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The Birds: Part IV
The Birds: Part IV
Chorus (singing). War, a terrible war is breaking out between us and the
gods! Come, let each one guard Air, the son of Erebus, in which the clouds
float. Take care no immortal enters it without our knowledge.
Leader of the Chorus. Scan all sides with your glance. Hark! I think I
hear the rustle of the swift wings of a god from heaven. (The Machine brings
in Iris in the form of a young girl.)
Pisthetaerus. Hi! you woman! Where, where, where are you flying to? Halt,
don`t stir! keep motionless! not a beat of your wings! (She pauses in her
flight.) Who are you, and from what country? You must tell us.
Iris. I come from the abode of the Olympian gods.
Pisthetaerus. What`s your name, ship, or head-dress?
Iris. I am swift Iris.
Pisthetaerus. Paralus or Salaminia?
Iris. What do you mean?
Pisthetaerus. Get a buzzard to arrest her, quick!
Iris. Arrest me? But what do all these insults mean?
Pisthetaerus. Too bad for you!
Iris. I do not understand it.
Pisthetaerus. By which gate did you pass through the wall, wretched
woman?
Iris. By which gate? Why, great gods, I don`t know.
Pisthetaerus. You hear how she holds us in derision? - Did you present
yourself to the officers in command of the jays? You don`t answer. Have you a
permit, bearing the seal of the storks?
Iris. Am I dreaming?
Pisthetaerus. Did you get one?
Iris. Are you mad?
Pisthetaerus. No head-bird gave you a safe-conduct?
Iris. A safe-conduct to me? You poor fool!
Pisthetaerus. Ah! and so you slipped into this city on the sly and into
these realms of air-land that don`t belong to you.
Iris. And what other roads can the gods travel?
Pisthetaerus. By God! I know nothing about that, not I, but they won`t
pass this way. And you still dare to complain? Why, if you were treated as
you deserve, no Iris would ever meet a juster death.
Iris. I am immortal.
Pisthetaerus. You would have died nevertheless. - Oh, intolerable! What!
should the universe obey us, and the gods alone continue their insolence and
not understand that they must submit to the law of the strongest in their due
turn? But tell me: where are you flying to?
Iris. I? The messenger of Zeus to mankind, I am going to tell them to
sacrifice sheep and oxen on the altars and to fill their streets with the rich
smoke of burning fat.
Pisthetaerus. Of which gods are you speaking?
Iris. Of which? Why, of ourselves, the gods of heaven.
Pisthetaerus. You, gods?
Iris. Are there others, then?
Pisthetaerus. Men now adore the birds as gods, and it`s to them, by Zeus,
that they must offer sacrifices, and not to Zeus at all!
Iris (in tragic style). Of fool, fool! Rouse not the wrath of the gods,
for it is terrible indeed. Armed with the brand of Zeus, Justice would
annihilate your race; the lightning would strike you as it did Licymnius and
consume both your body and the porticos of your palace.
Pisthetaerus. Here! that`s enough big talk. Just you listen and keep
quiet! Do you take me for a Lydian or a Phrygian and think to frighten me with
your swagger? Know, that if Zeus worries me again, I shall go at the head of
my eagles armed with lightning and reduce his dwelling and that of Amphion to
cinders. I shall send more than six hundred porphyrions clothed in leopards`
skins up to heaven against him; and formerly a single Porphyrion gave him
enough to do. As for you, his messenger, if you annoy me, I shall begin by
getting between your thighs, and even though you are Iris, you will be
surprised at the erection an old man can produce: it`s three times as good as
the ram on a ship`s prow!
Iris. You damnable wretch! Your infamous words!
Pisthetaerus. Won`t you get out of here quickly? Come, stretch your
wings, or look out for squalls!
Iris. If my father does not punish you for your insults ... (The machine
takes Iris away.)
Pisthetaerus. Ha! . . . but just you be off elsewhere to roast younger
folk than us with your lightning.
