Chorus.
But desperate is Ægyptus' ravening race,
With fight unsated; thou too know'st it well.
In their wrath they o'ertake us; the prow is deep-dark
In the which they have sped,
And dark is the bench and the crew of the bark.
Danaus.
Yea but a crew as stout they here shall find,
And arms well steeled beneath a noon-day sun.
Chorus.
Ah yet, O father, leave us not forlorn!
Alone, a maid is nought, a strengthless arm.
With guile they pursue me, with counsel malign,
And unholy their soul;
And as ravens they seize me, unheeding the shrine.
Danaus.
Fair will befall us, children, in this chance,
If thus in wrath they wrong the gods and you.
Chorus.
Alas, nor tridents nor the sanctity
Of shrines will drive them, O my sire, from us!
Unholy and daring and cursed is their ire,
Nor own they control
Of the gods, but like jackals they glut their desire.
