watchful, keeps clear of the blows and snatches his doubtful head away by Oebalian art. When at last he had poured out from the clouds the urging wrath and the heat of the man, little by little, unscathed against the weary one, he begins to rise and draws the highest gauntlets down with his hands. That day first saw the limbs of Amycus sick with sweat, and saw him faltering with parched and gaping mouth, nor do his own places know the weary king, nor his own ranks. Both draw breath and lower their arms a little, as when, on the very field, Gradivus revives the Lapiths or the Paeonians, and stands silent, his spear planted. Scarcely had they stood, and lo, again they rush, and far around their struck backs resound; new force again, new bodies rise. This man shame, that man hope now bolder against a known foe spurs on. Their hearts smoke with the frequent blows; the pathless ridges answer with groaning: as when, ever wakeful, Aetna marks the craftsmen's hands and the Cyclops forges the thunderbolts, and the cities clamour with the beaten anvils. Here the son of Tyndareus flashes out and readies his right hand and threatens with his right; Bebryx turns here with his eyes and his weight, thinking it so, but the other snatches at his face with a swift left. The comrades cry out and the joy gives sudden shouts. Confounded by the unhoped-for stroke and raging, the son of Oebalus shrinks back from him while his first wrath thunders out, himself also frightened and conscious of his great daring. Helpless, Amycus rages, hurling himself with no measure and greedy for the man (for he looks back at the Minyae exulting far off); then, raised on both his gauntlets, he rushes in. Pollux comes in between these and of his own accord flies at the grim man's face: yet neither hope was fulfilled, but both his hands fell upon the breast. The fiercer for this, lo, again the other drives his arms thoughtlessly through the empty air. For Pollux feels him bereft of reason . . . he gives his side, with knees joined, and following the spent thrust he does not let him recall his step, but confounds and presses the wavering man, and freely heaps frequent blows from above on him as he turns away; the head sounds at every wound, bowed down, and yields to the strokes. Now the temples drip and the ears are hidden with blood, until at last the heavy right hand loosens the vital bonds where the neck first joins the limb. The hero drove the falling man forward, and standing over him, 'I am Pollux, sent from Amyclae and born of Jove,' he says; 'this name you shall carry to the wondering shades: so too you shall be known by a remembering tomb.'

At once flight scatters the Bebryces; there is no love for the king they have lost; swiftly they make for mountain and wood. This lot, this hand, at last held back Amycus from his savage daring, who guarded the places of the Pontus and the relentless force of his youth, and hoped for the years of his great father. He lies, that huge terror of men, and covers far and wide the fields, as if a part of the aged Eryx, or all Athos, should fall someday; at the mass of him lying there even the victor himself cannot be satisfied, and holds his face in long wonder, gazing close. But all the band of heroes press eagerly with thronging embraces, and gladly bear his arms and lift his weary hands. 'Hail, true offspring of Jove, true offspring of Jove,' they cry on every side, 'O Taygetus, to be remembered in the great wrestling-grounds, and that happy labour of his first master.' And while they speak these words, they see thin blood flowing from his starlike brow; nor, frightened by the blood, did Pollux dry his wounds with the gauntlet turned aside. Castor wreathes his lofty head with branches and his arms, and binds his temples with green laurel, and looking back at the ship, 'To my native shores, I pray, goddess, bear these leaves, and run the straits with this crown.' He had spoken. Then they cut the herds with the strong axe, and, drenched, are laid upon the grassy ground, appeased by the sacred stream of the placated flood; then with cakes and feasts they heap the leaves; the choicest backs of the cattle they set apart for the Laconian. Then through all the time of the feast he rejoices and exults, now in praise of the man, now in the honouring song of the bard, doubling the bowl to his victorious father.

