Would thou might'st come with blessed, balmy air,
And blessing long remain,
And from his eyes ward off the noon-tide blaze,
Now full upon him poured;
Come as our Healer, Lord!
And thou, my son, look well to all thy ways;
What next demands our thought?
What now must needs be wrought?
Thou see'st him; and I ask
Why we delay our task;
Occasion that still holds to counsel right,
With quickest speed appears as conqueror in the fight.
Neoptolemos.
True, he indeed heareth nought, but yet I see that all vainly
We hunt after this man's bow, in good ship sailing without him.
There is the crown of success, him the God bade us bring with us;
Sore shame were it now with lies to boast of a task still unfinished.
Chorus.
Antistrophe.
This, boy, will God provide,
But when thou speak'st again,
Speak, boy, Ο speak in low and whispered strain;
Of those so sorely tried
Sleep is but sleepless, quick to glance and see;
But look with all thy skill,
What way to work thy will,
And gain that prize, yea that, all secretly.
Thou knowest whose we are,
And if his thoughts thou share,
