Chorus
O ridge of Parnassus, [715] holding the high rock and seat of heaven, where Bacchus with flaming torches leaps lightly with the bacchantes that roam by night— may the boy never come to my city, [720] may he leave his young life and die! For the mourning city would have for excuse a foreign invasion . . . the former king, lord Erechtheus, gathered his forces.