To abide, and abiding to stay this famine’s gnawing pain.
But those my tormentors, an oracle saith, shall be made to flee
By Boreas’ sons; neither strangers shall my deliverers be,
If indeed I be Phineus, renowned among men in the days long gone
For my wealth and my soothsaying lore, if Agênor called me son,
If the sister of these, Kleopatra, when over the Thracians I reigned,
Came to mine halls, a bride by a royal bride-price gained.’
So ended Agênor’s son, and compassion’s o’ermastering pain {240}
Thrilled all the heroes, but chiefly the North-wind’s scions twain.
Brushing the tears from their eyes they drew nigh him, and Zethes spake;