Chorus (singing). We forbid the gods, the sons of Zeus, to pass through
our city, and the mortals to send them the smoke of their sacrifices by this
road.
Pisthetaerus. It`s odd that the messenger we sent to the mortals has
never returned. (The Herald enters, wearing a golden garland on his head.)
Herald. O blessed Pisthetaerus, very wise, very illustrious, very
gracious, thrice happy, very . . . Come, prompt me, somebody, do -
Pisthetaerus. Get to your story!
Herald. All peoples are filled with admiration for your wisdom, and they
award you this golden crown.
Pisthetaerus. I accept it. But tell me, why do the people admire me?
Herald. O you, who have founded so illustrious a city in the air, you
know not in what esteem men hold you and how many there are who burn with
desire to dwell here. Before your city was built, all men had a mania for
Sparta: long hair and fasting were held in honor, men went dirty like Socrates
and carried staves. Now all is changed. First, as soon as it`s dawn they all
spring out of bed together to go and seek their food, the same as you do. Then
they fly off towards the notices, and finally devour the decrees. The
bird-madness is so popular that many actually take the names of birds. There
is a lame victualler who calls himself Partridge; Menippus calls himself the
swallow, Opuntius, the one-eyed crow; Philocles, the lark; Theogenes, the
fox-goose; Lycurgus, the ibis; Chaerephon, the bat; Syracusius, the magpie;
Midias, the quail: indeed he looks like a quail that has been hit hard
on the head. Out of love for the birds they repeat all the songs which concern
the swallow, the teal, the goose or the pigeon; in each verse you see wings,
or at all events a few feathers. This is what is happening down there.
Finally, there are more than ten thousand people who are coming here from
earth to ask you for feathers and hooked claws; so mind you supply yourself
with wings for the immigrants.
Pisthetaerus. Ah, by God, there`s no time for idling! (To some slaves) Go
as quick as possible and fill every hamper, every basket you can find, with
wings. Manes will bring them to me outside the walls, and I will welcome those
who present themselves.
Chorus (singing). This town will soon be inhabited by a crowd of men.
Fortune favors us alone, and so they have fallen in love with our city.
Pisthetaerus (to the slave Manes, who brings in a basket full of wings).
Come, hurry up and bring them along.
Chorus (singing). Will not man find here everything that can please him -
wisdom, love, the divine Graces, the sweet face of gentle peace?
Pisthetaerus (as Manes comes in with another basket). O you lazy servant!
won`t you hurry yourself?
Chorus (singing). Let a basket of wings be brought speedily. Come, beat
him as I do, and put some life into him, he is as lazy as an ass.
Pisthetaerus. Yes, Manes is a great clod.
Chorus (singing). Begin by putting this heap of wings in order; divide
them in three parts according to the birds from whom they came: the
singing, the prophetic and the aquatic birds. Then you must take care to
distribute them to the men according to their character.
Pisthetaerus (to Manes, who is bringing in another basket). Oh, by the
kestrels! I can keep my hands off you no longer; you are too slow and lazy
altogether! (He hits Manes, who runs away. A young Parricide enters.)
Parricide (singing). Oh might I but become an eagle who soars in the
skies! Oh might I fly above the azure waves of the barren sea!
Pisthetaerus. Ha! It would seem the news was true. I hear someone coming
who talks of wings.
Parricide. Nothing is more charming than flying: I am bird-mad and fly
toward you, for I want to live with you and obey your laws.
Pisthetaerus. Which laws? The birds have many laws.
Parricide. All of them; but the one that pleases me most is that among
the birds it is considered a fine thing to peck and strangle one`s father.
Pisthetaerus. Yes, by God! According to us, he who dares to strike his
father, while still a chick, is a brave fellow.
Parricide. And therefore I want to dwell here, for I want to strangle my
father and inherit his wealth.
Pisthetaerus. But we have also an ancient law written in the code of the
storks, which runs thus: `When the stork father has reared his young and has
taught them to fly, the young must in their turn support the father.`
Parricide (petulantly). It`s hardly worth while coming all this distance
to be compelled to keep my father!
