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

Now rose a south-east gale, and Argo lost
All sight of land, and the vexed Minyæ, tost
From sea to sea, began to feel a fear
They yet might pass into some ocean drear,
Beyond the circling sea that rings the world,
And down a bottomless abyss be hurled,
To fall for ever: then the bright-winged twain,
That erst had been the loathly harpies' bane,
Came forth, and on the prow with wings spread wide,
Half stood, half floated, while aloft they cried:

“What dost thou, Father? art thou sleeping then,
And does it not suffice that trading men
Float up and down, dead corpses on the sea,
While all their wealth is lying wretchedly
On Nereus' pavement; but must we too drive
Before this south wind, hopeless though alive,
Until the furthest gulfs shall suck us down,
And land our battered keel at Pluto's town?”

So spake they; but still blew the south the same
Until the starless night upon them came,
But then a little did its fury lull,
And when the rain-beat night was at its full,
Fell to a light breeze, though still many a sea
Swept Argo's deck, and still the Minyæ
Had dread of some returning hideous blast.
But when the doubtful night from them had past,
Barefoot upon the prow Medea stood,
And burning in a censer hallowed wood,
With muttered words she swung it, nor took heed
Of how the wind was dealing with her weed.

174

Nor with firm-planted feet one whit did reck
Of washing of the brine about the deck,
But swung her censer till a bright red flame
From out the piercings of its cover came;
Then round she turned and said: “O Minyæ,
Fear not to die within the northern sea,
For on my head hither the north wind comes,
And ye some day shall surely see your homes.
But since upon us yet lies heavily
My brother's death, take heed that we must see
My father's godlike sister; no one less
May wash our souls of that blood-guiltiness.

“And now, behold the sun shines through the clouds,
And ye may hear across the well-strained shrouds
The longed-for wind, therefore make no delay,
For time it is that we were on our way,
So let Erginus to the south-west steer.

“But sleep to me of all things now is dear,
For with two mighty ones but for your sake
Have I contended. He who still doth shake
The firm-set earth, and She who draws the sea
This way and that, the while in majesty
She sits, regarding little but her will—
The fear of these my heavy heart doth fill.”

So said she, and with pale and languid face
And half-shut eyes, unto the guarded place,
Where was her golden bed, the maiden came.
And in her dreams at first saw blood and flame
O'er all the world, and nothing green or fair;
Then in a snowy land, with body bare,
Went wandering long, bemocked of uncouth things:
Then stood before the judgment-seat of kings,
Knowing no crime that she was charged withal,
Until at last deep sleep on her did fall
Like death itself, wherein the troublous past
And fearsome future in one tomb are cast.

175

Meanwhile the Minyæ, joyful at her tale,
Ran out the oars and hoisted up the sail,
And toward the south with good hearts 'gan to go,
While still they felt the favouring north wind blow,
And the third day again they saw the land,
That in white cliffs rose up on the right hand;
Coasting whereby, they came into a strait,
Or so they deemed, for as the day grew late,
Beneath a frosty light-blue sky and cold
Another country could they now behold
Dim o'er the glittering sea; but in the night
They by the moon past the high cliff and white
Ceased not to sail, and lost the other shore
When the day broke, nor saw it any more,
As the first land they coasted, that changed oft
From those high cliffs to meadows green and soft,
And then to other cliffs, some red, some grey,
Till all the land at noon of the fourth day
They left astern, sailing where Fate might lead,
Of sun or stars scarce taking any heed:
Such courage in their hearts the White-armed set,
Since, clad in gold, was Pelias living yet.

But to the Gods now did they sacrifice
As seafarers may do, the things of price
Gave to the tumbling billows of the sea,
That for their lives still cried out hungrily;
And though for many days they saw no shore,
Yet fainted not their hearts as heretofore,
For as along the pathless plain they went,
The white-foot messenger the Goddess sent,
Who unseen whispered in the helmsman's ear,
And taught him how the goodly ship to steer;
And on a time it chanced as the day broke,
And to their life the longing Minyæ woke,
Across the risen sun the west wind blew
A thin light rain, which He, just shining through,
Showed to them all the many-coloured sign;

176

Then to the Goddess did they pour out wine,
Right glad at heart; but she the livelong day
By Argo's prow flew o'er the shifting way
Unseen of all, and turned them still to land;
And as they went, the Thracian's cunning hand
Stole o'er the harp-strings till Arion's steeds
Gat them from 'twixt the tangled water-weeds,
And lifted listening heads above the sea,
And sea-birds, pensive with the harmony,
About the mast, above the singer hung,
With quivering wings, as from full heart he sung: