Lines 570–814

EUELPIDES.
I am tickled and pleased with the sacrificed midge.
Now thunder away, great Zan!

CHORUS.
But men, will they take us for Gods, and not daws,——
do ye really believe that they can—
If they see us on wings flying idly about?

PEISTHETAERUS.
Don’t say such ridiculous things!
Why, Hermes, and lots of the deities too,
go flying about upon wings.
There is Victory, bold on her pinions of gold;
and then, by the Powers, there is Love;
And Iris, says Homer, shoots straight through the skies,
with the ease of a terrified dove.

EUELPIDES.
And the thunderbolt flies upon wings, I surmise:
what if Zeus upon us let it fall?

PEISTHETAERUS.
But suppose that mankind, being stupid and blind,
should account you as nothing at all,
And still in the Gods of Olympus believe—
why then, like a cloud, shall a swarm
Of sparrows and rooks settle down on their stooks,
and devour all the seed in the farm.
Demeter may fill them with grain, if she will,
when hungry and pinched they entreat her.

EUELPIDES.
O no, for by Zeus, she will make some excuse;
that is always the way with Demeter.

PEISTHETAERUS.
And truly the ravens shall pluck out the eyes
of the oxen that work in the plough,
Of the flocks and the herds, as a proof that the Birds
are the Masters and Potentates now.
Apollo the leech, if his aid they beseech,
may cure them; but then they must pay!

EUELPIDES.
Nay but hold, nay but hold, nor begin till I’ve sold
my two little oxen I pray.

PEISTHETAERUS.
But when once to esteem you as God, and as Life,
and as Cronos and Earth they’ve begun,
And as noble Poseidon, what joys shall be theirs!

CHORUS.
Will you kindly inform me of one?

PEISTHETAERUS.
The delicate tendrils and bloom of the vine
no more shall the locusts molest,
One gallant brigade of the kestrels and owls
shall rid them at once of the pest.
No more shall the mite and the gall-making blight
the fruit of the fig-tree devour;
Of thrushes one troop on their armies shall swoop,
and clear them all off in an hour.

CHORUS.
But how shall we furnish the people with wealth?
It is wealth that they mostly desire.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Choice blessings and rare ye shall give them whene’er
they come to your shrine to inquire.
To the seer ye shall tell when ’tis lucky and well
for a merchant to sail o’er the seas,
So that never a skipper again shall be lost.

CHORUS.
What, “never”? Explain if you please.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Are they seeking to know when a voyage to go?
The Birds shall give answers to guide them.
Now stick to the land, there’s a tempest at hand!
Now sail! and good luck shall betide them.

EUELPIDES.
A galley for me; I am off to the sea!
No longer with you will I stay.

PEISTHETAERUS.
The treasures of silver long since in the earth
by their forefathers hidden away
To men ye shall show, for the secret ye know.
How often a man will declare,
There is no one who knows where my treasures repose,
if it be not a bird of the air.

EUELPIDES.
My galley may go; I will buy me a hoe,
and dig for the crock and the casket.

CHORUS.
But Health, I opine, is a blessing divine;
can we give it to men if they ask it?

PEISTHETAERUS.
If they’ve plenty of wealth, they’ll have plenty of health;
ye may rest quite assured that they will.
Did you ever hear tell of a man that was well,
when faring remarkably ill?

CHORUS.
Long life ’tis Olympus alone can bestow?
so can men live as long as before?
Must they die in their youth?

PEISTHETAERUS.
Die? No! why in truth
their lives by three hundred or more
New years ye will lengthen.

CHORUS.
Why, whence will they come?

PEISTHETAERUS.
From your own inexhaustible store.
What! dost thou not know that the noisy-tongued crow
lives five generations of men?

