Parodos
To those small dewdrop-things fierce lions whelp,
And udder-loving litter of each brute
That roams the mead; and therefore makes she suit,
The fair one, for fulfilment to the end
Of things these signs portend —
145
Which partly smile, indeed, but partly scowl —
145
The phantasms of the fowl.
I call Ieïos Paian to avert
By any thwarting waftures, long and fast
Holdings from sail of ships:
150
And sacrifice, another than the last,
She for herself precipitate —
Something unlawful, feast for no man’s lips,
Builder of quarrels, with the House cognate —
Having in awe no husband: for remains
A frightful, backward-darting in the path,
Wily house-keeping chronicler of wrath,
155
That has to punish that old children’s fate!
155
Such things did Kalchas, — with abundant gains
