Parodos
How shall I turn fleet-fugitive,
Failing of duty to allies?
Since for a wind-abating sacrifice
And virgin blood, — ’t is right they strive,
215
Well may it work them — this that they require!
But when he underwent necessity’s
Yoke-trace, — from soul blowing unhallowed change
Unclean, abominable, — thence—another man —
220
The audacious mind of him began
For this it is gives mortals hardihood —
Some vice-devising miserable mood
Of madness, and first woe of all the brood.
The sacrificer of his daughter — strange! —
He dared become, to expedite
225
Woman-avenging warfare, — anchors weighed
With such prelusive rite!
Prayings and callings Father — naught they made
Of these, and of the virgin-age, —
