No cloud was seen; on blue and craggy Ida
The hot noon lay, and on the plain’s enamel;
Cool, in his bed, alone, the swift Scamander.
“Why should I haste?” said young and rosy Hylas:
“The seas were rough, and long the way from Colchis.
Beneath the snow-white awning slumbers Jason,
Pillowed upon his tame Thessalian panther;
The shields are piled, the listless oars suspended
On the black thwarts, and all the hairy bondsmen
Doze on the benches. They may wait for water,