Yea, though it were more than thrice—as I am by my grievous sin,
Yet dare not to flout the omen, to thrust your galley therein!
And these things shall fall as they haply shall fall. But if scatheless ye shun
The rush of the Clashing Rocks, and the Pontus Sea shall be won,
Sailing therefrom, the Bithynians’ land to your right shall ye keep,
Ever heedfully standing out from the reefs, until ye shall sweep
Round the outfall of swift-flowing Rheba, and round the headland dark,
And within the haven of Thynê’s isle shall anchor your bark. {350}
Thence turn ye aback for a little space o’er the long sea-swell,
Till ye beach your keel on the strand where the Mariandynians dwell.