Since the day when crashed the thunders of Zeus their souls to appal, {520}
That they crossed not over the flood to the isle, on the heroes to fall.
Now these, when they weened that the home-return’s grim peril was past,
Who had gotten so far on now, made Argo’s hawsers fast
To the strand Hyllaian; for thick in the river the eyots lie,
And a troublous track they make it for them that would voyage thereby.
And the folk Hyllaian devised not their hurt, as in that past day:
Nay, rather they did their endeavour to help them forth on their way.
And they won for their guerdon the mighty tripod Apollo gave.
For tripods twain had Phœbus bestowed, far over the wave