And the things for the Gods' decision
Yet waiting beyond our ken,
Through the darkness of slumber[1] she spake, and from Phœbus—in fierce heart-ache
Of jealous wrath for her daughter's sake—
His honour so did she wrest.
Swift hasted our King to Olympus' palace, 1270
And with child-arms clinging to Zeus' throne prayed
That the night-visions born of the Earth-mother's malice
Might be banished the fane in the Pythian glade.
Smiled Zeus, that his son, for the costly oblations
Of his worshippers jealous, so swiftly had come:
And he shook his locks for the great oath-plight,
And he made an end of the voices of night;
For he took from mortals the visitations
Of the night-dreams born of the Earth's dark womb;
And he sealed by an everlasting right 1280
Loxias' honours, that all men might
Trust wholly his word, when the thronging nations
Bowed at the throne where he sang fate's doom.
Enter Messenger.
Messenger.
O temple-warders, altar-ministers,
Whither hath Thoas gone, this country's king? 1285
Fling wide the closely-bolted doors, and call
Forth of these halls the ruler of the land.
Chorus.
What is it?—if unbidden I may speak.
- ↑ Another reading, "To the earth-couched sleeper."