Pisthetaerus. No, no, young friend, since you have come to us with such
willingness, I am going to give you these black wings, as though you were an
orphan bird. Furthermore, some good advice that I received myself in infancy.
Don`t strike your father, but take these wings in one hand and these spurs in
the other; imagine you have a cock`s crest on your head, and go mount guard
and fight. Live on your pay and respect your father`s life. You`re a gallant
fellow! Very well, then! Fly to Thrace and fight.
Parricide. By Dionysus, you`re right; I will follow your counsel.
Pisthetaerus. It`s acting wisely, by Zeus. (The Parricide departs, and
the dithyrambic poet Cinesias arrives, singing.)
Cinesias. `On my light pinions I soar off to Olympus; in its capricious
flight my Muse flutters along the thousand paths of poetry in turn . . .`
Pisthetaerus. This fellow will need a whole shipload of wings.
Cinesias (singing). `. . . and being fearless and vigorous, it is seeking
fresh outlet.`
Pisthetaerus. Welcome, Cinesias, you lime-wood man! Why have you come
here twisting your game leg in circles?
Cinesias (singing). `I want to become a bird, a tuneful nightingale.`
Pisthetaerus. Enough of that sort of ditty. Tell me what you want.
Cinesias. Give me wings and I will fly into the topmost air to gather
fresh songs in the clouds, in the midst of the vapors and the fleecy snow.
Pisthetaerus. Gather songs in the clouds?
Cinesias. `Tis on them the whole of our latter-day art depends. The most
brilliant dithyrambs are those that flap their wings in empty space and are
clothed in mist and dense obscurity. To appreciate this, just listen.
Pisthetaerus. Oh no, no, no!
Cinesias. By Hermes, but indeed you shall! (He sings) `I shall travel
through thine ethereal empire like a winged bird who cleaveth space with his
long neck . . .`
Pisthetaerus. Stop! Way enough!
Cinesias. `. . . as I soar over the seas, carried by the breath of the
winds . . .`
Pisthetaerus. By God, I`ll cut your breath short! (He picks up a pair of
wings and begins trying to stop Cinesias` mouth with them. Cinesias runs
away.)
Cinesias. `. . . now rushing along the tracks of Notus, now nearing
Boreas across the infinite wastes of the ether.` - Ah! old man, that`s a
pretty and clever idea, truly!
Pisthetaerus. What, are you not delighted to be cleaving the air?
Cinesias. To treat a dithyrambic poet, for whom the tribes dispute with
each other, in this style!
Pisthetaerus. Will you stay with us and form a chorus of winged birds as
slender as Leotrophides for the Cecropid tribe?
Cinesias. You are making fun of me, that`s clear; but know that I shall
never leave you in peace if I do not have wings wherewith to traverse the air.
(Cinesias departs and an Informer arrives.)
Informer. What are these birds with downy feathers who look so pitiable
to me? `Tell me, swallow with the dappled long wings.`
Pisthetaerus. Oh, it`s a regular invasion that threatens us! Here comes
another one, humming along.
Informer. `Swallow with the dappled long wings,` once more I summon you.
Pisthetaerus. It`s his cloak I believe he`s addressing; it stands in
great need of the swallow`s return.
Informer. Where is he who gives out wings to all comers?
Pisthetaerus. Here I am, but you must tell me for what purpose you want
them.
Informer. Ask no questions. I want wings, and wings I must have.
Pisthetaerus. Do you want to fly straight to Pellene?
Informer. I? Why, I am an accuser of the islands, an informer . . .
Pisthetaerus. A fine trade, truly!
Informer. . . . a hatcher of lawsuits. Hence I have great need of wings
to prowl round the cities and drag people to justice.
Pisthetaerus. Would you do this better if you had wings?
Informer. No, but I should no longer fear the pirates. I should return
with the cranes, loaded with a supply of lawsuits by way of ballast.
Pisthetaerus. So it seems that in spite of all your youthful vigor you
make it your trade to denounce strangers?
