So as it neither had in harbor wave-surge
Nor ran aground against a shore all rocky.
And then, the water-Haides having fled from
In the white day, not trusting to our fortune,
We chewed the cud in thoughts—this novel sorrow
O' the army laboring and badly pounded.
And now—if any one of them is breathing—
They talk of us as having-perished: why not?
And we—that they the same fate have, imagine.
May it be for the best! Meneleos, then,