And now day and the breezes call, and again they make for the waters where the Bosporus belches out its rigid streams. These waves, O Nile, the goddess had not yet crossed for your peoples, whence these names were given to the sea. Then the holy bard of Oeagrus' bright blood, reminded by his mother, tells the chances of the place, and the wanderings of the daughter of Inachus, and sings to the attentive of the sea and the exiles measured by the heifer: 'Often the men of old saw Jove descend to earth and the Argive realms of the Pelasgians, to the alluring fires of the Iasian maiden. Juno feels his guile, and kindled with care for the marriage-bed, leaped down from the air; the Lyrcean land and the caves, conscious of the guilt discovered, trembled at their mistress. Then in fear the rival took on the face of the Inachian heifer by the god's own will; Juno fondles her with stroking and soothes her breast, holding back her sighs with a beaming face. Soon she addressed Jove thus: "Give me her whom now the field of rich Argos feeds, bearing the horns of the early moon, the untamed cow; give your dear wife this gift. I myself will choose worthy pastures for the beloved beast and the choicest springs." With what guile could Jupiter refuse, or what wiles could he invent? Mistress of her gift, she straightway joins Argus as guardian; Argus the guardian pleases her, his eyes that know no sleep over all his head, no otherwise than if a Lydian girl had stained the webs with sprinkled purple. Argus bids her go by unknown ways into the crags and the wilds bristling with monsters, alas, much delaying and trying prayers and words shut up in her breast. Then yielding, at last she gave her last kisses to her native bank; Amymone wept, the Messeid waters wept, and Hyperia wept, calling her back with outstretched arms. She, whenever her limbs trembled, weary with wanderings, or when chill evening now rushed down from the highest heaven, alas, how often she laid her side on a stone, or where, long sick with thirst, what pools, what fodder she cropped with her mouth, how often she shuddered at her white shoulders under the lash. Nay, even as she meditated leaps from a high peak and dared to die, swift Argus drove her down into the lowest valleys and harshly kept her at his master's will, when suddenly the hollow pipe sounded in the Arcadian manner, and, hastening his father's command, the Cyllenian winged one came and played a tune on the gentle reed, and "Where," he says, "do you go off thus apart? Hark, heed the songs." Not far off, pursuing Argus, his languid . . . he marks all the eyes following the sweet drowse, and in the midst of the songs drives home the swift sickle. And now, restored to Jove little by little in her ancient form, Io went through the fields, victress over Juno; and lo, with torches and coils and a Tartarean howl she sees Tisiphone: and at the first sight she fixes her steps, and runs back again into the face of the wretched cow, remembering by no valley, nor where she may stand upon what peak. By her wandering she is borne even to the Inachian waters, how changed, and how much, from the first heifer: neither father nor the trembling nymphs try to approach. So again the woods, again she seeks the pathless ways behind her, as if fleeing the Styx, her beloved self; thence through the cities of Greece she is dragged, and the rivers steep with their banks, until, hesitating a little before the deep set before her, she fell upon it: the waves part, and knowing the future the deeps in fear give her way; she herself shines far off with her lofty horns, and holds up her dewlaps above the highest wave. But the maiden of Erebus flies through the air to rich Memphis, to forestall her and drive her back as she comes from the Pharian land. Against her the Nile is at hand, and torrential with all his flood drives Tisiphone and dashes her on the lowest sands as she cries on the help of Dis and the powers of the cruel realm. The scattered torches appear, and the whips flung far, and the snakes shaken from her broken hair. Nor meanwhile does the hand of Jove rest. The father thunders, rising in the high heaven, and confesses his care, and Juno herself dreads his command. She from afar watches from the citadel of Pharos, now added to the gods, and now her hair girded with the asp and made a person with the exulting sistrum. Hence the men of old spread the Bosporus abroad with the name of the wandering goddess. May she now favour our labours, and with sent-down east winds carry our ship through her own straits.'

