Even since, when Anaurus’ outfall in full flood poured to the sea,
In the day when men’s heart-righteousness fain would I prove and know,
Coming back from the hunting he met me; and all overmantled with snow
Were the mountain-ridges and towering peaks, and adown from them poured {70}
The winter-tide floods, and the rolling torrents rattled and roared;
And he pitied the grey old crone, and he took me up at my prayer,
And over the seaward-madding flood on his shoulders he bare.
Therefore I honour him now, and will honour: unharmed shall he be
Of Pelias’ spite,—yea, though his return be unaided of thee.’
So spake she: the lips of Kypris could frame no word for a space,