THE BIRDS 261
Peisthetairus. How will you summon them ?
Hoopoe. That 's easy enough ;
I '11 just step into the thicket iiere hard by, 221
And call my nightingale.^ She '11 summon them. And when they hear her voice, I promise you You '11 see them all come running here pell-mell.
Peisthetairus. My dearest, best of birds ! don't lose a moment, 225
I beg, but go directly into the thicket ; Nay, don't stand here, go call your nightingale.
_Exit Hoopoe.
Song from behind the scene, supposed to be sung by the Hoopoe.
Awake ! awake ! Sleep no more, my gentle mate !
With your tiny tawny bill, 230
Wake the tuneful echo shrill,
On vale or hill ; Or in her airy, rocky seat. Let her listen and repeat
The tender ditty that you tell, 235
The sad lament. The dire event, To luckless Itys ^ that befell. Thence the strain
Shall rise again, 240
And soar amain,
^ A female performer on the flute, a great favorite of the public and with the poet, after a long absence from Athens engaged to per- form in this play, which was exhibited with an unusual recklessness of expense.
'^ Itys was killed by his mother Procne and served up to his father Tereus to eat, as revenge for wrong done her. The gods, in indigna- tion, changed Tereus into a hoopoe, and Procne into a nightingale, in which form she ever beΛvails her lost son.
