THE FOURTH BOOK
Now take thou up the story, O Goddess of Song, and sing
The afflictions and thoughts of the Kolchian maid; for as touching this thing
In a tempest of wilderment whirled is my soul, that I know not to say
Whether for bitter infatuate passion she fled away
From the land of the Kolchian folk, or driven of panic dismay.
Now the king in the midst of his Kolchian princes and men of might
Against the heroes devising treachery sat through the night
In his halls, and hot in his soul did the vehement anger rise
For the trial whose issue he loathed, and he weened not in any wise