He had spoken, and the gentle winds stretched the sails. The next Dawn unwove for the Minyae a night's journey not in vain; they see all things new, and near at hand the Thynean shores, bristling with the punishments of prophetic Phineus, whom the god's harsh lot pressed in his utmost age. For not only an exile and lacking the light, but on top of this the Harpies, daughters of Typhoeus, the Thunderer's wrath, ravage him, and plunder the feast from his very mouth. Such portents and such penalties for his crime he endures. One hope is left to the old man, that the fates had once granted the sons of Aquilo to drive off the savage plague. So when Phineus now feels the Minyae and the sure help approaching, he is brought by his staff to the first waves, and tracks the ship, and lifts up his empty eyes. Then, breathing a thin breath, 'Hail, O hand long awaited by me, and known to my prayers,' he says. 'I know both for what gods you are born, and what way bears you on your bidden course, and so I reckoned the hours of your passage, gathering each nearest thing — how much Vulcanian Lemnos detained you, what arms unhappy Cyzicus bore. I felt also the last fight on the Bebrycian shore, now nearer, and now soothing my soul with this comfort. Not now that Phineus is sprung from great Agenor, nor would I record that Apollo my master has settled in my breast as prophet; pity rather my present fate. Nor is it time for me to weep the world wandered through in diverse chances, the homes lost, or the sweet light; it is too late, by the wonted fates in their order, to groan. The Harpies always watch my food, nowhere is there a place to cheat them, wretched as I am: at once they all come down like a black cloud in a twisted whirlwind, and now Celaeno is known to me far off by her wings and her sound; they tear and sweep away the feast and foul and overturn the cups, the stench rages, and a most wretched fight arises, and equal is the hunger between me and the monsters. What all have spurned and polluted with their hand, and what has slipped from their black claws, this brings me these delays in the light. Nor is it allowed to break the fates by death; in cruel want my life is dragged out. But you, O save me, I pray, if the foretellings of the gods are not false to me, you set an end to my punishments. Surely they are here who shall put the monsters to flight, the offspring of Aquilo, not strangers to me; for I was king of rich Hebrus, and Cleopatra was once joined to your couch as one with me.'

At the name of the Actaean sister, Calais and Zetes leap forth, and Zetes first, 'Whom do we behold?' he says. 'Are you that Phineus, famed king of the Odrysian shore? You, companion of Phoebus, and dear to our parent? O where now is the glory of your kingdom and your race? How toil has eaten you away, and old age swift to come with woes. But come, send up prayers; for our will is yours, if the gods' wrath does not press you, or if it can be appeased.' Here Phineus lifted his two palms to the stars, 'And you,' he says, 'wrath of the Thunderer, who now press me hated, I pray, spare at last my old age; let there be a measure, and I believe indeed there shall be; for your will, what is it, young men, without the peace of the gods? Nor believe that any guilt of savagery, or charges of crimes, are now paid by me: talkative, I had betrayed the fates, and the mind of Jove, and what hidden counsels he alone, and what suddenly to come upon the earth, he was preparing, pitying the race of men; hence this great plague upon me, and the darkness poured over me in the midst of my words. Now at last the wrath has yielded, nor by chance from on high, but the god himself, willing, has brought you to our shores.' So he speaks, and, the fates now yielding thus, he urged them all and stirred them with the image of his harsh punishment. They set up couches and receive him in the midst of the spread tapestries, and lie about him; at once they watch the seas, at once the stars, and bid him eat and cast off his cares: when a sudden trembling seized the wretched one, and the first morsels fled the old man's pale lips and his hands. Nor was the plague betrayed before, but in the midst of the feast they saw the birds. A bitter stench breathes out, and the breath of his ancestral Avernus exhales; all assail one, they harass one with their hands; the Cocytian cloud gapes, running riot and bringing loathing by its very look. Then they wet the straw foully with filth alone and the upturned tables; the wings shriek, and with the prey held back hunger rages on both sides; nor does dread Celaeno keep off Phineus only, but the wretched sisters too. Here suddenly the offspring of Aquilo raise themselves with a shout; the father at the same time drove on their wings. The plague, troubled by the new foe, the rapine slips from their jaws, and at first, frightened, they flit about the house of Phineus, then seek the heights; fixed on the shore stand the Haemonidae and follow the wandering monsters with their eyes. So when the deadly peak of bursting Vesuvius in Hesperia has thundered by chance — scarcely had the fiery storm turned the mountain, and now ash clothes the eastern cities: so with rapid whirlwind they pass far over peoples and seas, and no land is given them to settle on. And now they make for the limits of the Ionian and the inmost rocks; the dweller of the great sea now calls them the Strophades. Here, weary and panting with the fear of death drawn nearer, while they tremble and, heavy with low and timid flight, they implore with their cry their father Typhon with unspeakable voice, the father, rising, brought up night and mingled the lowest with the highest, and a voice was heard amid the darkness: 'Enough now to have driven the goddesses hither. Why do you strive further to rage upon the handmaids of Jove, whom — though he bears thunderbolts and the aegis — he chose for himself in his great wraths? Now too he commands them to depart from the Agenorean roofs; they recognize the warning, and, bidden, withdraw. Yet soon for you too a like flight, when the deadly bow shall press you. The Harpies will never seek new fodder, so long as the deserved wraths of the gods last for mortals.' Each stuck fast in the sky, and languished on doubtful wings; soon he departs, and victorious seeks the bands of his allied youth.