EUELPIDES.
O fie! it is plain they are fitter to reign
than the Gods; let us have them again.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Ay fitter by far!
No need for their sakes to erect and adorn
Great temples of marble with portals of gold.
Enough for the birds on the brake and the thorn
And the evergreen oak their receptions to hold.
Or if any are noble, and courtly, and fine,
The tree of the olive will serve for their shrine.
No need, when a blessing we seek, to repair
To Delphi or Ammon, and sacrifice there;
We will under an olive or arbutus stand
With a present of barley and wheat,
And piously lifting our heart and our hand
The birds for a boon we’ll entreat,
And the boon shall be ours, and our suit we shall gain
At the cost of a few little handfuls of grain.

CHORUS.
I thought thee at first of my foemen the worst;
and lo, I have found thee the wisest
And best of my friends, and our nation intends
to do whatsoe’er thou advisest.
A spirit so lofty and rare
Thy words have within me excited,
That I lift up my soul, and I swear
That if Thou wilt with Me be united
In bonds that are holy and true
And honest and just and sincere,
If our hearts are attuned to one song,
We will march on the Gods without fear;
The sceptre—my sceptre, my due,—
They shall not be handling it long!
So all that by muscle and strength can be done,
we Birds will assuredly do;
But whatever by prudence and skill must be won,
we leave altogether to you.

HOOPOE.
Aye and, by Zeus, the time is over now
For drowsy nods and Nicias-hesitations.
We must be up and doing! And do you,
Or e’er we start, visit this nest of mine
My bits of things, my little sticks and straws;
And tell me what your names are.

PEISTHETAERUS.
That’s soon done.
My name is Peisthetaerus.

HOOPOE.
And your friend’s?

PEISTHETAERUS.
Euelpides of Crio.

HOOPOE.
Well, ye are both
Heartily welcome.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Thank you.

HOOPOE.
Come ye in.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Aye, come we in; you, please, precede us.

HOOPOE.
Come.

PEISTHETAERUS.
But—dear! what was it? step you back a moment.
O yes,—but tell us, how can he and I
Consort with you, we wingless and you winged?

HOOPOE.
Why, very well.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Nay, but in Aesop’s fables
There’s something, mind you, told about the fox
How ill it fared, consorting with an eagle.

HOOPOE.
O never fear; for there’s a little root
Which when ye have eaten, ye will both be winged.

PEISTHETAERUS.
That being so, we’ll enter. Xanthias there,
And Manodorus, bring along the traps.

CHORUS.
O stay, and O stay!

HOOPOE.
Why what ails you to-day?

CHORUS.
Take the gentlemen in, and regale them, we say
But O for the nightingale peerless in song,
who chants in the choir of the Muses her lay;
Our sweetest and best, fetch her out of the nest,
and leave her awhile with the Chorus to play.

PEISTHETAERUS.
O do, by Zeus, grant them this one request;
Fetch out the little warbler from the reeds.

EUELPIDES.
Yes, fetch her out by all the Gods, that so
We too may gaze upon the nightingale.

HOOPOE.
Well, if you wish it, so we’ll have it. Proene,
Come hither, dear, and let the strangers see you.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Zeus, what a darling lovely little bird!
How fair, and tender!

EUELPIDES.
O the little love,
Wouldn’t I like to be her mate this instant!

PEISTHETAERUS.
And O the gold she is wearing, like a girl.

EUELPIDES.
Upon my word, I’ve half a mind to kiss her!

PEISTHETAERUS.
Kiss her, you fool! Her beak’s a pair of spits.

EUELPIDES.
But I would treat her like an egg, and strip
The egg-shell from her poll, and kiss her so.

HOOPOE.
Come, go we in.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Lead on, and luck go with us.

