Yea, there be memorials twain of the wanderers yet high-reared.
Now telleth the tale how Tiphys the Hagniad died; for his weird
Was to voyage no further thereafter; but him, far away from his home,
Short sickness hushed into sleep, the endless sleep of the tomb,
While yet were the death-rites rendered to Abas’ son by the folk:
And grief unendurable seized them for this new ruin-stroke.
Yea, and when hard by the seer him too they had buried there,
On the shore of the sea did they cast them adown in utter despair, {860}
Rolled in their mantles from head to foot, all hushed: no part
Had meat nor drink in their thoughts; but in bitterness of heart