Meanwhile the Minyae, the first plague driven off, renew the rites to the Thunderer; then they set out wine and feasts on the couches. He himself, among them, as in the image of a sweet dream, gladly sighs for the honours of forgotten Ceres; he recognizes the liquids of Bacchus, recognizes the water, and marvels at the new joys of an unfeared table. When he sees him reclining on the spread couches and enjoying peace, and drawing forgetfulness of his long punishment, Jason addresses him with such words and speaks thus as suppliant: 'Your vows, old man, are fulfilled for you; now snatch me too from my cares, and turn your mind to our labours. Until now all our lot is glad, nor by an empty divine will (if there is any trust in the gods' care) do we, having dared so great a sea, hold our course: Jove's best offspring herself built me the ship, and Saturnia gave me kingly comrades. But our mind cannot trust, and the more the Phasis draws near, and that highest labour of our tasks, the more the nearest things press hard, nor are Mopsus and Idmon prophets enough for me now.' He, suffering the captain neither to bear prayers nor to speak further, here at last takes up the fillets and the laurel, calling on the known powers. The famed offspring of Aeson is amazed at Phineus, as if never weighed down by the punishments and the plague of Jove: so lavish the honour, so wondrous the majesty poured into his old age; a new vigour had increased his limbs. Then he sings: 'O you who shall come through all lands by fame, whom Pelias himself, with comrades and gods as leaders, and by the kindly art of Pallas, of his own accord raises to the stars, madman, while he hopes not for the fleece of fugitive Phrixus, the fates and the places I will set forth for you — what thanks can I render? — and I will teach the ways of things and their end. He himself too, who forbids me to lay open his ages to the earth, Jupiter, is for your sake the author of my speaking. Hence the way is to the head of the Pontus and the Cyaneae wandering through the deep. Their fury is to clash in mid-sea, and they have not yet seen any ships: driven close together, they press their own rocks and their own crags. As if the lowest chains of the world should slip, behold, the ground trembles, the very roofs you see tremble suddenly: they return, they contend upon the sea. The gods, the gods perhaps, as you go on closer, will give you help and a mind. But how can I help you, by what warnings, who dare? For through the deep you stretch your course, whence the winds are far, far whence the birds, and the father of the sea himself turns aside the trembling reins. If any brief delay should occur at the rocks, if once any rest should come to their beginning, then flight may be hoped in the mid-return: scarcely do the swift rocks regain the borders of the first land, and now with another roar they rush together, and all the sea is held, and wanders doubtful with the hostile mountains. But that lot, known to me, of the gods returns to my mind (for I will speak, nor comfort the doubtful with vain hope): when the wrath of Jove brought forth the Tartarean birds for me with savage clangour, this voice at the same time fell upon my ears: "Spend no vain prayers, and seek the end of your woes, son of Agenor; when any ship has penetrated the Pontus, and the raging mountains have stood still in the flood, then you shall be allowed to hope for a measure to your punishment and for pardon." So said the god. Therefore either the wild rocks open for you, or my food now returns to the savage Dirae. But if it shall be granted to run between the rocks (surely a worthy band) and you go out into the empty sea, the nearest realm is Lycus', who returns a victor from the Bebrycian shores. On all the shore of the Pontus there is none gentler. Here if the neighbouring plague should strike any one of the chosen strength of your comrades, do not fail, mindful of the foretold chances, and gird your spirit for what is to come. There, beneath the hollow ridges, the other Acheron whirls its pestilent waters and floods over with vast gaping, smoky, and pursues the fields with savage gloom. Leave the heavy river and the colonists to their own fates: even so it will be given to cross over with no single grief. Why should I tell you of Carambis, rising on its cloud-bearing crag, why what waters Iris or Ancon hurls? Next the Thermodon now cuts these fields; remember: there is the famed race of the Amazons, sprung from great Gradivus; nor now believe them womanish throngs, but such, and so great, as Enyo who tramples on men, and the unwed goddess, bearer of the Gorgon monster. Lest then a snatching wind drive your ship to the dread shores, when the squadron, flying in proud sport, exults on its dusty horses, and the earth, howled over, trembles, and the father, moved, urges on the fights with his spear. Not so much to be feared by you, savage though it is, is the race of the Chalybes, who endure their hard tilling in barren fields, and their fiery house thunders ever, struck by the mass. Thence the kings beyond number along all the edge of the shore, whose hospitality has no faith; but on a straight line let your ship and your sail run past with an even breeze. So at last you shall come to the river of swift Phasis. There already the camp of Scythia and the brotherly Erinys rises. You yourself there shall aid the fierce Colchians and the foe with your help. Nor do I see more dangers, for my part. By chance it will even be given to gain the longed-for fleece. But it is not right to trust to your spirit nor to strength alone; often prudence is mightier than a fierce right hand. What help the god offers, snatch it. And now to utter the last fates to us is forbidden; let me be silent, I pray.' And so, making an end, he gave again responses to the silent darkness.

