From one to the other turned the master's eyes; The Strong Man laughed as at some hidden jest, And wild doubts in the shipman's heart did rise; But thinking on the thing, he deemed it best To bid them come aboard, and take such rest As they might have of the untrusty sea, 'Mid men who trusty fellows still should be. Then no more words the Strong Man made, but straight Caught up the elder in his arms, and so, Making no whit of all that added weight, Strode to the ship, right through the breakers low, And catching at the rope that they did throw Out toward his hand, swung up into the ship; Then did the master let the hawser slip. The shapely prow cleft the wet mead and green, And wondering drew the shipmen round to gaze Upon those limbs, the mightiest ever seen; And many deemed it no light thing to face The splendour of his eyen, though they did blaze With no wrath now, no hate for them to dread, As seaward 'twixt the summer isles they sped. Freshened the wind, but ever fair it blew Unto the south-east; but as failed the land, Unto the plunging prow the Strong Man drew, And silent, gazing with wide eyes did stand, As though his heart found rest; but 'mid the band Of shipmen in the stern the old man sat, Telling them tales that no man there forgat. As one who had beheld, he told them there Of the sweet singer, whom, for his song's sake, The dolphins back from choking death did bear; How in the mid sea did the vine outbreak O'er that ill bark when Bacchus 'gan to wake; How anigh Cyprus, ruddy with the rose The cold sea grew as any June-loved close; While on the flowery shore all things alive Grew faint with sense of birth of some delight, And the nymphs waited trembling there, to give Glad welcome to the glory of that sight: He paused then, ere he told how, wild and white, Rose ocean, breaking o'er a race accurst, A world once good, now come unto its worst. And then he smiled, and said, "And yet ye won, Ye men, and tremble not on days like these, Nor think with what a mind Prometheus' son Beheld the last of the torn reeling trees From high Parnassus: slipping through the seas Ye never think, ye men-folk, how ye seem From down below through the green waters' gleam." Dusk was it now when these last words he said, And little of his visage might they see, But o'er their hearts stole vague and troublous dread, They knew not why; yet ever quietly They sailed that night; nor might a morning be Fairer than was the next morn; and they went Along their due course after their intent. The fourth day, about sunrise, from the mast The watch cried out he saw Phoenician land; Whereat the Strong Man on the elder cast A look askance, and he straight took his stand Anigh the prow, and gazed beneath his hand Upon the low sun and the scarce-seen shore, Till cloud-flecks rose, and gathered and drew o'er.