Καὶ δ᾽ ἄλλως ἔτι καὶ πρὶν ἐμοὶ μέγα φίλατ᾽ Ἰήσων
ἐξότ᾽ ἐπὶ προχοῇσιν ἅλις πλήθοντος Ἀναύρου
ἀνδρῶν εὐνομίης πειρωμένῃ ἀντεβόλησεν
θήρης ἐξανιών· νιφετῷ δ᾽ ἐπαλύνετο πάντα
οὔρεα καὶ σκοπιαὶ περιμήκεες, οἱ δὲ κατ᾽ αὐτῶν
χείμαρροι καναχηδὰ κυλινδόμενοι φορέοντο.
γρηὶ δέ μ᾽ εἰσαμένην ὀλοφύρατο, καί μ᾽ ἀναείρας
αὐτὸς ἑοῖς ὤμοισι διὲκ προαλὲς φέρεν ὕδωρ.
τῶ νύ μοι ἄλληκτον περιτίεται.

Next they passed the Sacred Mountain and the highlands where the Mossynoeci live in the mossynes or wooden houses from which they take their name. These people have their own ideas of what is right and proper. What we do as a rule openly in town or market-place they do at home; and what we do in the privacy of our houses they do out of doors in the open street, and nobody thinks the worst of them. Even the sexual act puts no one to blush in this community. On the contrary, like swine in the fields, they lie down on the ground in promiscuous intercourse and are not at all disconcerted by the presence of others. Then again, their king sits in the loftiest hut of all to dispense justice to his numerous subjects. But if the poor man happens to make a mistake in his findings, they lock him up and give him nothing to eat for the rest of the day.

Ἱρὸν δ᾽ αὖτ᾽ ἐπὶ τοῖσιν ὄρος καὶ γαῖαν ἄμειβον,
ᾗ ἔνι Μοσσύνοικοι ἀν᾽ οὔρεα ναιετάουσιν
μόσσυνας, καὶ δ᾽ αὐτοὶ ἐπώνυμοι ἔνθεν ἔασιν.
ἀλλοίη δὲ δίκη καὶ θέσμια τοῖσι τέτυκται.
ὅσσα μὲν ἀμφαδίην ῥέζειν θέμις, ἢ ἐνὶ δήμῳ,
ἢ ἀγορῇ, τάδε πάντα δόμοις ἔνι μηχανόωνται·
ὅσσα δ᾽ ἐνὶ μεγάροις πεπονήμεθα, κεῖνα θύραζε
ἀψεγέως μέσσῃσιν ἐνὶ ῥέζουσιν ἀγυιαῖς.
οὐδ᾽ εὐνῆς αἰδὼς ἐπιδήμιος, ἀλλά, σύες ὣς
φορβάδες, οὐδ᾽ ἠβαιὸν ἀτυζόμενοι παρεόντας,
μίσγονται χαμάδις ξυνῇ φιλότητι γυναικῶν.
αὐτὰρ ἐν ὑψίστῳ βασιλεὺς μόσσυνι θαάσσων
ἰθείας πολέεσσι δίκας λαοῖσι δικάζει,
σχέτλιος. ἢν γάρ πού τί θεμιστεύων ἀλίτηται,
μιν κεῖν᾽ ἦμαρ ἐνικλείσαντες ἔχουσιν.

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ἔνθ᾽ ἐπεὶ ἄρ κε τέκωνται ὑπ᾽ ἀνδράσι τέκνα γυναῖκες,
αὐτοὶ μὲν στενάχουσιν ἐνὶ λεχέεσσι πεσόντες,
κράατα δησάμενοι· ταὶ δ᾽ εὖ κομέουσιν ἐδωδῇ
ἀνέρας, ἠδὲ λοετρὰ λεχώια τοῖσι πένονται.

The first thing you see will be the two Cyanean Rocks, at the end of the straits. To the best of my knowledge, no one has ever made his way between them, for not being fixed to the bottom of the sea they frequently collide, flinging up the water in a seething mass which falls on the rocky flanks of the straits with a resounding roar. Now if, as I take it, you are god-fearing travellers and men of sense, you will be advised by me: you will not rashly throw away your lives or rush into danger with the recklessness of youth. Make an experiment first. Send out a dove from Argo to explore the way. If she succeeds in flying in between the Rocks and out across the sea, do not hesitate to follow in her path, but get a firm grip on your oars and cleave the water of the straits. For that is the time when salvation will depend, not on your prayers, but on your strength of arm. So think of nothing else, be firm, and spend your energies on what will pay you best. By all means pray to the gods, but choose an earlier moment. And if the dove flies on, but comes to grief midway, turn back. It is always better to submit to heaven; and you could not possibly escape a dreadful end. The Rocks would crush you, even if Argo were an iron ship.

