Chorus.
Ægyptus. Now thou know'st my ancient line,
Stretch forth the hand of succour to raise up
Argives, that here have taken sanctuary.
King.
Anciently, I do verily believe,
A common tie unites ye to this land.
But how had ye the courage to forsake
The house of your fathers? What so sore mischance
Hath fallen on ye?
Chorus.
King of the Pelasgians!
Calamity is as a ruffling breeze
That glances through a thousand shifting forms;
Nor is there anywhere on earth a place
Where thou could 'st point and say, 'Here sorrow's wing
Keeps darkly constant to its native hue.'
For which of us in fancy ever dreamed
Of this unlocked for flight; or that a ship
Whereon we sailed should touch this Argive strand
Wherewith we had affinity of old;
Or that in distant Egypt wedlock scorned,
Unhappied by the hymenaeal choir,
Should be the cause of consequence so strange?
King.
What is the boon thou sayest thou dost crave
Here in the name of these Gods of festival,
Your branches fresh-plucked all with white enwound?
