Classic Poem

King. Whence comes this crowd, this non-Hellenic band,
In robes and raiment of barbaric fashion
So gorgeously attired, whom now we speak to?
This woman's dress is not of Argive mode,
Nor from the climes of Hellas. How ye dared,
Without a herald even or protector,
Yea, and devoid of guides too, to come hither
Thus boldly, is to me most wonderful.
And yet these boughs, as is the suppliant's wont,
Are set by you before the Gods of conflicts:
By this alone will Hellas guess aright.
Much more indeed we might have else conjectured,
Were there no voice to tell me on the spot.
Chor. Not false this speech of thine about our garb;
But shall I greet thee as a citizen,
Or bearing Hermes' rod, or city ruling?
King. Nay, for that matter, answer thou and speak
Without alarm. Palaechthon's son am I,
Earth-born, the king of this Pelasgic land;
And named from me, their king, as well might be,
The race Pelasgic reaps our country's fruits;
And all the land through which the Strymon pours
Its pure, clear waters to the West I rule;
And as the limits of my realm I mark
The land of the Perrhaebi, and the climes
Near the Paeonians, on the farther side
Of Pindos, and the Dodonaean heights;
And the sea's waters form its bounds. O'er all
Within these coasts I govern; and this plain,
The Apian land, itself has gained its name
Long since from one who as a healer lived;
For Apis, coming from Naupactian land
That lies beyond the straits, Apollo's son,
Prophet and healer, frees this land of ours
From man-destroying monsters, which the soil,
Polluted with the guilt of blood of old,
By anger of the Gods, brought forth, — fierce plagues,
The dragon-brood's dread, unblest company;
And Apis, having for this Argive land
Duly wrought out his saving surgery,
Gained his reward, remembered in our prayers;
And thou, this witness having at my hands,
May'st tell thy race at once, and further speak;
Yet lengthened speech our city loveth not.
Chor. Full short and clear out tale. We boast that we
Are Argives in descent, the children true
Of the fair, fruitful heifer. And all this
Will I by what I speak show firm and true.
King. Nay, strangers, what ye tell is past belief
For me to hear, that ye from Argos spring;
For ye to Libyan women are most like,
And nowise to our native maidens here.
Such race might Neilos breed, and Kyprian mould,
Like yours, is stamped by skilled artificers
On women's features; and I hear that those
Of India travel upon camels borne,
Swift as the horse, yet trained as sumpter-mules,
E'en those who as the Æthiops' neighbours dwell.
And had ye borne the bow, I should have guessed,
Undoubting, ye were of th' Amâzon's tribe,
Man-hating, flesh-devouring. Taught by you,
I might the better know how this can be,
That your descent and birth from Argos come.
Chor. They tell of one who bore the temple-keys
Of Hera, Io, in this Argive land.
King. So was't indeed, and wide the fame prevails:
And was it said that Zeus a mortal loved?
Chor. And that embrace was not from Hera hid.
King. What end had then these strifes of sovereign Ones?
Chor. The Argive goddess made the maid a heifer.
King. Did Zeus that fair-horned heifer still approach?
Chor. So say they, fashioned like a wooing steer.
King. How acted then the mighty spouse of Zeus?
Chor. She o'er the heifer set a guard all-seeing.
King. What herdsman strange, all-seeing, speak'st thou of?
Chor. Argos, the earth-born, him whom Hermes slew.
King. What else then wrought she on the ill-starred heifer?
Chor. She sent a stinging gadfly to torment her.
[Those who near Neilos dwell an aestros call it.]
King. Did she then drive her from her country far?
Chor. All that thou say'st agrees well with our tale.
King. And did she to Can├┤bos go, and Memphis?
Chor. Zeus with his touch, an offspring then begets.
King. What Zeus-born calf that heifer claims as mother?
Chor. He from that touch which freed named Epaphos.
King. [ What offspring then did Epaphos beget? ]
Chor. Libya, that gains her fame from greatest land.
King. What other offspring, born of her, dost tell of?
Chor. Sire of my sire here, Belos, with two sons.
King. Tell me then now the name of yonder sage.
Chor. Danaos, whose brother boasts of fifty sons.
King. Tell me his name, too, with ungrudging speech.
Chor. Ægyptos: knowing now our ancient stock,
Take heed thou bid thine Argive suppliants rise.
King. Ye seem, indeed, to make your ancient claim
To this our country good: but how came ye
To leave your father's house? What chance constrained you?
Chor. O king of the Pelasgi, manifold
Are ills of mortals, and thou could'st not find
The self-same form of evil anywhere.
Who would have said that this unlooked-for flight
Would bring to Argos race once native here,
Driving them forth in hate of wedlock's couch?
King. What seek'st thou then of these the Gods of conflicts,
Holding your wool-wreathed branches newly-plucked?
Chor. That I serve not Ægyptos' sons as slave.
King. Speak'st thou of some old feud, or breach of right?
Chor. Nay, who'd find fault with master that one loved?
King. Yet thus it is that mortals grow in strength.
Chor. True; when men fail, 'tis easy to desert them.
King. How then to you may I act reverently?
Chor. Yield us not up unto Ægyptos' sons.
King. Hard boon thou ask'st, to wage so strange a war.
Chor. Nay, Justice champions those who fight with her.
King. Yes, if her hand was in it from the first.
Chor. Yet reverence thou the state-ship's stern thus wreathed.
King. I tremble as I see these seats thus shadowed.

