But when man to run is eager, swift is the god to add a spur.[n27]
Opened flows a fount of sorrow to ourselves and to our friends.
This my son knew not: he acted with green youth’s presumptuous daring,
Weening Helle’s sacred current, Bosphorus’ flood divine to bind
Like a slave with hammered fetters, damming its unconquered tide,
Forcing passage against Nature for a host unwisely great.
Being mortal with immortals, with Poseidon’s power he dared
To contend fool-hardy. Did not strong distemper hold the soul
Of my hapless son? The riches stored by me with mickle care
Now, I fear, will be the booty of the swiftest-seizing hand.