‘The steed of the car of the Lord of the Sea!—unyoked hath he been {1370}
Even but now by the hands of his dear-loved wife, I ween.
And our mother—none other is this, I divine, than the good ship there,
Argo; for verily us within her womb she bare
With grievous anguish of travail groaning unceasingly.
Her therefore with stalwart strength and with tireless shoulders we
Will uplift, and afar o’er the wastes of the sandy land from the shore
Will we bear her, where yonder steed hath with swift feet sped before.
For he will not, he, sink into the earth, but his hoof-prints shall go
Pointing the way for us inland afar from the sea, I trow.’