CHORUS. Short is my word and clear. Of Argive race We come, from her, the ox-horned maiden who Erst bare the sacred child. My word shall give Whate’er can ’stablish this my soothfast tale. THE KING OF ARGOS. O stranger maids, I may not trust this word, That ye have share in this our Argive race. No likeness of our country do ye bear, But semblance as of Libyan womankind. Even such a stock by Nilus’ banks might grow; Yea and the Cyprian stamp, in female forms, Shows to the life, what males impressed the same. And, furthermore, of roving Indian maids Whose camping-grounds by Aethiopia lie, And camels burdened even as mules, and bearing Riders, as horses bear, mine ears have heard; And tales of flesh-devouring mateless maids Called Amazons: to these, if bows ye bare, I most had deemed you like. Speak further yet, That of your Argive birth the truth I learn. CHORUS. Here in this Argive land—so runs the tale— Io was priestess once of Hera’s fane. THE KING OF ARGOS. Yea, truth it is, and far this word prevails: Is’t said that Zeus with mortal mingled love? CHORUS. Ay, and that Hera that embrace surmised. THE KING OF ARGOS. How issued then this strife of those on high? CHORUS. By Hera’s will, a heifer she became. THE KING OF ARGOS. Held Zeus aloof then from the horned beast? CHORUS. ’Tis said, he loved, in semblance of a bull. THE KING OF ARGOS. And his stern consort, did she aught thereon? CHORUS. One myriad-eyed she set, the heifer’s guard. THE KING OF ARGOS. How namest thou this herdsman many-eyed? CHORUS. Argus, the child of Earth, whom Hermes slew. THE KING OF ARGOS. Still did the goddess vex the beast ill-starred? CHORUS. She wrought a gadfly with a goading sting. THE KING OF ARGOS. Thus drave she Io hence, to roam afar? CHORUS. Yea—this thy word coheres exact with mine. THE KING OF ARGOS. Then to Canopus and to Memphis came she? CHORUS. And by Zeus’ hand was touched, and bare a child. THE KING OF ARGOS. Who vaunts him the Zeus-mated creature’s son? CHORUS. Epaphus, named rightly from the saving touch. THE KING OF ARGOS. And whom in turn did Epaphus beget?[4] CHORUS. Libya, with name of a wide land endowed. THE KING OF ARGOS. And who from her was born unto the race? CHORUS. Belus: from him two sons, my father one. THE KING OF ARGOS. Speak now to me his name, this greybeard wise. 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 creature 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!