Πέτρας μὲν πάμπρωτον, ἀφορμηθέντες ἐμεῖο,
Κυανέας ὄψεσθε δύω ἁλὸς ἐν ξυνοχῇσιν,
τάων οὔτινά φημι διαμπερὲς ἐξαλέασθαι.
οὐ γάρ τε ῥίζῃσιν ἐρήρεινται νεάτῃσιν,
ἀλλὰ θαμὰ ξυνίασιν ἐναντίαι ἀλλήλῃσιν
εἰς ἕν, ὕπερθε δὲ πολλὸν ἁλὸς κορθύεται ὕδωρ
βρασσόμενον· στρηνὲς δὲ περὶ στυφελῇ βρέμει ἀκτῇ.
τῶ νῦν ἡμετέρῃσι παραιφασίῃσι πίθεσθε,
εἰ ἐτεὸν πυκινῷ τε νόῳ μακάρων τ᾽ ἀλέγοντες
πείρετε· μηδ᾽ αὔτως αὐτάγρετον οἶτον ὄλησθε
ἀφραδέως, ἢ θύνετ᾽ ἐπισπόμενοι νεότητι.
οἰωνῷ δὴ πρόσθε πελειάδι πειρήσασθαι
νηὸς ἄπο προμεθέντες ἐφιέμεν. ἢν δὲ δι᾽ αὐτῶν
πετράων πόντονδε σόη πτερύγεσσι δίηται,
μηκέτι δὴν μηδ᾽ αὐτοὶ ἐρητύεσθε κελεύθου,
ἀλλ᾽ εὖ καρτύναντες ἑαῖς ἐνὶ χερσὶν ἐρετμὰ
τέμνεθ᾽ ἁλὸς στεινωπόν· ἐπεὶ φάος οὔ νύ τι τόσσον
ἔσσετ᾽ ἐν εὐχωλῇσιν, ὅσον τ᾽ ἐνὶ κάρτεϊ χειρῶν.
τῶ καὶ τἆλλα μεθέντες ὀνήιστον πονέεσθαι
θαρσαλέως· πρὶν δ᾽ οὔτι θεοὺς λίσσεσθαι ἐρύκω.
εἰ δέ κεν ἀντικρὺ πταμένη μεσσηγὺς ὄληται,
ἄψορροι στέλλεσθαι· ἐπεὶ πολὺ βέλτερον εἶξαι
ἀθανάτοις. οὐ γάρ κε κακὸν μόρον ἐξαλέαισθε
πετράων, οὐδ᾽ εἴ κε σιδηρείη πέλοι Ἀργώ.

One [nymph], the naiad of the spring, was just emerging from the limpid water as Hylas drew near. And there, with the full moon shining on him from a clear sky, she saw him in all his radiant beauty and alluring grace. Her heart was flooded by desire; she had a struggle to regain her scattered wits. But Hylas now leant over to one side to dip his ewer in; and as soon as the water was gurgling loudly round the ringing bronze she threw her left arm round his neck in her eagerness to kiss his gentle lips. Then with her right hand she drew his elbow down and plunged him in midstream.

Ἡ δὲ νέον κρήνης ἀνεδύετο καλλινάοιο
νύμφη ἐφυδατίη· τὸν δὲ σχεδὸν εἰσενόησεν
κάλλεϊ καὶ γλυκερῇσιν ἐρευθόμενον χαρίτεσσιν.
πρὸς γάρ οἱ διχόμηνις ἀπ᾽ αἰθέρος αὐγάζουσα
βάλλε σεληναίη. τὴν δὲ φρένας ἐπτοίησεν
Κύπρις, ἀμηχανίῃ δὲ μόλις συναγείρατο θυμόν.
αὐτὰρ ὅγ᾽ ὡς τὰ πρῶτα ῥόῳ ἔνι κάλπιν ἔρεισεν
λέχρις ἐπιχριμφθείς, περὶ δ᾽ ἄσπετον ἔβραχεν ὕδωρ
χαλκὸν ἐς ἠχήεντα φορεύμενον, αὐτίκα δ᾽ ἥγε
λαιὸν μὲν καθύπερθεν ἐπ᾽ αὐχένος ἄνθετο πῆχυν
κύσσαι ἐπιθύουσα τέρεν στόμα· δεξιτερῇ δὲ
ἀγκῶν᾽ ἔσπασε χειρί, μέσῃ δ᾽ ἐνικάββαλε δίνῃ.

The song was finished. His lyre and his celestial voice had ceased together. Yet even so there was no change in the company; the heads of all were still bent forward, their ears intent on the enchanting melody. Such was his charm – the music lingered in their hearts.

Ἦ, καὶ ὁ μὲν φόρμιγγα σὺν ἀμβροσίῃ σχέθεν αὐδῇ·
τοὶ δ᾽ ἄμοτον λήξαντος ἔτι προύχοντο κάρηνα
πάντες ὁμῶς ὀρθοῖσιν ἐπ᾽ οὔασιν ἠρεμέοντες
κηληθμῷ· τοῖόν σφιν ἐνέλλιπε θέλκτρον ἀοιδῆς.