On conquest not ignoble. That soft gales,
With sunshine blowing, wander o'er the land;
That earth's fair fruit, rich increase of the flocks
Fail not my citizens for evermore,
With safety of the precious human seed;—
But, for the impious,—weed them promptly out,
For I, like one who tendeth plants, do love
This race of righteous men, by grief unscathed:—
Such be thy charge. Be mine not to endure
That, among mortals, in war's mighty game,
Athena's city be not conquest-crowned."
And in a new strain they sing:—
"Pallas, thy chosen seat be henceforth mine!
No more the city I despise
Which Zeus omnipotent and Ares prize,
Altar of refuge, glorious shrine,
Stronghold of Grecian deities,
For which, propitious, now I pray,
Pouring my sacred lay;
Springing to light from earth's dark womb,
May life's fair germs prolific bloom,
Lured by the solar ray.
******
Here may no tree-destroying mildew sweep,—
(So show I forth my grace,)
May no fierce heat within these bounds alight,
Blasting the tender buds; no sterile blight,
Disastrous, onward creep.
But in due season here may flocks of worth
Twin yeanlings bear; and may this race,
Enriched with treasures of the earth,
Honour the Heaven-sent grace!"