CHORUS.
O darling! O tawny-throat!
Love, whom I love the best,
Dearer than all the rest,
Playmate and partner in
All my soft lays,
Thou art come! Thou art come!
Thou hast dawned on my gaze,
I have heard thy sweet note,
Nightingale! Nightingale!
Thou from thy flute Softly-sounding canst bring
Music to suit With our songs of the Spring:
Begin then I pray
Our own anapaestic address to essay.
Ye men who are dimly existing below,
who perish and fade as the leaf,
Pale, woebegone, shadowlike, spiritless folk,
life feeble and wingless and brief,
Frail castings in clay, who are gone in a day,
like a dream full of sorrow and sighing,
Come listen with care to the Birds of the air,
the ageless, the deathless, who flying
In the joy and the freshness of Ether, are wont
to muse upon wisdom undying.
We will tell you of things transcendental; of Springs
and of Rivers the mighty upheaval;
The nature of Birds; and the birth of the Gods:
and of Chaos and Darkness primeval.
When this ye shall know, let old Prodicus go,
and be hanged without hope of reprieval.
There was Chaos at first, and Darkness, and Night,
and Tartarus vasty and dismal;
But the Earth was not there, nor the Sky, nor the Air,
till at length in the bosom abysmal
Of Darkness an egg, from the whirlwind conceived,
was laid by the sable-plumed Night.
And out of that egg, as the Seasons revolved,
sprang Love, the entrancing, the bright,
Love brilliant and bold with his pinions of gold,
like a whirlwind, refulgent and sparkling!
Love hatched us, commingling in Tartarus wide,
with Chaos, the murky, the darkling,
And brought us above, as the firstlings of love,
and first to the light we ascended.
There was never a race of Immortals at all
till Love had the universe blended;
Then all things commingling together in love,
there arose the fair Earth, and the Sky,
And the limitless Sea; and the race of the Gods,
the Blessed, who never shall die.
So we than the Blessed are older by far;
and abundance of proof is existing
That we are the children of Love, for we fly,
unfortunate lovers assisting.
And many a man who has found, to his cost,
that his powers of persuasion have failed,
And his loves have abjured him for ever, again
by the power of the Birds has prevailed;
For the gift of a quail, or a Porphyry rail,
or a Persian, or goose, will regain them.
And the chiefest of blessings ye mortals enjoy,
by the help of the Birds ye obtain them.
’Tis from us that the signs of the Seasons in turn,
Spring, Winter, and Autumn are known.
When to Libya the crane flies clanging again,
it is time for the seed to be sown,
And the skipper may hang up his rudder awhile,
and sleep after all his exertions,
And Orestes may weave him a wrap to be warm
when he’s out on his thievish excursions.
Then cometh the kite, with its hovering flight,
of the advent of Spring to tell,
And the Spring sheep-shearing begins; and next,
your woollen attire you sell,
And buy you a lighter and daintier garb,
when you note the return of the swallow.
Thus your Ammon, Dodona, and Delphi are we;
we are also your Phoebus Apollo.
For whatever you do, if a trade you pursue,
or goods in the market are buying,
Or the wedding attend of a neighbour and friend,
first you look to the Birds and their flying.
And whene’er you of omen or augury speak,
’tis a bird you are always repeating;
A Rumour’s a bird, and a sneeze is a bird,
and so is a word or a meeting,
A servant’s a bird, and an ass is a bird.
It must therefore assuredly follow
That the Birds are to you (I protest it is true)
your prophetic divining Apollo.

Then take us for Gods, as is proper and fit,
And Muses Prophetic ye’ll have at your call
Spring, winter, and summer, and autumn and all.
And we won’t run away from your worship, and sit
Up above in the clouds, very stately and grand,
Like Zeus in his tempers: but always at hand
Health and wealth we’ll bestow, as the formula runs,
ON YOURSELVES, AND YOUR SONS, AND THE SONS OF YOUR SONS;
And happiness, plenty, and peace shall belong
To you all; and the revel, the dance, and the song,
And laughter, and youth, and the milk of the birds
We’ll supply, and we’ll never forsake you.
Ye’ll be quite overburdened with pleasures and joys,
So happy and blest we will make you.

