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Of the stern Birth-goddess begrudged abundant fruit of the womb.

Ah me for my blindness of heart!—not once, not in dreams, might I see{290}

The vision of Phrixus’ deliverance turned to a curse for me!’

So mourned she, and ever she moaned amidst of her speech, and thereby

Stood her handmaids, and echoed her wail, an exceeding bitter cry.

But the hero with gentle words for her comfort made answer, and spake:

‘Fill me not thus overmeasure with anguish of soul for thy sake,

Mother mine, forasmuch as from evil thou shalt not redeem me so

By thy tears, but shalt add the rather woe unto weight of woe.

For the Gods mete out unto mortals afflictions unforeseen:

Wherefore be strong to endure their doom, though thine anguish be keen.

Take comfort to think that Athênê hereunto our courage hath stirred:{300}

Remember the oracles: call to remembrance how good was the word

Of Phœbus: be glad for this hero-array for mine help that is come.

Now, mother, do thou with thine handmaids in quiet abide in thine home,