Strophe I

Chor. Dread is the wrath of Zeus, the God of suppliants:
Son of Palaechthon, hear;
Hear, O Pelasgic king, with kindly heart.
Behold me suppliant, exile, wanderer,
Like heifer chased by wolves
Upon the lofty crags,
Where, trusting in her strength,
She lifteth up her voice
And to the shepherd tells her tale of grief.
King. I see, o'ershadowed with the new-plucked boughs,
Bent low, a band these Gods of conflict own;
And may our dealings with these home-sprung strangers
Be without peril, nor let strife arise
To this our country for unlooked-for chance
And unprovided! This our State wants not.

A NTISTROPHE I

Chor. Yea, may that Law that guards the suppliant's right
Free this our flight from harm,
Law, sprung from Zeus, supreme Apportioner,
But thou, though old, from me, though younger, learn:
If thou a suppliant pity
Thou ne'er shalt penury know.
So long as Gods receive
Within their sacred shrines
Gifts at the hands of worshipper unstained.
King. It is not at my hearth ye suppliant sit;
But if the State be as a whole defiled,
Be it the people's task to work the cure,
I cannot pledge my promise to you first
Ere I have counselled with my citizens.

Strophe II

Chor. Thou art the State — yea, thou the commonwealth,
Chief lord whom none may judge;
'Tis thine to rule the country's altar-hearth,
With the sole vote of thy prevailing nod;
And thou on throne of state,
Sole-sceptred in thy sway,
Bringest each matter to its destined end;
Shun thou the curse of guilt.
King. Upon my foes rest that dread curse of guilt!
Yet without harm I cannot succour you,
Nor gives it pleasure to reject your prayers.
In a sore strait am I; fear fills my soul
To take the chance, to do or not to do.

A NTISTROPHE II

Chor. Look thou on Him who looks on all from heaven,
Guardian of suffering men
Who, worn with toil, unto their neighbours come
As suppliants, and receive not justice due:
For these the wrath of Zeus,
Zeus, the true suppliant's God,
Abides, by wail of sufferer unappeased.
King. Yet if Ægyptos' sons have claim on thee
By their State's law, asserting that they come
As next of kin, who dare oppose their right?
Thou must needs plead that by thy laws at home
They over thee have no authority.

Strophe III

Chor. Ah! may I ne'er be captive to the might
Of males! Where'er the stars
Are seen in heaven, I track my way in flight,
As refuge from a marriage that I hate.
But thou, make Right thy friend,
And honour what the Gods count pure and true.
King. Hard is the judgment: choose not me as judge.
But, as I said before, I may not act
Without the people, sovereign though I be,
Lest the crowd say, should aught fall out amiss,
" In honouring strangers, thou the State did'st ruin. "

A NTISTROPHE III

Chor. Zeus, the great God of kindred, in these things
Watches o'er both of us,
Holding an equal scale, and fitly giving
To the base evil, to the righteous blessing.
Why, when these things are set
In even balance, fear'st thou to do right?
King. Deep thought we need that brings deliverance,
That, like a diver, mine eye too may plunge
Clear-seeing to the depths, not wine-bedrenched,
That these things may be harmless to the State,
And to ourselves may issue favourably:
That neither may the strife make you its prey,
Nor that we give you up, who thus are set
Near holy seat of Gods, and so bring in
To dwell with us the Avenger terrible,
God that destroyeth, who not e'en in Hades
Gives freedom to the dead. Say, think ye not
That there is need of counsel strong to save?