utterance rejoiced at their return, but grief seized them for the
fate of Idmon. Now at the hour when the sun passes his noon-tide
halt and the ploughlands are just being shadowed by the rocks, as
the sun slopes towards the evening dusk, at that hour all the
heroes spread leaves thickly upon the sand and lay down in rows
in front of the hoary surf-line; and near them were spread vast
stores of viands and sweet wine, which the cupbearers had drawn
off in pitchers; afterwards they told tales one to another in
turn, such as youths often tell when at the feast and the bowl
they take delightful pastime, and insatiable insolence is far
away. But here the son of Aeson, all helpless, was brooding over
each event in his mind, like one oppressed with thought. And
Idas noted him and assailed him with loud voice:

(ll. 463-471) "Son of Aeson, what is this plan thou art turning
over in mind. Speak out thy thought in the midst. Does fear
come on and master thee, fear, that confounds cowards? Be
witness now my impetuous spear, wherewith in wars I win renown
beyond all others (nor does Zeus aid me so much as my own spear),
that no woe will be fatal, no venture will be unachieved, while
Idas follows, even though a god should oppose thee. Such a
helpmeet am I that thou bringest from Arene."

(ll. 472-475) He spake, and holding a brimming goblet in both
hands drank off the unmixed sweet wine; and his lips and dark
cheeks were drenched with it; and all the heroes clamoured
together and Idmon spoke out openly:

(ll. 480-484) "Vain wretch, thou art devising destruction for
thyself before the time. Does the pure wine cause thy bold heart