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Chorus
May no hurtful wind blow to harm the trees—I declare my favor—and may no burning heat, stealing the buds from plants, pass the border of its proper place; [940] may no deadly plague draw near to kill the fruit; may the earth nurture the thriving flocks with twin offspring at the appointed time; [945] and may the rich produce of the earth always pay the gods' gift of lucky gain.1
Aeschylus. Aeschylus, with an English translation by Herbert Weir Smyth, Ph. D. in two volumes. 2. Eumenides. Herbert Weir Smyth, Ph. D. Cambridge, MA. Harvard University Press. 1926.
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