Rising: for need of her cometh to me. Thence hasten thee {760}
Unto the echoing beaches whereon the brazen rows
Of the Fire-god’s anvils are smitten with thunderous-crashing blows.
Speak to him to still the fire-blast’s breathings, till Argo thereby
Shall have sped: thereafter shalt thou with my message to Aiolus fly—
Aiolus, king of the welkin-begotten winds of the sky:—
Thou tell him my purpose, that all blasts under the firmament
He may hush to rest, and let not a wandering gust be sent
To ruffle the face of the sea: let Zephyr alone blow on,
Until to Alkinoüs’ isle Phaeacian the heroes have won.’