Chorus.
But Justice champions them who strike for her.
The King of Argos.
Yea, if their side was from the outset hers.
Chorus.
Revere the gods thus crowned, who steer the State.
The King of Argos.
Awe thrills me, seeing these shrines with leafage crowned.
Chorus.
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 heifer 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!
The King of Argos.
Lo, with bound 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.