Informer. Well, why not? I don`t know how to dig.
Pisthetaerus. But, by God, there are honest ways of getting a living at
your age without all this infamous trickery.
Informer. My friend, I am asking you for wings, not for words.
Pisthetaerus. It`s just my words that give you wings.
Informer. And how can you give a man wings with your words?
Pisthetaerus. They all start this way.
Informer. How?
Pisthetaerus. Have you not often heard a father say to young men in the
barber-shops, `It`s astonishing how Diitrephes` advice has made my son fly to
horseriding.` - `Mine,` says another, `has flown toward tragic poetry on the
wings of his imagination.`
Informer. So words give wings?
Pisthetaerus. Undoubtedly; words give wings to the mind and make a man
soar to heaven. Thus I hope that my wise words will give you wings to fly to
some less degrading trade.
Informer. But I don`t want to.
Pisthetaerus. What do you plan to do, then?
Informer. I won`t let my family down. From generation to generation we
have lived by informing. Quick, therefore, give me some light swift hawk or
kestrel wings, so that I may summon the islanders, sustain the accusation
here, and haste back there again on flying pinions.
Pisthetaerus. I see. In this way the stranger will be condemned even
before he appears.
Informer. Exactly.
Pisthetaerus. And while he is on his way here by sea, you will be flying
to the islands to despoil him of his property.
Informer. You`ve hit it, precisely; I must whirl hither and thither like
a perfect humming-top.
Pisthetaerus. I catch the idea. Wait, I`ve got some fine Corcyraean
wings. How do you like them?
Informer. Oh! Why, it`s a whip!
Pisthetaerus. No, no; these are the wings, I tell you, that make the top
spin.
Informer (as Pisthetaerus lashes him). Oh! oh! oh!
Pisthetaerus. Take your flight, clear off, you miserable cur, or you will
soon see what comes of quibbling and lying. (The Informer flees.) (To his
slaves) Come, let us gather up our wings and go in. (The baskets are taken
away.)
Chorus (singing). In my ethereal flights I have seen many things new and
strange and wondrous beyond belief. There is a tree called Cleonymus belonging
to an unknown species; it has no heart, is good for nothing, and is as tall as
it is cowardly. In springtime it shoots forth calumnies, instead of buds, and
in autumn it strews the ground with shields in place of leaves.
Far away in the regions of darkness, where no ray of light ever enters,
there is a country where men sit at the table of the heroes and dwell with
them always - except in the evening. Should any mortal meet the hero Orestes
at night, he would soon be stripped and covered with blows from head to foot.
(Prometheus enters, masked to conceal his identity.)
Prometheus. Ah, by the gods! if only Zeus does not see me! Where is
Pisthetaerus?
Pisthetaerus. Ha, what is this? A masked man!
Prometheus. Can you see any god behind me?
Pisthetaerus. No, none. But who are you?
Prometheus. What`s the time, please?
Pisthetaerus. The time? Why, it`s past noon. Who are you?
Prometheus. Is it the fall of day? Is it no later than that?
Pisthetaerus. This is getting dull!
Prometheus. What is Zeus doing? Is he dispersing the clouds or gathering
them?
Pssthetaerus. Watch out for yourself!
Prometheus. Come, I will raise my mask.
Pisthetaerus. Ah! my dear Prometheus!
Prometheus. Sh! Sh! Speak lower!
Pisthetaerus. Why, what`s the matter, Prometheus?
Prometheus. Sh! Sh! Don`t call me by my name; you will be my ruin if
Zeus should see me here. But if you want me to tell you how things are going
in heaven, take this umbrella and hide me so the gods won`t see me.
Pisthetaerus. I recognize my Prometheus in this cunning trick. Come,
quick then, fear nothing; speak on.
Prometheus. Then listen.
Pisthetaerus. I am listening. Go ahead.
Prometheus. Zeus is done for.
Pisthetaerus. Ah! And since when, pray?
