THE ARGONAUTS.

And trod the earth with rapid strides; the hills
And forests quaked beneath the immortal feet
Of Neptune as he walked. Three strides he took,

3

And at the fourth reached Aegæ, where he stopped,
And where his sumptuous palace halls were built,
Deep down in ocean, golden, glittering, proof
Against decay of time. These when he reached,
He yoked his swift and brazen-footed steeds,
With manes of flowing gold, to draw his car,
And put on golden mail and took his scourge
Wrought of fine gold, and climbed the chariot seat
And rode upon the waves. The whales came forth
From their deep haunts, and frolicked round his way.
They knew their king. The waves rejoicing smoothed
A path, and rapidly the coursers flew ;

Nor was the brazen axle wet below,

And thus they brought him to the Grecian fleet.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

VISIT OF THE ARGONAUTS TO THE CAVE

THEN

OF CHIRON.

From Onomacritus.

HEN with a whistling breeze did Juno fill the
sail,

And Argo self-impelled shot swift before the gale.
The kings with nerve and heart the oar unwearied

plied;

Ploughed by the keel, foamed white the immeasurable tide.

But when from Ocean's streams the sacred dawn

appeared,

And morning's pleasant light both gods and mortals cheered;

Then, from the shore, the rocks and windy summits high

Of wood-topt Pelion reared their beacon midst the sky. The helm, with both his hands, the pilot Tiphys held; The vessel cut the wave, with quiet course impelled; Then swift they neared the shore, the wooden ladder cast,

And forth the heroes leaped, relieved from labors past.

SIR C. A. ELTON.

THE SAILING OF THE ARGO.

A

From Pindar.

ND soon as by the vessel's bow
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
Swept by the hurrying blast;
And on the nights and ocean ways;
And on the fair auspicious days,
And sweet return at last.

From out the clouds, in answer kind,
A voice of thunder came;

And shook in glistering beams around,

THE CALM OF EVENING.

Burst out the lightning flame.

The chiefs breathed free, and at the sign

Trusted in the power divine.

Hinting sweet hopes, the seer cried,

Forthwith their oars to ply;

And swift went backward from rough hands
The rowing ceaselessly.

H. F. CARY.

ON THE TOMB OF A SHIPWRECKED

MARINER.

From Posidippus.

H, why, my brother mariner, so near the boister

AH

ous wave

Of ocean have ye hollowed out my solitary grave? 'Twere better much that far from hence a sailor's tomb should be,

For I dread my rude destroyer, I dread the roaring sea. But may the smiles of fortune, may love and peace await

All ye that shed a tear for poor Nicetas' hapless fate!

THE

THE CALM OF EVENING.

From Ennius.

HE heaven's vast world stood silent; Neptune
gave

A hushful pause to ocean's roughening wave;
The sun curbed his swift steeds; the eternal floods
Stood still; and not a breath was on the woods.

WILLIAM PETER.

པས

Y

DANAË.

From Simonides. In the metre of the original.

By the billows and blast driven and tost in the gloom

Of the tempest-night, cowering in terror

Sat she, and clasped to her arms little Perseus,
And wept sore, many a moan uttering,

In anguish of heart: O my darling child,
Misery crushes me; but in soft slumber reposing
Carest thou not, fearest thou nought, innocent one!
Here, in the cold, rayless, desolate gloom,

--

Warm is thy rest, fair is thy couch, royal its hue — beautiful face!

Couldst thou but know what is thy dreadful doom,

Hadst thou an ear ready to listen

To these my words

shall sleep!

Nay, thou shalt sleep, - baby

Fall asleep, thou mighty ocean! sleep, O my misery! In vain they weave their wicked plans, O Father!

Wilt thou not-Zeus, I beseech! - destroy all they have willed?

For the child I pray; fearless, I claim

DANAË.

From Simonides.

vengeance!

D. F. L.

HERE was once a carven ark adrift on a stormy

THER

sea;

And the wind in each crevice shrieked, and Danaë

cowering there,

BY THE SEA.

7

With the spray on her cheeks and screening her Perseus motherly,

Crooned him a song like this in the midst of her de

66

spair :

"O baby, mother is full of heavy care; but thou

Hast sucked thyself asleep and liest without a dream, In the dismal brass-bound house, where on thy quiet brow

Strikes through the murky gloom the night-lamp's fitful gleam.

And the wind pipes loud and shrill, and the wave goes o'er thy head;

But thou dost not heed it, sweet, thy clustering curls

are dry,

Beautiful little face all swathed in its mantle red!
Ah, if thou didst but know my harrowing misery!
Heardest a tithe of my complaints! — hush, dear;
And hush, thou noisy sea! and sleep, my sorrow wild!
And baffle their counsel, father Zeus, who left us here!
Nay, I am bold to say, be just to the blameless child!"

H. W. P.

WOULD GOD I WERE NOW BY THE SEA!

From Euripides.

WOULD God I were now by the sea!

By the winding wet-worn caves,

By the ragged rents of the rocks!
And that there as a bird I might be

White-winged with the sea-skimming flocks;