home, ever since Phineus’[154] doors were closed against
them, and fear drove them from the board which once fed
them. A more baleful portent than this—a fiercer plague 35
of heaven’s vengeance never crawled out of the Stygian
flood. Birds with maiden’s faces, a foul discharge, crooked
talons, and on their cheeks the pallor of eternal famine.
“On our arrival here, and entering the harbour, see! we
behold luxuriant herds of oxen grazing dispersedly in the
fields, and goats all along the grass, with none to tend them.
On we rush, sword in hand, inviting the gods and Jove