Of things these signs portend —Which partly smile, indeed, but partly scowl —The phantasms of the fowl.I call Ieïos Paian to avertShe work the Danaoi hurtBy any thwarting waftures, long and fastHoldings 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 remainsA 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 gainsAs 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 expressAught dear to him on whom I call —So do I him address.I cannot liken out, by allAdmeasurement of powers,Any but Zeus for refuge at such hours,If veritably needs I mustFrom off my soul its vague care-burthen thrust.