Then on the towers shall ye look of Kytaian Aiêtes the king,
And the War-god’s grove dim-shadowed. And high on a dark oak-tree
Hangeth the Fleece; and a dragon, a monster fearful to see,
Ever glareth around, keeping watch and ward: never dawn doth arise,
Neither darkness descendeth, when sweet sleep quelleth his ruthless eyes.’
Even so did he speak: straightway as they heard were they thrilled with fear.
Long speechless they sat, till brake at the last that silence drear
Aison’s son, sore wildered that boding of evil to hear: {410}
‘O ancient, now hast thou come to the bourn of the toils we must know
On the sea, and hast told us the token, by trust wherein we may go