Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/54

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Revere the gods thus crowned, who steer the State.

Awe thrills me, seeing these shrines with leafage crowned.

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!

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.

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!