Of refreshing: but these as the ranks of an army did Time confuse, {680}
As he marshalled them forth into being:—such monsters after her pressed.
And exceeding amazement fell on the heroes; and each man guessed,
As he gazed upon Circê’s form, and the eyes unsoftened with ruth,
That this should be none save Aiêtes’ sister in very sooth.
So when she had bidden her terrors of dreams of the night to flee,
Back straightway she paced; and the heroes she bade in her subtlety
To follow, with witching beck of her fingers charming them on.
Yet steadfastly tarried the throng at the hest of Aison’s son
In their place: but he went, and beside him the Kolchian maiden he drew.