But how can they be
gathered
together?
Aristophanes
How so?
PISTHETAERUS. The air is 'twixt earth and heaven. When we want to go to
Delphi, we ask the Boeotians[199] for leave of passage; in the same way,
when men sacrifice to the gods, unless the latter pay you tribute, you
exercise the right of every nation towards strangers and don't allow the
smoke of the sacrifices to pass through your city and territory.
EPOPS. By earth! by snares! by network! [200] I never heard of anything
more cleverly conceived; and, if the other birds approve, I am going to
build the city along with you.
PISTHETAERUS. Who will explain the matter to them?
EPOPS. You must yourself. Before I came they were quite ignorant, but
since I have lived with them I have taught them to speak.
PISTHETAERUS.
But how can they be gathered together?
EPOPS. Easily. I will hasten down to the coppice to waken my dear
Procne;[201] as soon as they hear our voices, they will come to us hot
wing.
PISTHETAERUS. My dear bird, lose no time, I beg. Fly at once into the
coppice and awaken Procne.
EPOPS. Chase off drowsy sleep, dear companion. Let the sacred hymn gush
from thy divine throat in melodious strains; roll forth in soft cadence
your refreshing melodies to bewail the fate of Itys,[202] which has been
the cause of so many tears to us both. Your pure notes rise through the
thick leaves of the yew-tree right up to the throne of Zeus, where
Phoebus listens to you, Phoebus with his golden hair. And his ivory lyre
responds to your plaintive accents; he gathers the choir of the gods and
from their immortal lips rushes a sacred chant of blessed voices. (_The
flute is played behind the scene. _)
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! by Zeus!
PISTHETAERUS. The air is 'twixt earth and heaven. When we want to go to
Delphi, we ask the Boeotians[199] for leave of passage; in the same way,
when men sacrifice to the gods, unless the latter pay you tribute, you
exercise the right of every nation towards strangers and don't allow the
smoke of the sacrifices to pass through your city and territory.
EPOPS. By earth! by snares! by network! [200] I never heard of anything
more cleverly conceived; and, if the other birds approve, I am going to
build the city along with you.
PISTHETAERUS. Who will explain the matter to them?
EPOPS. You must yourself. Before I came they were quite ignorant, but
since I have lived with them I have taught them to speak.
PISTHETAERUS.
But how can they be gathered together?
EPOPS. Easily. I will hasten down to the coppice to waken my dear
Procne;[201] as soon as they hear our voices, they will come to us hot
wing.
PISTHETAERUS. My dear bird, lose no time, I beg. Fly at once into the
coppice and awaken Procne.
EPOPS. Chase off drowsy sleep, dear companion. Let the sacred hymn gush
from thy divine throat in melodious strains; roll forth in soft cadence
your refreshing melodies to bewail the fate of Itys,[202] which has been
the cause of so many tears to us both. Your pure notes rise through the
thick leaves of the yew-tree right up to the throne of Zeus, where
Phoebus listens to you, Phoebus with his golden hair. And his ivory lyre
responds to your plaintive accents; he gathers the choir of the gods and
from their immortal lips rushes a sacred chant of blessed voices. (_The
flute is played behind the scene. _)
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! by Zeus!
