55
Antistrophe I.
There too, the ancient lay runs thus,
Once Cypris, quaffing from the wave
Of crystal flowing Cephissus, 835 (835)
O'er all the land her soft breath drave
In tender wafts of scented wind:
And, donning ever her sweet crown
Of rose-bloom in her loose locks twined,
Her vassal loves, assigned 840 (844)
Kind ministers to wisdom, she sends down,
And helpmates in all deeds of good renown.
Strophe II.
The land of sacred waters, then,
The city of good will to men,
How shall it have a welcoming 845 (849)
For thee, a too unholy thing
To dwell with others, murderess thou
Of thine own children? Oh, take heed;
Think, think on thy sons' death-blow now;
