Of Pallas, and th' heroic chiefs themselves
Firm brandishing their oars with grasping hands. Chiron himself from the high mountain's head Came down beside the sea, and dipp'd his feet In the shore's billowy foam: with many a sign Waving his ponderous hand, and bidding them, With acclamation, happily return.
His spouse beside him stood; and in her arms Dandled the babe of Peleus: showing him To his dear father. They, now, left behind The shore-encircled bay, by Tiphys' skill And prudence; who with art still held his hand. On the smooth rudder, guiding it secure. Then in the socket the rear'd mast they fix'd; And stretch'd the cordage, bound from side to side. Then spread the sails, and to the top-mast strain'd: The wind fell whistling in their folds. Then fast Upon the decks they braced the tighten'd ropes To cramps of wood; and, calmly gliding, pass'd Beyond Tisæum's promontory crag, Long stretching into ocean. Then with voice And harp Eager's son tuned smooth the lay To high-born Dian, guardian of the ship,
Who rules the mountain beacons of the sea, Protector of Iolchos. From the deep
The fishes upward sprang; the small and vast Of all the scaly tribe leap'd from beneath
In bounds, and follow'd through the liquid track. As when th' innumerable sheep, now full
Of pasture, follow on their leader's steps Back to the sheep-fold: he before them walks, Tuning on shrilling pipe a rustic lay;
So follow'd they, while fresher blew the gale.
AMIDST them all, the son of Eson, chief, Shone forth divinely in his comeliness, And graces of his form. On him the maid Held still her eyes askance, and gazed him o'er Through her transparent-glistening veil; while
Consum'd her heart. Her mind, as in a dream,
Slid stealthily away, and hovering hung
On his departing footsteps. Sorrowing they Went from the palace forth. Chalciope, Dreading Æetes' anger, hastening pass'd Within her secret chamber, with her sons: And thus Medea went, her soul absorb'd In many musings, such as love incites,
Thoughts of deep care. Now all remember'd
In apparition rose before her eyes:
What was his aspect; what the robe he wore;
What words he utter'd; in what posture placed
He on the couch reclined; and with what air
He from the porch pass'd forth. Then red the blush
Burn'd on her cheek; while in her soul she
No other man existed like to him:
His voice was murmuring in her ears, and all The charming words he utter'd. Now, disturb'd, She trembled for his life; lest the fierce bulls, Or lest Æetes should, himself, destroy
The man she loved: and she bewailed him now As if already dead; and down her cheek,
In deep commiseration, the soft tear
Flow'd anxiously. With piercing tone of grief Her voice found utterance:
Am I thus wretched? what concerns it me,
Whether this paragon of heroes die
The death, or flee discomfited? And yet He should unharm'd depart. Dread Hecate! Be it thy pleasure! let him homeward pass, And scape his threaten'd fate: or, if his fate
Beneath the bulls have destined him to fall,
First let him know, that in his wretched end Medea does not glory." So disturb'd
Mused the sad virgin in her anguish'd thoughts.
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