Wide from the scattered wreck,—firm-knit by the strong bolts’ clasp;
And on to the isle, evermore but a little beyond death’s grasp,
The waves and the sweep of the tempest bare them in misery.
Then burst forth rain: no tongue could tell it,—it rained on the sea,
On the island; and overagainst the island the floods of it fell
Over all the land where the lawless Mossynœcians dwell.
And along with the massy beam the sweep of the surges bore
The sons of Phrixus on to the island’s rocky shore {1120}
In the black dark night. But the floods of Zeus-descended rain
Ceased with the dawn: and they met full soon, those companies twain.