Read Jason and the Argonauts Online
Authors: Apollonius of Rhodes
they struck the water. But whatever headway
the
Argo
made by rowing, it retreated
twice as far, and, as the heroes heaved,
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the oars bent under them like back-bent bows.
A sudden wave then rushed them from behind,
and
Argo
coasted on the crest as smoothly
as if it were a sanded wooden roller.
So they proceeded through the air until
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a whirlpool sucked them in and spun them round
between the agitated Clashing Rocks.
The hull was sea-stuck.
So Athena braced
her left hand on a crag for leverage
and with her right shoved
Argo
from the stern.
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The ship went flying like a swift-winged arrow,
and, when the Rocks came hurtling together,
they only nipped the stern post's tip abaft.
Once they had gotten through alive, Athena
flew back to Mount Olympus, and the Rocks
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were rooted firmly in one place forever,
just as the gods had fated would occur
whenever someone saw them clash together
and still sailed through them to the other side.
The heroes caught their breath at last, shook off
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the chill of horror, then surveyed the sky
and flat sea stretching eastward out of view.
They felt as if they had escaped from Hades.
Tiphys was first to find his voice again:
“It was the ship itself, I think, that pulled us
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out of that pinch. Athena, though, deserves
the highest praise, since it was she who breathed
magical strength into the hull when Argus
was pounding dowels home into the planks.
Wrecking this ship would be like sacrilege.
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Now that a god has helped us to escape
those dreadful Clashing Rocks, no longer worry
about fulfilling Pelias' demands.
Phineus son of Agenor predicted
that, after this, our voyage would be easy.”
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So Tiphys reassured them as he steered
the ship through open sea beside the land
of the Bithynians. But Jason answered
with subtle words and sidelong purpose:
“Tiphys,
why are you trying to console my grief?
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I've made a horrid and unpardonable
blunder. When Pelias proposed the challenge,
I should have turned this journey down at once,
even if death, a savage death by torture,
was waiting for me. Now I wear a shroud
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of fear and dread past bearingâloathing travel
across the frigid sea but loathing, too,
the thought of landing, since the local tribesmen
are hostile everywhere. Night after night,
since first you all assembled for my sake,
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I have been spending wretched hours obsessing
over these worries. Each of you can speak
with unencumbered ease because you fear
for your one life alone, while I, your leader,
don't care a whit about my own but worry
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for each and every hero on this quest:
What if I fail to bring him back to Hellas?
”
So he proclaimed to test his comrades' mettle.
When they responded with enthusiastic
bellows and whoops, the heart grew warm within him.
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When he spoke again, he spoke with candor:
“Dear friends, my courage thrives on your devotion.
Even if I should now be traveling
into the mouth of Hades, fear would never
take hold of me, because you all have proved
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steadfast in time of crisis. Now that we
have sailed beyond the Clashing Rocks, I think
no future threat will be as great, so long
as we abide by Phineus' instructions.”
Thus he encouraged them, and they at once
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gave over conversation and returned
wholeheartedly to rowing. Soon they passed
the rapid Rhebas and Colona's peak,
the Sable Promontory and at last
the Phyllis River's mouth where, years before,
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Dipascus kindly welcomed to his halls
Athamas' son Phrixus who was fleeing
Orchomenus, his hometown, on the ram.
Because a meadow nymph had borne Dipascus,
weapons and war did not appeal to him,
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no, he preferred to settle with his mother
beside the waters of his father's river
and graze his flocks along the shore.
The heroes,
in passing, gazed upon his monument,
the wide banks of the Phyllis, then the plain
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beside it and the roiling Kalpa River.
The sun set, and they spent the windless night
just as they had been, heaving at the oars.
Imagine oxen laboring to furrow
muddy acres, how a spume of sweat
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drips from their necks and flanks: their eyes roll sideways
under the yoke, and constant panting scours
their arid throats and issues from their mouths.
All day they churn the earth, digging their hooves inâ
that's the way the heroes heaved the oars
out of the ocean swell.
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At just the hour
when ambrosial dawn has not quite come
but there is not full darkness, since a haze
has crept into the night (that is, the hour
that early risers call “
the morning twilight”),
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the heroes rowed up to the desert island
of Thynias and with an insurmountable
weariness slogged ashore.
The son of Leto
revealed himself there. He was leaving Lycia
and striding far away toward the expansive
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dominions of the Hyperboreans.
And, as he moved, clusters of golden hair
swung loose and swept down over either cheek.
His left hand brandishing a silver bow,
a quiver hanging from his shoulder down
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across his back, he trod his course. The island
quaked with each footstep, and the breakers washed up
onto the beaches. As they watched him, helpless
amazement seized them all, and no one dared
to look directly at his dazzling eyes.
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They stood a long time gazing at the ground,
while he, aloof, proceeded through the air
across the sea. Some minutes later Orpheus
found his voice and said to his companions:
“Come now, and let us dedicate this island
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to Phoebus God of Dawn and name it for him
since it was here that we have seen him passing
before us as the sunrise. We shall build
a seaside shrine and give what offerings
we can procure. Afterward, if he grants us
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a safe homecoming in Haemonia,
we shall repay him with the burned thighbones
of hornéd goats. Now we must satisfy him
as best we can, with liquid offerings
and the aroma of the roast. O god,
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O revelation, please advance our quest.”
