And O that the darkling surge, when Hellê the maiden died,
Had whelmed down Phrixus too with the ram!—but a man’s voice cried
From the throat of the monster, the portent accurst, that so it might doom
For Alkimedê sorrow and griefs untold in the days to come.’
So ’mid the moan of the women marched the heroes along. {260}
And by this were the thralls and the handmaids gathered in one great throng.
Then fell on his neck his mother, and sharply the anguish-thorn
Pierced each soft breast, the while his father, the eld-forlorn,
Close-swathed as a corpse on his bed, lay groaning and groaning again.
But the hero essayed to hush their laments and assuage their pain