Son of Palæchthon, hear;
Hear, O Pelasgic king, with kindly heart.
Behold me suppliant, exile, wanderer,
[*]Like heifer chased by wolves
Upon the lofty crags,
Where, trusting in her strength,
She lifteth up her voice
And to the shepherd tells her tale of grief.
King. I see, o'ershadowed with the new-plucked boughs,
[*]Bent low, a band these Gods of conflict own;