_Enter Chorus of the_ Daughters of DANAOS,[206] _in the dress of Egyptian women, with the boughs of suppliants in their hands, and fillets of white wool twisted round them, chanting as they move in procession to take up their position round the thymele_ Zeus, the God of Suppliants, kindly Look on this our band of wanderers, That from banks at mouths of Neilos, Banks of finest sand, departed![207] Yea, we left the region sacred, Grassy plain on Syria's borders,[208] Not for guilt of blood to exile By our country's edict sentenced, But with free choice, loathing wedlock, Fleeing marriage-rites unholy With the children of Ægyptos. 10 And our father Danaos, ruler, Chief of council, chief of squadrons, Playing moves on fortune's draught-board,[209] Chose what seemed the best of evils, Through the salt sea-waves to hasten, Steering to the land of Argos, Whence our race has risen to greatness; Sprung, so boasts it, from the heifer Whom the stinging gadfly harassed, By the touch of Zeus love-breathing:[210] And to what land more propitious Could we come than this before us, 20 Holding in our hand the branches Suppliant, wreathed with white wool fillets? O State! O land! O water gleaming! Ye the high Gods, ye the awful, In the dark the graves still guarding; Thou too with them, Zeus Preserver,[211] Guardian of the just man's dwelling, Welcome with the breath of pity, Pity as from these shores wafted, Us poor women who are suppliants. And that swarm of men that follow, Haughty offspring of Ægyptos, 30 Ere they set their foot among you On this silt-strown shore,[212]—oh, send them Seaward in their ship swift-rowing; There, with whirlwind tempest-driven, There, with lightning and with thunder, There, with blasts that bring the storm-rain, May they in the fierce sea perish, Ere they, cousin-brides possessing, Rest on marriage-beds reluctant, Which the voice of right denies them! STROPHE I And now I call on him, the Zeus-sprung steer,[213] 40 Our true protector, far beyond the sea, Child of the heifer-foundress of our line, Who cropped the flowery mead, Born of the breath, and named from touch of Zeus. *And lo! the destined time *Wrought fully with the name, And she brought forth the “Touch-born,” Epaphos. ANTISTROPHE I And now invoking him in grassy fields, 50 Where erst his mother strayed, to dwellers here Telling the tale of all her woes of old, I surest pledge shall give; And others, strange beyond all fancy's dream, Shall yet perchance be found; And in due course of time Shall men know clearly all our history.