Argo was ready,

Painted and supplied by slaves,

At rest on the Magnesian shore,

Fitted out for far faring,

Trade making,

Colony staking.

The folk gathered around,

Milling like a storm cloud.

The heroes came down,

Shining stars armored and proud.

Among the folk was a speaker,

Invoking Thunder-chief,

Wondering what was wrong with their king,

Exiling the best men to satiate his greed for the Golden Fleece.

The folk were somber and confused,

The heroes determined and eager,

Women lifted hands to heaven in prayer,

One bursting into tears,

Confiding in another, tearful of yawning graves,

Despondent for the coming years,

Fearful of the dark waves,

That menaced the far-seekers—

All that brought doubt that life would have an unclouded end.