Prometheus. Since you founded this city in the air. There is not a man
who now sacrifices to the gods; the smoke of the victims no longer reaches us.
Not the smallest offering comes! We fast as though it were the festival of
Demeter. The barbarian gods, dying of hunger, are bawling like Illyrians and
threatening to make an armed descent upon Zeus if he does not open markets
where joints of the victims are sold.
Pisthetaerus. What! There are other gods besides you, barbarian gods
who dwell above Olympus?
Prometheus. If there were no barbarian gods, who would be the patron of
Execestides?
Pisthetaerus. And what is the name of these gods?
Prometheus. Their name? Why, the Triballi.
Pisthetaerus. Ah, indeed! `Tis from that no doubt that we derive the
word `tribulation.`
Prometheus. Most likely. But one thing I can tell you for certain,
namely, that Zeus and the celestial Triballi are going to send deputies
here to sue for peace. Now don`t you treat with them, unless Zeus restores
the sceptre to the birds and gives you Basileia in marriage.
Pisthetaerus. Who is this Basileia?
Prometheus. A very fine young lady who makes the lightning for Zeus; all
things come from her, wisdom, good laws, virtue, the fleet, calumnies, the
public paymaster, and the triobolus.
Pisthetaerus. Ah! Then she is a sort of general manageress to the god?
Prometheus. Yes, precisely. If he gives you her for your wife, yours will
be the almighty power. That is what I have come to tell you; for you know my
constant and habitual goodwill towards men.
Pisthetaerus. Oh yes! It`s thanks to you that we roast meat.
Prometheus. I hate the gods, as you know.
Pisthetaerus. Yes, by God, you have always detested them.
Prometheus. Toward them I am a veritable Timon. But I must return in all
haste, so give me the umbrella: if Zeus should see me from up there, he would
think I was escorting one of the Canephori.
Pisthetaerus. Wait, take this stool as well. (Prometheus leaves;
Pisthetaerus goes into the thicket.)
Chorus (singing). Near by the land of the Sciapodes there is a marsh,
from the borders whereof the unwashed Socrates evokes the souls of men.
Pisander came one day to see his soul, which he had left there when still
alive. He offered a little victim, a camel, slit its throat, and, following
the example of Odysseus, stepped one pace backwards. Then that bat of a
Chaerephon came up from hell to drink the camel`s blood. (Poseidon enters,
accompanied by Heracles and Triballus.)
Poseidon. This is the city of Cloudcuckooland, to which we come as
ambassadors. (To Triballus) Hi, what are you up to? You are throwing your
cloak over the left shoulder. Come, fling it quick over the right! And why,
pray, does it draggle in this fashion? Have you ulcers to hide, like
Laespodias? Oh democracy! whither, oh whither art thou leading us? Is it
possible that the gods have chosen such an envoy? You are undisturbed? Ugh,
you cursed savage! you are the most barbarous of all the gods. - Tell me,
Heracles, what are we going to do?
Heracles. I have already told you that I want to strangle the fellow who
dared wall us out.
Poseidon. But, my friend, we are envoys of peace.
Heracles. All the more reason why I wish to strangle him. (Pisthetaerus
comes out of the thicket, followed by slaves carrying various kitchen
utensils; one of them sets up a table on which he places poultry dressed for
roasting.)
Pisthetaerus. Hand me the cheese-grater; bring me the silphium for sauce;
pass me the cheese, and watch the coals.
Poseidon. Mortal, we who greet you are three gods.
Pisthetaerus. Wait a bit till I have prepared my silphium pickle.
Heracles. What are these meats?
Pisthetaerus. These are birds that have been punished with death for
attacking the people`s friends.
Heracles. And you are going to season them before answering us?
Pisthetaerus (looking up from his work for the first time). Ah. Heracles!
Welcome, welcome! What`s the matter?
Poseidon. The gods have sent us here as ambassadors to treat for peace.
Pisthetaerus (ignoring this). There`s no more oil in the flask.
Heracles. And yet the birds must be thoroughly basted with it.
