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

Most pitiless and stark the winter grew
Meanwhile beneath a sky of cloudless blue,
And sun that warmed not, till they nigh forgot
The green lush spring, the summer rich and hot,
The autumn fragrant with slow-ripening fruit;
Till each grew listless, dull to the heart's root;
For day passed day, and yet no change they saw
In the white sparkling plain without a flaw,
No cloud, no change within the sunny sky,
Or in the wind, that rose at noon, to die
Before the sunset, and no change at all
In the drear silence of the dead nightfall.

Ten weeks they bode there, longing for the spring,
And to the hearts of some the thought would cling
That thus they should be till their lives were past,
And into hopeless bonds that land was cast;
But on a day the wind, that rose at noon,
Died not at night, and the white sharp-edged moon,
Just as the west had given it unto sight,
Was hidden from the watchers of the night
By fleecy clouds, and the next dawn of day
Broke o'er the Minyæ colourless and grey,
With gusts of fitful wind 'twixt south and east,
That with the day grew steadier and increased,
Until a south-west gale blew o'er the snow,
And northward drove the steel-blue clouds and low.
And on that night the pattering of the rain
Roused them from sleep, and next they saw the plain
Made grey and ugly with quick-coming thaw,
And all the sky beset with fowl they saw,
Who sniffed the wind and hastened from the sea

168

Unto the floods now coming certainly.

For from their camp the Minyæ beheld
How the swift river from the high ground swelled,
And still tormented by the wind and rain,
Burst from the ice and covered all the plain
With breadth of turbid waters, while around
Their high-raised camp again they saw the ground
Freed from the swathing snow; nor was it long
Ere in the woods the birds began their song,
For March was come and life to everything,
Nor did the buds fear much the doubtful spring.

Now in few days the sun shone out again,
The waters drew from off the flooded plain,
And all was bright and soft as it might be,
Though bank-high rolled the river to the sea,
Made perilous with trees and heavy drift;
Natheless on rollers Argo did they lift,
And drew her toward the stream in spite of all
The ills they saw, and chances that might fall;
And there they launched her, being now most fain
Once more to try the green and shifting plain,
And for the praise of other men they yearned,
And all the goods of life so dearly earned,
Nor failed desire and longing love to come
That spring-tide to those rovers far from home.

Therefore with joy they shouted, when once more
They felt great Argo move, and saw the shore
Keep changing as they swept on toward the sea,
With cheerful hearts still rowing steadily;
For now the ashen oars could they thrust forth
Into the widened stream, that toward the north
Ran swiftly, and thenceforward day by day
Toiling, they made full many a league of way.
Nor did they see great hills on either hand,
When they had fairly passed the woody land
Where they abode the winter; neither heard
The sound of falls to make their hearts afeard,

169

But through great woods the gentle river ran,
And plains where fed the herds unowned of man;
Though sometimes in the night-time did they hear
Men's voices calling out, far off and near,
But in some tongue not one among them knew,
No, not the Queen: but Lynceus, passing through
The woods with Idas, following up a bear,
A sudden clamour of men's tongues did hear,
And in a cleared space came upon a throng
Of naked men and women, fair and strong,
About a fire, and just at point to eat,
But at the flash of arms they to their feet
Rose suddenly, and through the thicket fled,
Nor durst the twain to follow where they led,
But coming to that fire, they laid their hands
On a brass cauldron, and three woollen bands,
That seemed like belts or fillets for their heads,
Set thick with silver knobs and amber beads.
Now round the brazen cauldron, graven well,
Were uncouth letters, that some tale might tell,
If any them could read; so when the Fleece
Was offered up unto the Gods of Greece,
This thing in fair Messene Idas hung
In the white fane where deeds of war are sung.

But through all this the wearied Minyæ
Were drawing nigh unto the northern sea,
And marshier grew the plain as on they went,
And eastward the still-widening river bent,
Until one day at eve, with chilling rain,
The north wind blew across the marshy plain
Most cold and bitter, but to them as sweet
As the rose-scented zephyr those do meet
Who near the happy islands of the blest;
For as upon their eager brows it pressed,
They sniffed withal the odour of the sea,
And going on a mile, they seemed to be
Within some eddy rippling languidly,

170

And when the stream they tasted that went by
Their shielded bulwark, better was the draught
Than any wine o'er which a king has laughed,
For still it savoured of the bitter sea.

So fell the night, and next day joyously
They met the full flood, whose first toppling wave
Against the sturdy prow of Argo drave,
And with good heart, as 'midst the sweeping oars
It tossed and foamed and swept the muddy shores,
They toiled, and felt no weariness that day.
But though right well they gat them on their way,
They failed ere dark the open sea to reach;
But in the night the murmur of the beach,
Tormented by the changeful dashing seas,
Came to their ears upon the fitful breeze.
Then sore they longed for dawn, and when it broke
Again the waters foamed beneath their stroke,
Till they had gained that river's utmost reach,
Which from the sea by a low sandy beach
Was guarded well, all but a little space,
Through which now rushed, in headlong, foaming race,
The huddled waters of the flowing tide.
So there the Minyæ thought it good to bide
And wait the ebb, dreading some hidden bank;
And while they waited to Good-hap they drank,
And poured out wine unto the Deity
Who dwelt between the river and the sea,
Forgetting not the great Earth-shaking One,
Nor Her by whose help thus far they had run
Their happy course unto that river's mouth.
And now the wind had changed, and from the south
Blew softly, and the hot sun shining forth,
Made lovely land of that once bitter north,
And filled their hearts with longing thoughts of love,
And worship of the sea-born seed of Jove.

But as they waited thus, with hearts that burned
To try the sea, the tide grew high and turned,

171

And seaward through the deepened channel ran
In gentle ripple 'gainst the breakers wan.
Then thither gat the joyous Minyæ,
And shouting, drave out Argo to the sea.