But let us shake
off the rainy fogs, which hide our immortal beauty and sweep the earth
from afar with our gaze.
off the rainy fogs, which hide our immortal beauty and sweep the earth
from afar with our gaze.
Aristophanes
.
.
Oh!
most mighty
king, the boundless air, that keepest the earth suspended in space, thou
bright Aether and ye venerable goddesses, the Clouds, who carry in your
loins the thunder and the lightning, arise, ye sovereign powers and
manifest yourselves in the celestial spheres to the eyes of the sage.
STREPSIADES. Not yet! Wait a bit, till I fold my mantle double, so as not
to get wet. And to think that I did not even bring my travelling cap!
What a misfortune!
SOCRATES. Come, oh! Clouds, whom I adore, come and show yourselves to
this man, whether you be resting on the sacred summits of Olympus,
crowned with hoar-frost, or tarrying in the gardens of Ocean, your
father, forming sacred choruses with the Nymphs; whether you be gathering
the waves of the Nile in golden vases or dwelling in the Maeotic marsh or
on the snowy rocks of Mimas, hearken to my prayer and accept my offering.
May these sacrifices be pleasing to you.
CHORUS. Eternal Clouds, let us appear, let us arise from the roaring
depths of Ocean, our father; let us fly towards the lofty mountains,
spread our damp wings over their forest-laden summits, whence we will
dominate the distant valleys, the harvest fed by the sacred earth, the
murmur of the divine streams and the resounding waves of the sea, which
the unwearying orb lights up with its glittering beams.
But let us shake
off the rainy fogs, which hide our immortal beauty and sweep the earth
from afar with our gaze.
SOCRATES. Oh, venerated goddesses, yes, you are answering my call! (_To
Strepsiades. _) Did you hear their voices mingling with the awful growling
of the thunder?
STREPSIADES. Oh! adorable Clouds, I revere you and I too am going to let
off _my_ thunder, so greatly has your own affrighted me. Faith! whether
permitted or not, I must, I must shit!
SOCRATES. No scoffing; do not copy those accursed comic poets. Come,
silence! a numerous host of goddesses approaches with songs.
CHORUS. Virgins, who pour forth the rains, let us move toward Attica, the
rich country of Pallas, the home of the brave; let us visit the dear land
of Cecrops, where the secret rites[501] are celebrated, where the
mysterious sanctuary flies open to the initiate.
king, the boundless air, that keepest the earth suspended in space, thou
bright Aether and ye venerable goddesses, the Clouds, who carry in your
loins the thunder and the lightning, arise, ye sovereign powers and
manifest yourselves in the celestial spheres to the eyes of the sage.
STREPSIADES. Not yet! Wait a bit, till I fold my mantle double, so as not
to get wet. And to think that I did not even bring my travelling cap!
What a misfortune!
SOCRATES. Come, oh! Clouds, whom I adore, come and show yourselves to
this man, whether you be resting on the sacred summits of Olympus,
crowned with hoar-frost, or tarrying in the gardens of Ocean, your
father, forming sacred choruses with the Nymphs; whether you be gathering
the waves of the Nile in golden vases or dwelling in the Maeotic marsh or
on the snowy rocks of Mimas, hearken to my prayer and accept my offering.
May these sacrifices be pleasing to you.
CHORUS. Eternal Clouds, let us appear, let us arise from the roaring
depths of Ocean, our father; let us fly towards the lofty mountains,
spread our damp wings over their forest-laden summits, whence we will
dominate the distant valleys, the harvest fed by the sacred earth, the
murmur of the divine streams and the resounding waves of the sea, which
the unwearying orb lights up with its glittering beams.
But let us shake
off the rainy fogs, which hide our immortal beauty and sweep the earth
from afar with our gaze.
SOCRATES. Oh, venerated goddesses, yes, you are answering my call! (_To
Strepsiades. _) Did you hear their voices mingling with the awful growling
of the thunder?
STREPSIADES. Oh! adorable Clouds, I revere you and I too am going to let
off _my_ thunder, so greatly has your own affrighted me. Faith! whether
permitted or not, I must, I must shit!
SOCRATES. No scoffing; do not copy those accursed comic poets. Come,
silence! a numerous host of goddesses approaches with songs.
CHORUS. Virgins, who pour forth the rains, let us move toward Attica, the
rich country of Pallas, the home of the brave; let us visit the dear land
of Cecrops, where the secret rites[501] are celebrated, where the
mysterious sanctuary flies open to the initiate.
