Whom nought can reverence teach,
Ill fate be his for that his ill-starred scorn,
Unless he choose to win
Henceforth the gain that is of Justice born,
And holds aloof from sin,
Nor lays rash hand on things inviolable.
Who now will strive to guard
His soul against the darts of passion fell?
If such deeds gain reward,
What boots it yet again
In choral dance to chant my wonted strain?
Antistroph. II.
No more will I at yonder spot divine,
Earth's centre, kneeling fall,
In Abæ's temple, or Olympiads shrine,
Unless, in sight of all,
These things appear as tokens clear and true.
But oh, Thou Lord and King,
If unto Thee that name be rightly due,
Creation governing,
Let it not 'scape Thee, or thy deathless might!
For now the words of old
To Laios uttered, they despise and slight;
Nor does Apollo hold
His place in men's esteem,
And things divine are counted as a dream.
1186–1223.
Stroph. I.
Ο race of mortal men,
I number you and deem