Poseidon. We have no interest to serve in fighting you. As for you, be
friends and we promise that you shall always have rain-water in your pools and
the warmest of warm weather. So far as these points go we are
plenipotentiaries.
Pisthetaerus. We have never been the aggressors, and even now we are as
well disposed for peace as yourselves, provided you agree to one equitable
condition, namely, that Zeus yield his sceptre to the birds. If only this is
agreed to, I invite the ambassadors to dinner.
Heracles. That`s good enough for me. I vote for peace.
Poseidon. You wretch, you are nothing but a fool and a glutton. Do you
want to dethrone your own father?
Pisthetaerus. What an error. Why, the gods will be much more powerful if
the birds govern the earth. At present the mortals are hidden beneath the
clouds, escape your observation, and commit perjury in your name; but if you
had the birds for your allies, and a man, after having sworn by the crow and
Zeus, should fail to keep his oath, the crow would dive down upon him unawares
and pluck out his eye.
Poseidon. Well thought of, by Poseidon!
Heracles. My notion, too.
Pisthetaerus (to Triballus). And you, what`s your opinion?
Triballus. Nabaisatreu.
Pisthetaerus. See? he approves, too. But listen, here is another thing in
which we can serve you. If a man vows to offer a sacrifice to some god, and
then procrastinates, pretending that the gods can wait, and thus does not keep
his word, we shall punish his stinginess.
Poseidon. Ah? and how?
Pisthetaerus. While he is counting his money, or is in the bath, a kite
will relieve him, before he knows it, either in coin or in clothes, of the
value of a couple of sheep, and carry it to the god.
Heracles. I vote for restoring them the sceptre.
Poseidon. Ask Triballus.
Heracles. Hi! Triballus, do you want a thrashing?
Triballus. Sure, bashum head withum stick.
Heracles. He says, `Right willingly.`
Poseidon. If that is the opinion of both of you, why, I consent too.
Heracles. Very well. We accord you the sceptre.
Pisthetaerus. Ah! I was nearly forgetting another condition. I will leave
Hera to Zeus, but only if the young Basileia is given me in marriage.
Poseidon. Then you don`t want peace. Let`s withdraw.
Pisthetaerus. It matters mighty little to me. Cook, keep an eye on the
gravy.
Heracles. What an odd fellow this Poseidon is! Where are you off to? Are
we going to war about a woman?
Poseidon. What else is there to do?
Heracles. What else? Why, conclude peace.
Poseidon. Oh, you bonehead! do you always want to be fooled? Why, you are
arranging your own downfall. If Zeus were to die after having yielded them the
sovereignty, you would be ruined, for you are the heir of all the wealth he
will leave behind.
Pisthetaerus. Oh, by the gods, how he is cajoling you! Step aside, let me
have a word with you. Your uncle is getting the better of you, my poor friend.
The law will not allow a penny of the paternal property, for you are a bastard
and not a legitimate child.
Heracles. I a bastard! What`s that you tell me?
Pisthetaerus. Why, certainly; are you not born of a stranger woman?
Besides, is not Athene recognized as Zeus` sole heiress? And no daughter would
be that if she had a legitimate brother.
Heracles. But what if my father wanted to give me his property on his
death-bed, even though I was a bastard?
Pisthetaerus. The law forbids it, and this same Poseidon would be the
first to lay claim to his wealth, in virtue of being his legitimate brother.
Listen: thus runs Solon`s law: `A bastard shall not inherit if there are
legitimate children; and if there are no legitimate children, the property
shall pass to the nearest kin.`
Heracles. And I get nothing whatever of the paternal property?
Pisthetaerus. Absolutely nothing. But tell me, has your father had you
entered on the registers of his phratry?
Heracles. No, and I have been surprised that he hasn`t.
Pisthetaerus. Why do you shake your fist at heaven? Do you want to
fight? Why, be on my side, I will make you a king and feed you on bird`s milk
and honey.
Heracles. Your further condition seems fair to me. I cede you the young
damsel.
