to ravage the territories of Thebes, after the
interpretation of the riddle of the Sphinx, by Oedipus.

In these and other narratives they passed the day. The last part of the
day was spent in feasting, and the night in sleep. The golden Sun had
{now} shed his beams, {when} the East wind was still blowing, and
detained the sails about to return. The sons of Pallas repair to
Cephalus, who was stricken in years. Cephalus and the sons of Pallas,
together {with him}, {come} to the king; but a sound sleep still
possessed the monarch. Phocus, the son of AEacus, received them at the
threshold; for Telamon and his brother were levying men for the war.
Phocus conducted the citizens of Cecrops into an inner room, and a
handsome apartment. Soon as he had sat down with them, he observed that
the grandson of AEolus[107] was holding in his hand a javelin made of an
unknown wood, the point of which was of gold.

Having first spoken a few words in promiscuous conversation, he said,
"I am fond of the forests, and of the chase of wild beasts; still, from
what wood the shaft of the javelin, which thou art holding, is cut,
I have been for some time in doubt; certainly, if it were of wild ash,
it would be of brown color; if of cornel-wood, there would be knots in
it. Whence it comes I am ignorant, but my eyes have not looked upon a
weapon used for a javelin, more beautiful than this." One of the
Athenian brothers replied, and said, "In it, thou wilt admire its
utility, {even} more than its beauty. Whatever it is aimed at, it
strikes; chance does not guide it when thrown, and it flies back stained
with blood, no one returning it." Then, indeed, does the Nereian
youth[108] inquire into all particulars, why it was given, and whence
{it came}? who was the author of a present of so great value? What he
asks, {Cephalus} tells him; but as to what he is ashamed to tell, {and}
on what condition he received it, he is silent; and, being touched with
sorrow for the loss of his wife, he thus speaks, with tears bursting
forth: "Son of a Goddess, this weapon (who could have believed it?)
makes me weep, and long will make me do so, if the Fates shall grant me
long to live. 'Twas this that proved the destruction of me and of my
dear wife. Would that I had ever been without this present! Procris was
(if perchance {the fame of} Orithyia[109] may have more probably reached
thy ears) the sister of Orithyia, the victim of violence. If you should
choose to com