O woodland Muse,
tio, tio, tio, tiotinx,
Of varied plume, with whose dear aid
On the mountain top, and the sylvan glade,
tio, tio, tio, tiotinx,
I, sitting up aloft on a leafy ash, full oft,
tio, tio, tio, tiotinx,
Pour forth a warbling note from my little tawny throat,
Pour festive choral dances to the mountain mother’s praise,
And to Pan the holy music of his own immortal lays;
totótotótotótotótotinx,
Whence Phrynichus of old,
Sipping the fruit of our ambrosial lay,
Bore, like a bee, the honied store away,
His own sweet songs to mould.
tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx.

Is there anyone amongst you,
O spectators, who would lead
With the birds a life of pleasure,
let him come to us with speed.
All that here is reckoned shameful,
all that here the laws condemn,
With the birds is right and proper,
you may do it all with them.
Is it here by law forbidden
for a son to beat his sire?
That a chick should strike his father,
strutting up with youthful ire,
Crowing Raise your spur and fight me,
that is what the birds admire.
Come you runaway deserter,
spotted o’er with marks of shame,
Spotted Francolin we’ll call you,
that, with us, shall be your name.
You who style yourself a tribesman,
Phrygian pure as Spintharus,
Come and be a Phrygian linnet,
of Philemon’s breed, with us.
Come along, you slave and Carian,
Execestides to wit,
Breed with us your Cuckoo-rearers,
they’ll be guildsmen apt and fit.
Son of Peisias, who to outlaws
would the city gates betray,
Come to us, and be a partridge
(cockerel like the cock, they say),
We esteem it no dishonour
knavish partridge-tricks to play.
Even thus the Swans,
tio, tio, tio, tiotinx,
Their clamorous cry were erst up-raising,
With clatter of wings Apollo praising,
tio, tio, tio, tiotinx,
As they sat in serried ranks on the river Hebrus’ banks.
tio, tio, tio, tiotinx,
Right upward went the cry
through the cloud and through the sky.
Quailed the wild-beast in his covert,
and the bird within her nest,
And the still and windless Ether
lulled the ocean-waves to rest.
totótotótotótotótotinx.
Loudly Olympus rang!
Amazement seized the kings; and every Grace
And every Muse within that heavenly place
Took up the strain, and sang.
tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx.

Truly to be clad in feather
is the very best of things.
Only fancy, dear spectators,
had you each a brace of wings,
Never need you, tired and hungry,
at a Tragic Chorus stay,
You would lightly, when it bored you,
spread your wings and fly away,
Back returning, after luncheon,
to enjoy our Comic Play.
Never need a Patrocleides,
sitting here, his garment stain;
When the dire occasion seized him,
he would off with might and main
Flying home, then flying hither,
lightened and relieved, again.
If a gallant should the husband
on the Council-bench behold
Of a gay and charming lady,
one whom he had loved of old,
Off at once he’d fly to greet her,
have a little converse sweet,
Then be back, or e’er ye missed him,
calm and smiling in his seat.
Is not then a suit of feathers
quite the very best of things?
Why, Diitrephes was chosen,
though he had but wicker wings,
First a Captain, then a Colonel,
till from nothing he of late
Has become a tawny cock-horse,
yea a pillar of the State!

PEISTHETAERUS.
Well, here we are. By Zeus, I never saw
In all my life a sight more laughable.

EUELPIDES.
What are you laughing at?

PEISTHETAERUS.
At your flight-feathers.
I’ll tell you what you’re like, your wings and you,
Just like a gander, sketched by some cheap-Jack.

EUELPIDES.
And you, a blackbird, with a bowl-cropped noddle.

PEISTHETAERUS.
These shafts of ridicule are winged by nought
But our own plumes, as Aeschylus would say.

CHORUS.
What’s the next step?

PEISTHETAERUS.
First we must give the city
Some grand big name: and then we’ll sacrifice
To the high Gods.

EUELPIDES.
That’s my opinion also.

CHORUS.
Then let’s consider what the name shall be.

PEISTHETAERUS.
What think you of that grand Laconian name,
Sparta?