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(From Pythian IV)
Translated by H. F. Cary
BY Juno, kindled in the heroes’ breast, | |
| For the ship Argo, a sweet longing rose; | |
| That with his mother none at home would rest, | |
| Ripening unperilled days, but rather chose, | |
| E’en unto death, amid his peers, to find | 5 |
| The cure most beautiful for noble mind. | |
| But when the flower of mariners | |
| To Iolchos was gone down, | |
| Jason, with praises on them all, | |
| There numbered every one. | 10 |
| Next did the soothsayer for him, | |
| Mopsus, his aid afford, | |
| With holy lots and auguries, | |
| To put the band aboard. | |
| And soon as by the vessel’s bow, | 15 |
| The anchor was hung up; | |
| Then took the leader on the prow, | |
| In hands, a golden cup; | |
| And on great Father Jove did call; | |
| And on the winds, and waters all, | 20 |
| Swept by the hurrying blast; | |
| And on the nights, and ocean ways; | |
| And on the fair auspicious days, | |
| And loved return at last. | |
| From out the clouds, in answer kind, | 25 |
| A voice of thunder came; | |
| And shook in glistening beams around | |
| Burst out the lightning-flame. | |
| The chiefs breathed free; and at the sign, | |
| Trusted in the power divine. | 30 |
| Hinting sweet hopes, the seer cried, | |
| Forthwith their oars to ply; | |
| And swift went backward from rough hands, | |
| The rowing ceaselessly. | |
| Conducted by the breezy south, | 35 |
| They reached the stormy Axine’s mouth; | |
| There a shrine for Neptune reared; | |
| Of Thracian bulls, a crimson herd | |
| Was ready; and heaven-founded stone, | |
| Wide-spread, to lay the altar on. | 40 |
| Peril deep before them lay; | |
| And to the Lord of ships they pray, | |
| Amidst their ever-raging shocks, | |
| To ’scape the justle of fierce rocks. | |
| For twain there were, alive, that whirled | 45 |
| Swifter than bellowing winds are hurled. | |
| But now to them, that voyage blest | |
| Brought their final day of rest. | |
| After the band of heroes bright | |
| Had glided into Phasis’ flood; | 50 |
| With dusk-faced Colchians, mingling might, | |
| Before Æetes’ self they stood. | |
| The first the Cyprian Queen, | |
| Mistress of weapons keen, | |
| Her maddening bird from earth to mortals bore; | 55 |
| To the four-spoked round, | |
| Indissolubly bound, | |
| Iynx, with motley plumage speckled o’er: | |
| And whispered into Jason’s ear | |
| Soft prayers and fond enchantments dear, | 60 |
| Of power Medea to disarm | |
| Of daughter’s shame; and work a charm | |
| That should for Greece her bosom fire, | |
| Dizzied with scourge of strange desire. | |
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