Parodos
[Choral]
once more shall my arrow o’ertake thee.
160
Ion
Lo! another comes sailing towards the altar, a swan this time; take thy bright plumes elsewhere; the lyre that Phoebus tuneth to thy song shall never
save thee from the bow; so fly away, and settle at the Delian mere, for if thou wilt not hearken, thy blood shall choke the utterance of thy fair melody.
165
Ha! what new bird comes now? Does it mean to lodge a nest of dry straw for its brood beneath the gables? Soon shall my twanging bow drive thee away. Dost not hear me?
170
Away and rear thy young amid the streams of swirling Alpheus, or get thee to the woody Isthmian glen, that Phoebus’ offerings and his shrine may take no hurt. I am loth to slay ye,
175
ye messengers to mortal man of messages from heaven; still must I serve Phoebus, to whose tasks I am devoted, nor will I cease to minister to those that give me food.
180
[Choral 1]
It is not in holy Athens
(First) Chorus
only that there are courts of the gods with fine colonnades, and the worship of Apollo, guardian of highways; but here, too, at the shrine of Loxias, son of Latona, shines the lovely eye of day on faces twain.
185
(Second) Chorus
Just look at this! here is the son of Zeus killing with his scimitar of gold the watersnake of Lerna. Do look at him, my friend!
190
(First) Chorus
Yes, I see. And close to him stands another
with a blazing torch uplifted; who is he? Can this be the warrior Iolaus whose story is told on my broidery, who shares with
195
the son of Zeus his labours and helps him in the moil?
200
(Third) Chorus
Oh! but look at this! a man mounted on a winged horse, killing a fire-breathing monster with three bodies.
[Choral 2]
I am turning my eyes in every direction. Behold the rout of the giants carved on these walls of stone.
205
(Fourth) Chorus
Yes, yes, good friends, I am looking.
(Fifth) Chorus
Dost see her standing over Enceladus brandishing her shield with the Gorgon’s head?
210
(Sixth) Chorus
I see Pallas, my own goddess.
(Seventh) Chorus
Again, dost see the massy thunderbolt all aflame in the far-darting hands of Zeus?
(Eighth) Chorus
I do; ’tis blasting with its flame Mimas, that deadly foe.
215
(Ninth) Chorus
Bromius too, the god of revelry, is slaying another of the sons of Earth with his thyrsus of ivy, never meant for battle.