So he instructed them. Some right away
went to construct an altar out of stones
while others scoured the island in pursuit
of goat and deer, the sorts that commonly
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reside in forests. Leto's son provided
good hunting, and they duly immolated
two thighbones from each kill upon the altar.
Then, as the meat was cooking, they performed
a choral dance in honor of Apollo,
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the little boy, the Shooter of the Arrow.
The admirable offspring of Oeagrus
plucked his Bistonian lyre and started singing
how long ago Apollo on Parnassus
felled the beast Delphina with an arrow,
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and he did this while still a naked toddler,
still delighting in his curly hair
(Be gracious, lord, I beg you. Eternally
your tresses are unshorn, eternally.
It's sacred law that only Leto, daughter
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of Coeus, strokes them with her loving hands),
and the Corycian nymphs, the seed of Pleistus,
over and over urged the toddler on
by shouting
Hie
(“Shoot”), from which derives
the lovely ritual cry to summon Phoebus.
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After the heroes celebrated him
with choral song, they poured out pure libations,
laid their hands upon the festal meat,
and swore an oath always to aid each other
with singleness of purpose. Still today
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the shrine of kindly Harmony remains there,
the very one the heroes instituted
in honor of a venerable goddess.
Then, when the third dawn broke, they left the steep-cliffed
island with a strong west wind behind them.
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That day they passed on the opposing coast
the mouth of the Sangarius, the buxom
Mariandynian fields, the Lycus River's
ecstatic spate, and Lake Anthemoesis,
and all the halyards and the tackle strained
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before the gale as they went sailing onward.
The wind, though, started flagging in the night
and they were much relieved to reach at dawn
a bay inside the Acherousian headland,
a steep cape facing the Bithynian Sea.
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The surf rolls in uproariously around
the polished boulders rooted to its base,
and plane trees flourish all across the crest
from which a hollow dale slopes gently inland.
Within that dale
a cave that leads to Hades
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lurks behind rocks and shrubs, and from its depths
a chilling vapor rises every morning
and gathers in a glistening frost that thaws
beneath the midday sun. Never does silence
descend upon this gloomy cape because
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the restless sea stirs up a constant murmur
and subterranean breezes rouse the trees.
A river has its mouth hereâAcheron,
which, following the valley from the crest,
cuts through the middle of the cape and empties
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into the Eastern Sea. Megarians
out of Nisaea later dubbed this cape
“The Sailors' Savior” since it saved their ship
from a horrendous storm when they were sailing
to colonize the Mariandynian land.
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Because the wind had recently died down
the Minyans were keen to row the
Argo
inside this breakwater and moor it there.
The Mariandynians and their leader Lycus
were not long unaware the soldiers anchored
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upon their shores were those who killed Amycus,
or so they had been told, and for that reason
they struck a truce, saluted Polyedeuces,
and welcomed him as if he were a god.
They had, you see, for quite some time been waging
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war on the insolent Bebrycians.
When the heroes came to town, they feasted
a whole day at the court of Lycus, forged
the bonds of friendship, and relieved their hearts
with conversation.
Jason named the names
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and pedigrees of each of his companions,
explained what mission Pelias had set them,
how the Lemnian women welcomed them,
and all that happened with the Doliones
and Cyzicus their king. He also told him
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how, when they came to Mysia and the Cius,
they happened to abandon Heracles,
what prophecies the sea god Glaucus gave them,
and how they beat Amycus and his people.
Next he recounted Phineus' woes
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and prophecies and how they had survived
the Clashing Rocks and, only lately, spotted
the son of Leto rising from an island.
King Lycus took heartfelt delight in hearing
all these adventures just as they had happened,
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but sorrow gripped him when he heard the news
of the abandonment of Heracles,
and he commiserated with the heroes:
“Friends, you have lost a great man's help by losing
Heracles the hero in the midst of
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your lengthy voyage to Aeëtes' palace.
Heracles was my friend, in fact. I met him
here in my father Dascylus' house
long, long ago when he was traveling
through boundless Asia on a quest to win
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the belt of war-obsessed Hippolyta.
I was a young man when we met. The down
had only freshly sprouted on my cheeks,
and funeral games were being held in honor
of Priolas my brother. (Mysians killed him,
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and since his death the people here have sung him
heartrending dirges.) In the boxing match
Heracles beat the dashing Titias,
who was supreme among us younger men
in strength and beauty. Yes, he knocked his teeth out
onto the ground.
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Heracles subjugated
the Mysians beneath my father's rule,
then the Mygdones who are neighbors to us,
then some Bithynians and their land as far as
the Rhebas River and Colona's peak.
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In fact, the Paphlagonian heirs of Pelops
(that is, those hemmed in by the dark Billaeus)
surrendered without putting up a fight.