Theoklymenos Come then! I have no concern with the customs of the race of Pelops. My house is pure; for Menelaos did not die here. Let someone go and tell my chieftans to bring marriage-offerings to my house; the whole earth must ring with joyful wedding-songs in celebration of my wedding with Helen, so that it may be envied. You, stranger, go and give to the sea’s embrace these offerings to this woman’s husband, who was once alive; and then hurry back home with my wife, so that after sharing with me her marriage-feast, you may set out for home or remain here in happiness.
Menelaos O Zeus, called father and god of wisdom, look on us and alter our woes! As we drag our fortunes to the rocky hill, make haste to join with us; if you touch us with your finger-tip only, we shall reach our longed-for goal. There has been enough distress in what we have suffered before. I have invoked you, gods, with many names, good and painful; I am not bound to be unfortunate forever, but to advance in a straight course. If you grant me one favor, you will make me fortunate hereafter.
Chorus
O swift Phoenician ship of Sidon, dear to the surging waves, mother of the oar, leader of the lovely dancing of dolphins, when the sea is clear of breezes and Ocean’s gray-green daughter, spirit of calm, says these words: Spread your sails to the sea-breezes, as you go on your way, grasp your oars of pine, oh! sailors, sailors, speeding Helen on her way to the shore with good harbor, where once Perseus lived.
Chorus
Perhaps you may find the daughters of Leukippos beside the swell of the river or before the temple of Pallas, when at last you join in the dances or the revels of Hyakinthos in night-long joy—Hyakinthos, whom Phoebus killed with the round discus, contesting for the farthest throw—a day of the sacrifice of oxen in the Lakonian land; the son of Zeus declared that his race would be honored; and you may find the girl whom you left at home, Hermione, for as yet no torch has lit the way to her marriage.
Chorus
Oh, that we had wings to cleave the air, where the birds of Libya go in their ranks, leaving the winter rain, obedient to the piping of their veteran leader, who raises his exultant cry as he wings his way over unmoistened and crop-bearing plains of the earth. O you winged long-necked comrades of the racing clouds, go on beneath the Pleiades in their central station and Orion of the night; deliver the message, as you settle on Eurotas’ banks, that Menelaos has sacked the city of Dardanos, and will come home.
Chorus
May you come at last, speeding over your horses’ path through the sky, sons of Tyndareus, under the whirling of the radiant stars; you who dwell in heaven, Helen’s rescuers, go over the gray-green swell and the dark gray surge of sea-waves, sending the sailors favoring breezes from Zeus; and cast away from your sister her ill-fame from marriage with a barbarian, the punishment she received from the contest on Ida; but she never went to the land of Ilion, to the towers of Phoebus.
Cite This Text