So did he speak: of his keen-witted counsel were all they fain. {1380}
Lo, this is the song of the Muses, and I but sing their strain,
The Pierides’ servant; and this true tale in mine ears hath been told
That ye, O mightiest far of the sons of the kings of old,
By your manhood and might o’er the sands of Libya’s desert drear
Bare high over earth your galley and all her voyaging-gear,
On your shoulders laid, yea, bare her through long days two and ten,
And nights as many. That cup of affliction and travail then,
What tongue could tell it, which these in their toil filled up full-brim?
Of a truth of the blood of the Deathless they were, such labour grim