And of hopes with fear unmingled the seer spake, while he bade
To smite with the oar the waters: the swiftly-flashing blade
Swung by their hands untiring over the sea sped on,
And the south-wind onward-wafting blew; and so they won
To the mouth of the Sea Unfriendly: there made they a holy place
To the Lord of the Deep; and a red-felled herd of the bulls of Thrace
Was there, and a new-built altar of stone with a basin therein.
And now, as they sped on, deeper they plunged into peril’s gin.