Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/411

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Thou art the goddess of peace,
And the issues of war are thine; 345
And thine are the laurels of victory twined
On the brow of our king Agamemnon.
To thee the boxwood flute resounds
In solemn festival;
To thee the maidens strike the harp 350
In sweetest song;
To thee the votive torch is tossed;
The gleaming heifer, all unmarred
By the plow's rough touch
Falls at thy shrine. 355
And thou, child of the Thunderer,
Pallas illustrious, hear;
Before whose might the Dardanian walls
Have trembled and fallen to dust.
Thee maidens and matrons in chorus united 360
Exalt and adore; at thy approach
Thy temple doors swing open wide,
While the welcoming throng, with garlands bedecked,
Rejoice at thy coming;
And feeble, tottering elders come
To pay their vows of thanks and praise, 365
And pour their offerings of wine
With trembling hands.
And to thee with mindful lips we pray,
Bright Trivia, Lucina called.
Thy native Delos didst thou bid
Stand fast upon the sea, and float 370
No more, the wandering mock of winds.
And now, with firmly fixed root,
It stands secure, defies the gale,
And, wont of old to follow ships,
Now gives them anchorage.
Proud Niobe thy vengeance felt 375
Who thy divinity defied.
Now, high on lonely Sipylus,
She sits and weeps in stony grief;
Though to insensate marble turned,