EPOPS. Chase off drowsy sleep, dear companion. Let the sacred hymn gush from thy divine throat in melodious strains; roll forth in soft cadence your refreshing melodies to bewail the fate of Itys,[202] which has been the cause of so many tears to us both. Your pure notes rise through the thick leaves of the yew-tree right up to the throne of Zeus, where Phoebus listens to you, Phoebus with his golden hair. And his ivory lyre responds to your plaintive accents; he gathers the choir of the gods and from their immortal lips rushes a sacred chant of blessed voices. (_The flute is played behind the scene._) PISTHETAERUS. Oh! by Zeus! what a throat that little bird possesses. He has filled the whole coppice with honey-sweet melody! EUELPIDES. Hush! PISTHETAERUS. What's the matter? EUELPIDES. Will you keep silence? PISTHETAERUS. What for? EUELPIDES. Epops is going to sing again. EPOPS (_in the coppice_). Epopoi, poi, popoi, epopoi, popoi, here, here, quick, quick, quick, my comrades in the air; all you, who pillage the fertile lands of the husbandmen, the numberless tribes who gather and devour the barley seeds, the swift flying race who sing so sweetly. And you whose gentle twitter resounds through the fields with the little cry of tio, tio, tio, tio, tio, tio, tio, tio; and you who hop about the branches of the ivy in the gardens; the mountain birds, who feed on the wild olive berries or the arbutus, hurry to come at my call, trioto, trioto, totobrix; you also, who snap up the sharp-stinging gnats in the marshy vales, and you who dwell in the fine plain of Marathon, all damp with dew, and you, the francolin with speckled wings; you too, the halcyons, who flit over the swelling waves of the sea, come hither to hear the tidings; let all the tribes of long-necked birds assemble here; know that a clever old man has come to us, bringing an entirely new idea and proposing great reforms. Let all come to the debate here, here, here, here. Torotorotorotorotix, kikkobau, kikkobau, torotorotorotorolililix. PISTHETAERUS. Can you see any bird? EUELPIDES. By Phoebus, no! and yet I am straining my eyesight to scan the sky. PISTHETAERUS. 'Twas really not worth Epops' while to go and bury himself in the thicket like a plover when a-hatching. PHOENICOPTERUS. Torotina, torotina. PISTHETAERUS. Hold, friend, here is another bird. EUELPIDES. I' faith, yes! 'tis a bird, but of what kind? Isn't it a peacock? PISTHETAERUS. Epops will tell us. What is this bird? EPOPS. 'Tis not one of those you are used to seeing; 'tis a bird from the marshes. PISTHETAERUS. Oh! oh! but he is very handsome with his wings as crimson as flame. EPOPS. Undoubtedly; indeed he is called flamingo.[203] EUELPIDES. Hi! I say! You! PISTHETAERUS. What are you shouting for? EUELPIDES. Why, here's another bird. PISTHETAERUS. Aye, indeed; 'tis a foreign bird too. What is this bird from beyond the mountains with a look as solemn as it is stupid? EPOPS. He is called the Mede.[204]