From us will hold their sacrilegious hand;
Too proud their hearts, mad with unhallowed fire,
Reckless as dogs, they scorn the gods' command.
Danaos.
But wolves o'ermaster dogs, so runs the rede; 740
And fruit of byblos is no match for corn.
Chorus.
Since they the tempers have of brutes unclean
And wanton, of their power we must beware.
Danaos.
No speedy task the manage of a fleet,
Nor yet to fix its moorings, nor ashore
Safely to bring the stern-ropes; nor at once
Are shepherds of swift galleys wont to trust
Their anchor-hold, the more when they approach
A region harbourless, what time the sun
Sinks into night; for anxious travail-throes 750
In wary pilot night is wont to breed.
Trust me, the army will not disembark,
Till in her moorings safe the galley rides;
Though fear-oppressed, beware, slight not the gods,
Who succour brought; nor shall the city blame
Your herald, old, but young in eloquence.[1]
Chorus. Strophe I.
O hilly land, which all revere,
What woe awaits us? where, oh where,
- ↑ εὐγλώσσῳ φρενί—literally, with well-tongued heart.
