Works of Aeschylus - Aeschylus [91]
Belus: from him two sons, my father one.
The King of Argos:
Speak now to me his name, this greybeard wise.
Leader:
Danaus; his brother fifty sons begat.
The King of Argos:
Grudge not, in telling, his name too to tell.
Leader:
Aegyptus: thou my lineage old hast heard-
Strive then to aid a kindred Argive band.
The King of Argos:
Yea of a truth, in backward scope of time,
Of Argive race ye seem: but say what chance
Fell on you, goading you from home and land?
Leader:
Lord of Pelasgian men, calamity
Is manifold and diverse; as of birds
Feather from feather differs, so of men
The woes are sundry. Who had dared foretell
That this our sudden flight, this hate and fear
Of loathly wedlock, would on Argos' shore
Set forth a race of kindred lineage?
The King of Argos:
What crave ye of these gods of festival,
Holding up newly-plucked white-tufted boughs?
Leader:
Ne'er to be slaves unto Aegyptus' race.
The King of Argos:
Doth your own hate, or doth the law forbid?
Leader:
Not as our lords, but as unloved, we chide them.
The King of Argos:
Tis from such wedlock that advancement comes,
Leader:
How easy is it, from the weak to turn!
The King of Argos:
How then toward you can I be conscience-clear?
Leader:
Deny us, though Aegyptus' race demand.
The King of Argos:
A heavy task thou namest, a rash war.
Leader:
But Justice champions them who strike for her.
The King of Argos:
Yea, if their side was from the outset hers.
Leader:
Revere the gods thus crowned, who steer the State.
The King of Argos:
Awe thrills me, seeing these shrines with leafage crowned.
The whole Chorus now sings its responses to the King.
Chorus:
strophe 1
Yea, stern the wrath of Zeus, the suppliants' lord.
Child of Palaichthon, royal chief
Of thy Pelasgians, hear!
Bow down thine heart to my relief-
A fugitive, a suppliant, swift with fear,
A creature whom the wild wolves chase
O'er toppling crags; in piteous case
Aloud, afar she lows,
Calling the herdsman's trusty arm to save her from her foes!
The King of Argos:
Lo, with bowed heads beside our city shrines
Ye sit 'neath shade of new-plucked olive-boughs.
Our distant kin's resentment Heaven forefend!
Let not this hap, unhoped and unforeseen,
Bring war on us: for strife we covet not.
Chorus:
antistrophe 1
Justice, the daughter of right-dealing Zeus,
Justice, the queen of suppliants, look down,
That this our plight no ill may loose
Upon your town!
This word, even from the young, let age and wisdom learn:
If thou to suppliants show grace,
Thou shalt not lack Heaven's grace in turn,
So long as virtue's gifts on heavenly shrines have place.
The King of Argos:
Not at my private hearth ye sit and sue;
And if the city bear a common stain,
Be it the common toil to cleanse the same:
Therefore no pledge, no promise will I give,
Ere counsel with the commonwealth be held.
Chorus:
strophe 2
Nay, but the source of sway, the city's self, art thou,
A power unjudged! thine, only thine,
To rule the right of hearth and shrine!
Before thy throne and sceptre all men bow!
Thou, in all causes lord, beware the curse divine!
The King of Argos:
May that curse fall upon mine enemies!
I cannot aid you without risk of scathe,
Nor scorn your prayers-unmerciful it were.
Perplexed, distraught I stand, and fear alike
The twofold chance, to do or not to do.
Chorus:
antistrophe 2
Have heed of him who looketh from on high,
The guard of woeful mortals, whosoe'er
Unto their fellows cry,
And find no pity, find no justice there.
Abiding in his wrath, the suppliants' lord
Doth smite, unmoved by cries, unbent by prayerful word.
The King of Argos:
But if Aegyptus' children grasp you here,
Claiming, their country's right, to hold you theirs
As next of kin, who dares to counter this?
Plead ye your country's laws, if plead ye may,
That upon you they lay no lawful hand.
Chorus:
strophe 3
Let me not fall, O nevermore,
A prey into the young men's hand;
Rather than wed whom I abhor,
By pilot-stars I flee