Poseidon. But I, I vote against this.
Pisthetaerus. Then it all depends on the Triballus. (To the Triballus)
What do you say?
Triballus. Givum bird pretty gal bigum queen.
Heracles. He says give her.
Poseidon. Why, no, he does not say anything of the sort, or else, like
the swallows, he`s incompetent.
Pisthetaerus. Exactly so. Does he not say she must be given to the
swallows?
Poseidon (resignedly). All right, you two arrange the matter. Make peace,
since you wish it so; I`ll shut up.
Heracles. We are of a mind to grant you all that you ask. But come up
there with us to receive Basileia and the celestial bounty.
Pisthetaerus. Here are birds already dressed, and very suitable for a
wedding breakfast.
Heracles. You go, and if you like, I`ll stay here to roast them.
Pisthetaerus. You roast them? You`re too hungry. Come along with us.
Heracles. Ah, how well I would have treated myself!
Pisthetaerus. Let someone bring me a beautiful and magnificent tunic for
the wedding. (The tunic is brought, Pisthetaerus and the three gods depart.)
Chorus (singing). At Phanae, near the Clepsydra, there dwells a people
who have neither faith nor law, the Englottogastors, who reap, sow, pluck the
lines and the figs with their tongues; they belong to a barbaric race, and
among them the Philippi and the Gorgiases are to be found. `Tis these
Englottogastorian Philippi who introduced the custom all over Attica of
cutting out the tongue separately at sacrifices.
(A Messenger enters.)
Messenger (in tragic style). O you whose unbounded happiness I cannot
express in words, thrice happy race of airy birds, receive your king in your
fortunate dwellings. More brilliant than the brightest star that illumes the
earth, he is approaching his glittering golden palace; the sun itself does not
shine with more dazzling glory. He is entering with his bride at his side,
whose beauty no human tongue can express; in his hand he brandishes the
lightning, the winged shaft of Zeus; perfumes of unspeakable sweetness pervade
the ethereal realms. `Tis a glorious spectacle to see the clouds of incense
wafting in light whirlwinds before the breath of the zephyr! But here he is
himself. Divine Muse, let thy sacred lips begin with songs of happy omen.
(Pisthetaerus enters, with a crown on his head; he is accompanied by
Basileia.)
Chorus (singing). Fall back! to the right! to the left! advance! Fly
around this happy mortal, whom Fortune loads with her blessings. Oh the grace!
the beauty! Oh marriage so auspicious for our city! All honor to this man!
`tis through him that the birds are called to such glorious destinies. Let
your nuptial hymns, your nuptial songs, greet him and his Basileia! `Twas in
the midst of such festivities that the Fates formerly united Olympian Hera to
the King who governs the gods from the summit of his inaccessible throne. O
Hymen! O Hymenaeus! Rosy Eros with the golden wings held the reins and guided
the chariot; `twas he who presided over the union of Zeus and the fortunate
Hera. O Hymen! O Hymenaeus!
Pisthetaerus. I am delighted with your songs, I applaud your verses. Now
celebrate the thunder that shakes the earth, the flaming lightning of Zeus and
the terrible flashing thunderbolt.
Chorus (singing). O thou golden flash of the lightning! ye divine shafts
of flame that Zeus has hitherto shot forth! O ye rolling thunders, that bring
down the rain! `Tis by the order of our king that ye shall now stagger the
earth! O Hymen! `Tis through thee that he commands the universe and that he
makes Basileia, whom he has robbed from Zeus, take her seat at his side. O
Hymen! O Hymenaeus!
Pisthetaerus (singing). Let all the winged tribes of our fellow-citizens
follow the bridal couple to the palace of Zeus and to the nuptial couch!
Stretch forth your hands, my dear wife! Take hold of me by my wings and let
us dance. I will lift you up and carry you through the air. (Pisthetaerus
and Basileia leave, dancing; the Chorus follows them.)
Chorus(singing). Alalai! Ie Paion! Tenella Kallinike! Loftiest of the
gods!
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