With the dawning I yoke my team, and I cease from mine harvesting
At the eventide hour. And thou, if thou bring such deeds to pass,
That day shalt win this Fleece, as thy king’s commandment was.
But I give it thee not ere then; neither hope it; for shame should it be {420}
That a mighty champion should yield to a man that is worser than he.’
So spake he: but silent the hero sat, with his eyes on the ground.
Speechless he sat: no help for the desperate evil he found.
Long time he communed with his heart; no way through the darkness gleamed
To take on him stoutly the task, for a mighty deed it seemed.
But late and at last he spake, and he answered warily: