Neptune that speech vain-glorious hearing, grasp'd 610 His trident, and the huge Gyræan rock Smiting indignant, dash'd it half away; Part stood, and part, on which the boaster sat When, first, the brainsick fury seiz'd him, fell, Bearing him with it down into the gulphs Of Ocean, where he drank the brine, and died. But thy own brother in his barks escaped That fate, by Juno saved; yet when, at length, He should have gain'd Malea's craggy shore, Then, by a sudden tempest caught, he flew 620 With many a groan far o'er the fishy Deep To the land's utmost point, where once his home Thyestes had, but where Thyestes' son Dwelt then, Ægisthus. Easy lay his course And open thence, and, as it pleased the Gods, The shifted wind soon bore them to their home. He, high in exultation, trod the shore That gave him birth, kiss'd it, and, at the sight, The welcome sight of Greece, shed many a tear. Yet not unseen he landed; for a spy, 630 One whom the shrewd Ægisthus had seduced By promise of two golden talents, mark'd His coming from a rock where he had watch'd The year complete, lest, passing unperceived, The King should reassert his right in arms. Swift flew the spy with tidings to this Lord, And He, incontinent, this project framed Insidious. Twenty men, the boldest hearts Of all the people, from the rest he chose, Whom he in ambush placed, and others charged 640 Diligent to prepare the festal board. With horses, then, and chariots forth he drove Full-fraught with mischief, and conducting home The unsuspicious King, amid the feast Slew him, as at his crib men slay an ox. Nor of thy brother's train, nor of his train Who slew thy brother, one survived, but all, Welt'ring in blood together, there expired. He ended, and his words beat on my heart As they would break it. On the sands I sat 650 Weeping, nor life nor light desiring more. But when I had in dust roll'd me, and wept To full satiety, mine ear again The oracle of Ocean thus address'd. Sit not, O son of Atreus! weeping here Longer, for remedy can none be found; But quick arising, trial make, how best Thou shalt, and soonest, reach thy home again. For either him still living thou shalt find, Or ere thou come, Orestes shall have slain 660 The traytor, and thine eyes shall see his tomb. He ceas'd, and I, afflicted as I was, Yet felt my spirit at that word refresh'd, And in wing'd accents answer thus return'd. Of these I am inform'd; but name the third Who, dead or living, on the boundless Deep Is still detain'd; I dread, yet wish to hear. So I; to whom thus Proteus in return. Laertes' son, the Lord of Ithaca--