Chorus.
(Str. 1.)
Love bringeth nor glory nor honour to men when it cometh restraining
Not its unscanted excess: but if Kypris, in measure raining 630
Her joy, cometh down, there is none other Goddess so winsome as she.
Not upon me, O Queen, do thou aim from thy bow all-golden
The arrow desire-envenomed that none may avoid—not on me!
(Ant. 1.)
But let Temperance shield[1] me, the fairest of gifts of the Gods ever-living:
Nor ever with passion of jarring contention, nor feuds unforgiving,
In her terrors may Love's Queen visit me, smiting with maddened unrest
For a couch mismated my soul: but the peace of the bride-bed be holden 640
In honour of her, and her keen eyes choose for us bonds that be best.
(Str. 2.)
O fatherland, O mine home,
Not mine be the exile's doom!
Into poverty's pathways hard to be trod may my feet not be guided!
Most piteous anguish were this.
By death—O by death ere then may the conflict of life be decided,
