We none the less clung fast to her, and strove
To drag her to thy judgment-seat.  Thereof
Came trouble and bruised jaws.  For neither they
Nor we had weapons with us.  But the way
Hard-beaten fist and heel from those two men
Rained upon ribs and flank—­again, again... 
To touch was to fall gasping!  Aye, they laid
Their mark on all of us, till back we fled
With bleeding crowns, and some with blinded eyes,
Up a rough bank of rock.  There on the rise
We found good stones and stood, and fought again.

But archers then came out, and sent a rain
Of arrows from the poop, and drove us back. 
And just then—­for a wave came, long and black,
And swept them shoreward—­lest the priestess’ gown
Should feel the sea, Orestes stooping down
Caught her on his left shoulder:  then one stride
Out through the sea, the ladder at the side
Was caught, and there amid the benches stood
The maid of Argos and the carven wood
Of heaven, the image of God’s daughter high.

  And up from the mid galley rose a cry: 
“For Greece!  For Greece, O children of the shores
Of storm!  Give way, and let her feel your oars;
Churn the long waves to foam.  The prize is won. 
The prize we followed, on and ever on,
Friendless beyond the blue Symplegades.” 
  A roar of glad throats echoed down the breeze
And fifty oars struck, and away she flew. 
And while the shelter lasted, she ran true
Full for the harbour-mouth; but ere she well
Reached it, the weather caught her, and the swell
Was strong.  Then sudden in her teeth a squall
Drove the sail bellying back.  The men withal
Worked with set teeth, kicking against the stream. 
But back, still back, striving as in a dream,
She drifted.  Then the damsel rose and prayed: 
“O Child of Leto, save thy chosen maid
From this dark land to Hellas, and forgive
My theft this day, and let these brave men live. 
Dost thou not love thy brother, Holy One? 
What marvel if I also love mine own?”

The sailors cried a paean to her prayers,
And set those brown and naked arms of theirs,
Half-mad with strain, quick swinging chime on chime
To the helmsman’s shout.  But vainly; all the time
Nearer and nearer rockward they were pressed. 
One of our men was wading to his breast,
Some others roping a great grappling-hook,
While I sped hot-foot to the town, to look
For thee, my Prince, and tell thee what doth pass.

Come with me, Lord.  Bring manacles of brass
And bitter bonds.  For now, unless the wave
Fall sudden calm, no mortal power can save
Orestes.  There is One that rules the sea
Who grieved for Troy and hates her enemy: 
Poseidon’s self will give into thine hand
And ours this dog, this troubler of the land—­
The priestess, too, who, recking not what blood
Ran red in Aulis, hath betrayed her god!

Leader. 
Woe, woe!  To fall in these men’s hands again,
Mistress, and die, and see thy brother slain!