And the hand of the grief-worn sire in his hand with the word did he take:
‘O hapless, none other is more afflicted than thou, I trow,
Among men!—ah, wherefore on thee is there heaped such a burden of woe?
Baleful in sooth was the folly wherewith through thy prophecy-lore
Against Gods thou transgressedst: for this was their anger exceeding sore.
Howbeit our spirit within us, although we be fain, is afraid
To help thee, if on us indeed a God this honour hath laid.
For to dwellers on Earth the rebukes of Immortals be plain to discern; {250}
And we dare not chase yon Harpies from thee, howsoever we yearn
For thine help, in the hour of their coming, except thou swear to us first