Our city hailed his name,
And from my heart the charge of baseness ne'er shall rise.
863–910.
Stroph. I.
Would 'twere my lot to lead
My life in holiest purity of speech,
In purity of deed,
Of deed and word whose Laws high-soaring reach
Through all the vast concave.
Heaven-born, Olympos their one only sire!
To these man never gave
The breath of life, nor shall they e'er expire
In dim oblivion cold:
In these God shews as great and never waxeth old.
Antistroph. I.
The wantonness of pride
Begets the tyrant,—wanton pride, full-flushed
With thoughts vain, idle, wide,
That to the height of topmost fame hath rushed,
And then hath fallen low,
Into dark evil where it cannot take
One step from out that woe.
I cannot bid the Gods this order break
Of toil for noblest end;
Yea, still I call on God as guardian and as friend.
Stroph. II.
But if there be who walks too haughtily
In action or in speech,
Who the great might of Justice dares defy,
