Like unto ravening Thyiads: they weened that the Thracian horde
Were come: and there was Hypsipylê clad in the war-array
Of Thoas her father: and all these speechless with wildered dismay
Streamed down,—such panic was wafted about them all that day.
But forth of the galley the while had the chieftains sent to the shore {640}
Aithalides, their herald swift, the man who bore
Charge of their messages, yea, and the wand they committed to him
Of Hermes his sire, who had given him memory never made dim
Of all things:—yea, nor forgetfulness swept even now o’er his soul
Of long-left Acheron’s flow, where the torrents unspeakable roll.