Zeus! Lord and guard of suppliant hands! Look down benign on us who crave Thine aid—whom winds and waters drave From where, through drifting shifting sands, Pours Nilus to the wave. From where the green land, god-possest, Closes and fronts the Syrian waste, We flee as exiles, yet unbanned By murder’s sentence from our land; But—since Aegyptus had decreed His sons should wed his brother’s seed,— Ourselves we tore from bonds abhorred, From wedlock not of heart but hand, Nor brooked to call a kinsman lord! And Danaus, our sire and guide, The king of counsel, pond’ring well The dice of fortune as they fell, Out of two griefs the kindlier chose, And bade us fly, with him beside, Heedless what winds or waves arose, And o’er the wide sea waters haste, Until to Argos’ shore at last Our wandering pinnace came— Argos, the immemorial home Of her from whom we boast to come— Io, the ox-horned maiden, whom, After long wandering, woe, and scathe, Zeus with a touch, a mystic breath, Made mother of our name. Therefore, of all the lands of earth, On this most gladly step we forth, And in our hands aloft we bear— Sole weapon for a suppliant’s wear— The olive-shoot, with wool enwound! City, and land, and waters wan Of Inachus, and gods most high, And ye who, deep beneath the ground, Bring vengeance weird on mortal man, Powers of the grave, on you we cry! And unto Zeus the Saviour, guard Of mortals’ holy purity! Receive ye us—keep watch and ward Above the suppliant maiden band! Chaste be the heart of this your land Towards the weak! but, ere the throng, The wanton swarm, from Egypt sprung, Leap forth upon the silted shore, Thrust back their swift-rowed bark again, Repel them, urge them to the main! And there, ’mid storm and lightning’s shine, And scudding drift and thunder’s roar, Deep death be theirs, in stormy brine! Before they foully grasp and win Us, maiden-children of their kin, And climb the couch by law denied, And wrong each weak reluctant bride.