Now may the Zeus-born gods on high
      Hear us pour forth
    A votive prayer for Argos' clan!—
    Never may this Pelasgian earth,
  Amid the fire-wrack, shrill the dismal cry
    On Ares, ravening lord of fight,
  Who in an alien harvest mows down man!
    For lo, this land had pity on our plight,
  And unto us were merciful and leal,
  To us, the piteous flock, who at Zeus' altar kneel!
  They scornèd not the pleas of maidenhood,
  Nor with the young men's will hath their will stood.
      They knew right well.

  Th' unearthly watching fiend invincible,
  The foul avenger—let him not draw near!
  For he, on roofs ill-starred,
  Defiling and polluting, keeps a ghastly ward!
  They knew his vengeance, and took holy heed
  To us, the sister suppliants, who cry
    To Zeus, the lord of purity:
  Therefore with altars pure they shall the gods revere.

  Thus, through the boughs that shade our lips, fly forth in air,
      Fly forth, O eager prayer!
    May never pestilence efface
      This city's race,
    Nor be the land with corpses strewed,
      Nor stained with civic blood!
    The stem of youth, unpluckt, to manhood come,
    Nor Ares rise from Aphrodité's bower,
  The lord of death and bane, to waste our youthful flower.
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