Not done, foredooming what I will not say;
All thoughts most horrible undershoot the mark.
And now behold me, as a suppliant goes,
With soft-wreathed wool, and precatory branch,[n72]
Addressed for Delphi, the firm-seated shrine
Of Loxias, navel of earth, where burns the flame
Of fire immortal named.[n73] For I must flee
This kindred blood, and hie me where the god
Forespoke me refuge. Once again I call
On you, and Argive men of every time,