Then Jason, with sudden fear, hurries on his lingering comrades and breaks off delay and the time for fearing. He himself, walking to the wave of the first shore, Phineus accompanies the men. 'What rewards,' he said, 'what thanks could I, O glory of Boreas, pay you? That I again stand above the Pangaean ridges and in my father's Tyre, and that the sweet suns rise again for me, now I think. Are the birds gone (is it true?) and driven off, nor shall I fear, and are the feasts safe? Let me touch your faces, let me give embraces, and come nearer to my right hand.' He had spoken. They depart from the land and hide the shores from view.

To all at once, beneath a savage image, the Cyanean rocks and the nearer labour. When will they be there, and from what part, do they think? Their faces stand in fear, nor do their weary eyes retreat as they watch the waters parting on every side, when from afar are heard sounds and the maddened rocks, rocks, and those not for men, but, hurled headlong into the deep, a part of the starry sky seemed to fall. And while they press on more swiftly, the seas seemed to flee before the ship, the seas themselves suddenly to fail, and they see the opposing mountains draw apart, and from all the oars are snatched by chilling fear. He himself, flying over the arms and over the highest ridges of the keel, encourages them, and Jason stretches out his suppliant hands, pressing each by name. 'Where now are the proud promises and the great threats, with which you followed these things with me? Surely the same fear of Amycus came upon all at the sight of his cave, . . . it had struck us; yet we stood firm, and the god aided our daring. Nay, the same god, I believe, will be at hand again.' When he had said this, he seizes the oar and the place of cowering Phalerus and drags it on; the youth, inflamed with shame, follow. The headlong wave whirls them as they labour, and the sea's flight meets them; the rocks mingle, and now over all the sea the Cyaneae, dashed together headlong, send back their ridges. Twice the crash gave hostile crags and rocks against rocks, twice the flame flashed in the squeezed-out shower. So when the many-forked horror has escaped from the burst clouds and the fire flickers through the darkness and the storm-clouds, and the terrifying thunders rush, and the light, struck out, cleaves the night, dread seizes the men's faces, dread their ears: not otherwise did the crash fill the Pontus; the foaming shower streams down, and clothes the ship far off on the great sea.

