Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/498

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Back where my mother trod the wold,

Her ancient haunts, flower-gendering meads,

Pastures where yet the heifer feeds,

I now betake me,—whence of old,

Brize-goaded, and distracted, speeds

Through many a tribe of mortal men,

Io;—and while she holds in ken

The adverse shore, straight through the sea,

A path she cleaveth, led by Destiny.

Through Asia's land in wild career,

Right o'er sheep-pasturing Phrygia's plain,

Till Teuthras' Mysian towers appear,

And Lydian vales,—she scours amain;

Cilicia's and Pamphylia's height

Leaving behind, she speeds her flight

O'er banks of ever-flowing streams,

To the fair land with corn that teems,

Region deep-soiled to Aphrodite dear.

Pierced by her wingèd herdsman's sting,

The lea she gains all fostering,—