Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/77

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In heaven, or in the mart who wait,

With gifts the altars glow.

Now here, now yonder, doth a torch arise,

Streaming aloft to reach the skies,

Charmed with pure unguent's soothing spell,

Guileless and suasive, from the royal cell.

What here 'tis lawful to declare,

What may be told proclaim;

Be healer of this care

Which now a lowering form doth wear,

Till fawning Hope, from out the flame

Of sacrifice, with gentle smile

Doth sateless grief's soul-gnawing pang beguile.

[While offers sacrifice, the following Ode is sung by the Chorus from the altar of .]

The way-side omen mine it is to sing,

The leaders' prosperous might fore-shadowing,

For still my age, unquenched its natal power,

Doth suasive song inspire, a heaven-sent dower,

How the rapacious bird, the feathered king,

Sends forth against the Teucrid land,

With spear and with avenging hand,

Achaia's double-thronèd Might,

Accordant chiefs of Hellas' martial flower.