Of things these signs portend — Which partly smile, indeed, but partly scowl — The phantasms of the fowl. I call Ieïos Paian to avert She work the Danaoi hurt By any thwarting waftures, long and fast Holdings from sail of ships: And sacrifice, another than the last, She for herself precipitate — Something unlawful, feast for no man’s lips, Builder of quarrels, with the House cognate — Having in awe no husband: for remains A frightful, backward-darting in the path, Wily house-keeping chronicler of wrath, That has to punish that old children’s fate! Such things did Kalchas, — with abundant gains As well, — vociferate, Predictions from the birds, in journeying, Above the abode of either king. With these, symphonious, sing — Ah, Linos, say — ah, Linos, song of wail! But may the good prevail!
 Zeus, whosoe’er he be, — if that express Aught dear to him on whom I call — So do I him address. I cannot liken out, by all Admeasurement of powers, Any but Zeus for refuge at such hours, If veritably needs I must From off my soul its vague care-burthen thrust.