_King._ What else then wrought she on the ill-starred heifer? _Chor._ She sent a stinging gadfly to torment her. [Those who near Neilos dwell an _æstros_ call it.] _King._ Did she then drive her from her country far? _Chor._ All that thou say'st agrees well with our tale. _King._ And did she to Canôbos go, and Memphis? _Chor._ Zeus with his touch, an offspring then begets. _King._ What Zeus-born calf that heifer claims as mother? _Chor._ *He from that touch which freed named Epaphos.310 _King._ [_What offspring then did Epaphos beget?_][233] _Chor._ Libya, that gains her fame from greatest land. _King._ What other offspring, born of her, dost tell of? _Chor._ Sire of my sire here, Belos, with two sons. _King._ Tell me then now the name of yonder sage. _Chor._ Danaos, whose brother boasts of fifty sons. _King._ Tell me his name, too, with ungrudging speech. _Chor._ Ægyptos: knowing now our ancient stock, Take heed thou bid thine Argive suppliants rise. _King._ Ye seem, indeed, to make your ancient claim To this our country good: but how came ye 320 To leave your father's house? What chance constrained you? _Chor._ O king of the Pelasgi, manifold Are ills of mortals, and thou could'st not find The self-same form of evil anywhere. Who would have said that this unlooked-for flight Would bring to Argos race once native here, Driving them forth in hate of wedlock's couch? _King._ What seek'st thou then of these the Gods of conflicts, Holding your wool-wreathed branches newly-plucked? _Chor._ That I serve not Ægyptos' sons as slave. _King._ Speak'st thou of some old feud, or breach of right? 330 _Chor._ Nay, who'd find fault with master that one loved? _King._ Yet thus it is that mortals grow in strength.[234] _Chor._ True; when men fail, 'tis easy to desert them. _King._ How then to you may I act reverently? _Chor._ Yield us not up unto Ægyptos' sons. _King._ Hard boon thou ask'st, to wage so strange a war. _Chor._ Nay, Justice champions those who fight with her. _King._ Yes, if her hand was in it from the first. _Chor._ Yet reverence thou the state-ship's stern thus wreathed.[235] _King._ I tremble as I see these seats thus shadowed. 340 STROPHE I _Chor._ Dread is the wrath of Zeus, the God of suppliants: Son of Palæchthon, hear; Hear, O Pelasgic king, with kindly heart. Behold me suppliant, exile, wanderer, *Like heifer chased by wolves Upon the lofty crags, Where, trusting in her strength, She lifteth up her voice And to the shepherd tells her tale of grief. _King._ I see, o'ershadowed with the new-plucked boughs, *Bent low, a band these Gods of conflict own; And may our dealings with these home-sprung strangers 350 Be without peril, nor let strife arise To this our country for unlooked-for chance And unprovided! This our State wants not.