He spake, but the head of the ancient sank, and he answered low:
‘Nay, Aison’s son, it is past recall: no dawn shall arise
Balm-breathing on them, for blasted are these my sightless eyes.
Nay, death let a God bestow right speedily, rather than this:
Then, when I am dead, shall I enter at last into perfect bliss.’
So spake they, and each unto other the answering speech returned.
And amidst of their converse in no long space the dawn-flush burned
Of the Child of the Mist: then gathered the neighbours to Phineus’ door {450}
Which in time past day by day wont thither to come evermore;
And, despite the curse, from their own a portion of meat each brought.