III.

Not fairer Hella on the Ægean flood With her young brother sate the golden fleece, Than Blanca steered her bark when Morton stood Within its round, ’mid war discovering peace, And from his eyes drank love-light without cease; Nor with more grief was Athamantis torn, When sank her lovely form ’twixt sunny Greece And blue Propontis, than made Blanca mourn, When Morton owned his gage to join the Hope Forlorn.