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Neither be as a bird ill-omened to bode my ship ill-speed;

And escort of clansmen and thralls thy son to the galley shall lead.’

So spake he, and turned him, and forth of his halls his way hath he ta’en.

And as goeth Apollo forth of his incense-bearing fane,

Through Delos the hallowed, or Klaros, or Pytho the place of his shrine,

Or Lycia the wide, where the waters of Xanthus ripple and shine,

So seemed he, as onward he pressed through the throng, and a loud acclaim{310}

Of their mingled cheering arose. And there met him an ancient dame,

Iphias, priestess of Artemis warder of tower and wall.

At his right hand caught she, and kissed it, but spake no word at all,

For she could not, how fain soe’er, so pressed the multitude on;

And she drifted away to the fringe of the crowd, and was left alone,

As the old be left by the young: and he passed on afar, and was gone.

So when he had left the streets of the city builded fair,

To the beach Pagasaean he came, and his comrades hailed him there

In a throng abiding beside the Argo ship as she lay