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sons of Aeacus, and Ancaeus threatening mightily our walls, and Iphitus with long spear warding off the rocks; clear to view among the desperate band the son of Amphitryon outtops them all, and alternately on either hand weighs down the ship and burns to leap into the midst of the waves. But Jason—not yet did I know him to my cost—leaping nimbly over benches and oars and treading the backs of heroes, calls now on great Oenides, now on Idas and Talaus, now on the son of Tyndareus^[1] dripping with the white spume of the sea, and Calais striving aloft in the clouds of his frosty sire^[2] to fasten the sails to the mast, and with voice and gesture again and again encourages them. With vigorous strokes they lash the sea and shake the walls, but none the more do the foaming waters yield, and the flung spears rebound from our towers. Tiphys himself wearies by his labours the heavy billows and the tiller that will not hear him, and pale with anxiety oft changes his commands, and turns right- and leftward from the land the prow that would fain dash itself to shipwreck on the rocks, until from the vessel’s tapering bows the son of Aeson holds forth the olive-branch of Pallas that Mopsus bore, and though the tumult of his comrades would prevent him, asks for peace; his words were swept away. by the headlong gale. Then came there a truce to arms, and the tempest likewise sank to rest, and day looked forth once more from the turbid heaven. Then those fifty heroes, their vessels duly moored,^[3] as they leap from the sheer height shake the stranger shores, tall comely sons of glorious sires, serene of brow and known by their bearings, now that the swelling rage has left their countenances. Even so