The Collected Works of William Morris :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now from the port passed Argo, and the wind
Being fair for sailing, quickly left behind
Fair Salmydessa, the kind gainful place;
And so, with sail and oar, in no long space
They reached the narrow ending of the sea,
Where the wind shifted, blowing gustily
From side to side, so that their flapping sail
But little in the turmoil could avail;
And now at last did they begin to hear
The pounding of the rocks; but nothing clear
They saw them; for the steaming clouds of spray,
Cast by the meeting hammers every way,
Quite hid the polished bases from their sight;
Unless perchance the eyes of Lynceus might
Just now and then behold the deep blue shine
Betwixt the scattering of the silver brine;
But sometimes 'twixt the clouds the sun would pass
And show the high rocks glittering like to glass,
Quivering, as far beneath the churned-up waves
Were ground together the hard great-arched caves,
Wherein none dwelt, no not the giant's brood,
Who fed the green sea with his lustful blood;
Nor were sea-devils even nurtured there;
Nor dared the sea-worm use them for its lair.

And now the Minyæ, dazed with fear and doubt,
Had been at point to turn their keel about,
As each man looked on his pale fellow's face,
Whose speech was silenced in that dreadful place
By the increasing clamour of the sea
And adamantine rocks; then verily
Was Juno good at need, who set strange fire
In Jason's heart, and measureless desire
To be the first of men, and made his voice
Clear as that herald's, whose sweet words rejoice
The Gods within the flowery fields of Heaven,
And gave his well-knit arm the strength of seven.

So then, above the crash and thundering,
The Minyæ heard his shrill calm voice, crying:
“Shall this be then an ending to our quest?
And shall we find the worst, who sought the best?
Far better had ye sat beside your wives,
And 'mid the wine-cups lingered out your lives,
Dreaming of noble deeds, though trying none,
Than as vain boasters with your deed undone,
Come back to Greece, that men may sing of you.
Are ye all shameless? are there not a few
Who have slain fear, knowing the unmoved Fates
Have meted out already what awaits
The coward and the brave? Ho! Lynceus! stand
Upon the prow, and let slip from your hand
The wise king's bird; and all ye note, the wind
Is steady now, and blowing from behind,
Drives us on toward the Clashers, and I hold
The helm myself; therefore, lest we be rolled
Broadside against these horrors, take the oar,
And hang here, half a furlong from the shore,
Nor die of fear, until at least we know
If through these gates the Gods will let us go:
And if so be they will not, yet will we
Not empty-handed come to Thessaly,
But strike for Æa through this unknown land,
Whose arms reach out to us on either hand.”