Stroph. II.
For even as one sees
Or South or North wind sweep resistless on,
And toss the vexèd seas,
The wild waves rushing, surging one by one,
So him of Cadmos born,
By many a great grief worn,
A Cretan sea of troubles vexeth still;
And yet some great God's might
Keeps him from Death's dark night,
And ever guards from each extremest ill.
Antistroph. II.
I, therefore, blaming this,
Will come with words, though pleasant, thwarting thee:
I say thou dost amiss
To let thy better hope all wasted be.
The King who all doth hold,
Great son of Cronos old,
Hath given to no man fortune free from woe;
But still the wheeling sphere,
Where turns the northern Bear,
Brings joy and sorrow circling as they go.
Epode.
It stayeth not on earth,
Nor star-bespangled Night, nor gloomy Fate,
Nor riches, nor high birth;
But still it comes and goes,
Lighting on these or those,
Or joy abounding, or the low estate.
And this I say that thou,
My queen, should'st bear in mind:
