Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/38

8 Our wandering pinnace came—

Argos, the immemorial home

Of her from whom we boast to come—

Io, the ox-horned maiden, whom,

After long wandering, woe, and scathe,

Zeus with a touch, a mystic breath,

Made mother of our name.

Therefore, of all the lands of earth,

On this most gladly step we forth,

And in our hands aloft we bear—

Sole weapon for a suppliant's wear—

The olive-shoot, with wool enwound!

City, and land, and waters wan

Of Inachus, and gods most high,

And ye who, deep beneath the ground,

Bring vengeance weird on mortal man,

Powers of the grave, on you we cry!

And unto Zeus the Saviour, guard

Of mortals' holy purity!

Receive ye us—keep watch and ward

Above the suppliant maiden band!

Chaste be the heart of this your land

Towards the weak! but, ere the throng,

The wanton swarm, from Egypt sprung,

Leap forth upon the silted shore,

Thrust back their swift-rowed bark again,

Repel them, urge them to the main!

And there, 'mid storm and lightning's shine,

And scudding drift and thunder's roar,

Deep death be theirs, in stormy brine!

Before they foully grasp and win

Us, maiden-children of their kin,

And climb the couch by law denied,

And wrong each weak reluctant bride.

And now on her I call,