The gods turned their gaze and their fixed powers upon the sea, to see what the ship, shut in by the rocks, what the hard youth might accomplish; their risen favour hangs upon the great daring. First the maiden, with flashing aegis, gave the signal, hurling a lightning torch. Scarcely had the steep crag yielded, when it, flying through the driven rocks, fled with a thin light; spirit and hands returned to the men when they saw the way: 'I follow, O whoever of the gods,' the son of Aeson says, 'even if you deceive,' and headlong through the midst of the crashes he rushes, and hid himself in the black smoke. Hence, as the mountains drew back, the yielding wave began to bear the ship, and the day to meet the open sea. But neither could the helmsman now spread the sails with the reins let loose, nor could they strive with the oars, when from above the Cyaneae are upon them. The shadow presses the ship, and the crags are borne close. Here Juno and Pallas, headlong from the sky, leap together upon the rocks: this one the daughter holds back, this one the wife of Jove; as one who with strong oak forces bulls beneath the yoke and twists them by the horn into their flanks against their will. Then, as when the Vulcanian fire, mingled with sands, churns the waters, so the depths roar, and with the wave forced together the sea is straitened and, shut in, flows out over the rocks. Against all this, with strong oars and a narrow margin, they hold their course and bear the ship through the midst of the strokes; yet the rocks struck against the topmost garlands of the stern, and a part (oh horror) was caught by the ridges; for the rest was owed to heaven. The Minyae cry out, for they think indeed both sides have burst apart. Tiphys himself escapes the very last stroke and follows the waters snatched from the midst of the ruins; nor did he look back upon the sea besieged by the rocks before, nor was rest tried by the comrades, until now the black shores and the streams of distant Rhebas should pass from view. Then they laid down their weary hands, then their dry and panting breasts, just as, with the dread of Avernus shaken off, Alcides and Theseus his companion join their pale kisses, scarcely yet embraced in the first edges of the light.

Nor indeed did the captain himself loose his fear and cares, but looking on the seas, 'Alas, what a labour of the gods is this, given to us by lot. Granted that we come late to the river of Phasis, and the Colchians, gentle, give the fleece,' he says, 'whence is flight again through these mountains?' Such things he pours out, not knowing that they were fixed by Jove's command and bound fast for ever. For by a sure law of fate it remained, if ever any ship should have passed through these by the open waves.

Then the straits, which had been impassable for long ages, were amazed at the sudden ship, and the omen alone of the lying Pontus, and its kings and far-set peoples are laid open. Nowhere else did the shores yield farther with their poured-out waves, nor does the Tyrrhenian or the Aegean roll such waters anywhere, and the waves are wanting to the twin Syrtes. For besides, the land too heaps vast rivers hither. Not to record what waters the outflow of the seven-fold Hister, what the Tanais and yellow Tyres and the Hypanis and the Novae add as wealth, and how great gulfs the Maeotian seas open out. So with its river-stream the Pontus broke the force of bitter salt, here yielding to Boreas and the freezing breezes, and easy to congeal at the rising of winter. And as the rigour of the Bear finds the rivers unmoved, or the straits turned to shallows, so the wave through all the winter either lies on a plain or stands stiff and steep in a swollen flood, and on this side presses Europe with curving windings, on this side Asia, bent in the form of a Scythian bow. There shadowy clouds always stand over the sea, and the day is not sure, nor is the deep loosened at the first sun, nor when the light is made equal with the vernal darkness, but it returns at last to its own shores in the latest sign of the Bull.

Now the ship turns to the Mariandynian sands, and swift Echion seeks out the lands and the king, bearing word that chosen men of Haemonia (if ever the fame of their name) have come, that he give shores to the weary. Lycus hastens, gladdened to hear of the Achaeans, and at once draws the son of Aeson and all the throng into his royal halls, lately decked with Bebrycian trophies, and gentle, he speaks such words in the midst of the Greeks: 'It is not by chance: by the fate of the gods, I think, you have sailed to my shores, you who have the same hatred and the same wrath at the raging Bebrycia, and equal triumphs over the savage race. Sure is the faith of minds on whom the same foe has fallen. We too, we felt Amycus, far removed on so great a world, and my brother was laid low on the cruel sands. I am the avenger, and there, kindled in all my arms, I was present then, when the sails, full, bore you through the midst of the straits. Him, in gore and fresh decay, we saw along the shores, like a sea-monster. Nor indeed do I complain that the last fates of the tyrant were foretold to me, nor would I rejoice more in war and arms that he fell by mine, than that he died avenged by his own law, and that the gauntlets are wet with deserved blood.' The son of Aeson takes up: 'Yours, then, in the mountains, was that fire? Your battle-lines I saw from the midst of the flood?' He speaks, and showing the offspring of Jove, 'Here is Pollux for you,' he says, 'to whom he paid the penalty out of his hated breast.' He rolls his wondering eyes about the man. Then in the midst of the halls they begin the festal banquets and call upon the common gods, by whose nod Bebrycia was overthrown, and they enjoy alike the prayers and the spoil.