Come, holy Clouds, whom the wise revere, Descend in the sight of your votaries here! Whether ye rest on the heights of Olympus, whereon the sacred snow lies ever, Or in coral groves of your father Ocean ye weave with the Nymphs the dance together, Or draw aloft in your golden vessels the holy waters of ancient Nile, Or haunt the banks of the lake Mæotis, or clothe the Mimas’ steeps the while,-- Hear our prayer, O gentle goddesses, take the gifts your suppliants bring, Smile propitious on these our offerings, list to the mystic chant we sing! It is not very easy to comprehend the mode in which the succeeding scene was managed, but the appliances of the Athenian stage were no doubt quite equal to presenting it very effectively. The vast amphitheatre in which these performances took place, open to the sky, and from which actors and audience commanded a view of the hills round Athens, and of the “illimitable air” and “cloudless heaven” which Socrates apostrophises in his invocation to the goddesses, would add greatly to the effect of the beautiful choric songs which follow. But, on the other hand, it presents difficulties to any arrangement for the actual descent of the Clouds upon the stage. Probably their first chorus is sung behind the scenes, and they are invisible,--present to the imagination only of the audience, until they enter the orchestra in palpable human shape. Theories and guesses on these points are, after all, but waste of ingenuity. The beauty of the lines which herald their entrance (which can receive but scant justice in a translation) is one of the many instances in which the poet rises above the satirist. (CHORUS OF CLOUDS, _in the distance, accompanied by the low rolling of thunder_.[32]) Eternal clouds! Rise we to mortal view, Embodied in bright shapes of dewy sheen, Leaving the depths serene Where our loud-sounding Father Ocean dwells, For the wood-crownèd summits of the hills: Thence shall our glance command The beetling crags which sentinel the land, The teeming earth, The crops we bring to birth; Thence shall we hear The music of the ever-flowing streams, The low deep thunders of the booming sea. Lo, the bright Eye of Day unwearied beams! Shedding our veil of storms From our immortal forms, We scan with keen-eyed gaze this nether sphere. Socrates falls to the ground in adoration of his beloved deities; and Strepsiades follows his example, in great terror at the thunder, with all the buffoonish exaggeration which would delight an Athenian audience. (CHORUS OF CLOUDS, _nearer_.)