Online Book Reader

Home Category

Works of Aeschylus - Aeschylus [95]

By Root 613 0
the young men's will hath their will stood.

They knew right well

Th' unearthly watching fiend invincible,

The foul avenger-let him not draw near!

For he, on roofs ill-starred,

Defiling and polluting, keeps a ghastly ward!

They knew his vengeance, and took holy heed

To us, the sister suppliants, who cry

To Zeus, the lord of purity:

Therefore with altars pure they shall the gods revere.

Thus, through the boughs that shade our lips, fly forth in air,

strophe 2

Fly forth, O eager prayer!

May never pestilence efface

This city's race,

Nor be the land with corpses strewed,

Nor stained with civic blood!

The stem of youth, unpluckt, to manhood come,

Nor Ares rise from Aphrodite's bower,

The lord of death and bane, to waste our youthful flower.

antistrophe 2

Long may the old

Crowd to the altars kindled to consume

Gifts rich and manifold-

Offered to win from powers divine

A benison on city and on shrine:

Let all the sacred might adore

Of Zeus most high, the lord

Of guestright and the hospitable board,

Whose immemorial law doth rule Fate's scales aright:

The garners of earth's store

Be full for evermore,

And grace of Artemis make women's travail light;

strophe 3

No devastating curse of fell disease

This city seize;

No clamour of the State arouse to war

Ares, from whom afar

Shrinketh the lute, by whom the dances fail-

Ares, the lord of wail.

Swarm far aloof from Argos' citizens

All plague and pestilence,

And may the Archer-God our children spare!

antistrophe 3

May Zeus with foison and with fruitfulness

The land's each season bless,

And, quickened with Heaven's bounty manifold,

Teem grazing flock and fold.

Beside the altars of Heaven's hallowing

Loud let the minstrels sing,

And from pure lips float forth the harp-led strain in air!

strophe 4

And let the people's voice, the power

That sways the State, in danger's hour

Be wary, wise for all;

Nor honour in dishonour hold,

But-ere the voice of war be bold-

Let them to stranger peoples grant

Fair and unbloody covenant-

Justice and peace withal;

antistrophe 4

And to the Argive powers divine

The sacrifice of laurelled kine,

By rite ancestral, pay.

Among three words of power and awe,

Stands this, the third, the mighty law-

Your gods, your fathers deified,

Ye shall adore. Let this abide

For ever and for aye.

Danaus:

Dear children, well and wisely have ye prayed;

I bid you now not shudder, though ye hear

New and alarming tidings from your sire.

From this high place beside the suppliants' shrine

The bark of our pursuers I behold,

By divers tokens recognized too well.

Lo, the spread canvas and the hides that screen

The gunwale; lo, the prow, with painted eyes

That seem her onward pathway to descry,

Heeding too well the rudder at the stern

That rules her, coming for no friendly end.

And look, the seamen-all too plain their race-

Their dark limbs gleam from out their snow-white garb;

Plain too the other barks, a fleet that comes

All swift to aid the purpose of the first,

That now, with furled sail and with pulse of oars

Which smite the wave together, comes aland.

But ye, be calm, and, schooled not scared by fear,

Confront this chance, be mindful of your trust

In these protecting gods. And I will hence,

And champions who shall plead your cause aright

Will bring unto your side. There come perchance

Heralds or envoys, eager to lay hand

And drag you captive hence; yet fear them not;

Foiled shall they be. Yet well it were for you

(If, ere with aid I come, I tarry long)

Not by one step this sanctuary to leave.

Farewell, fear nought: soon shall the hour be born

When he that scorns the gods shall rue his scorn.

Chorus, chanting:

Ah, but I shudder, father!-ah, even now,

Even as I speak, the swift-winged ships draw nigh!

strophe 1

I shudder, I shiver, I perish with fear:

Overseas though I fled,

Yet nought it avails; my pursuers are near!

Danaus:

Children, take heart; they who decreed to aid

Thy cause will arm for battle, well I ween.

Chorus:

But desperate is Aegyptus' ravening race,

With fight

Return Main Page Previous Page Next Page

®Online Book Reader