And chased with steeds sonorous-hooved the shades of lingering night,Then sleep from waking Atys fled fleeting with sudden flight,By Nymph Pasithae welcomed to palpitating breast.Thus when his frenzy raging rash was soothed to gentlest rest,Atys revolved deeds lately done, as thought from breast unfolding,And what he'd lost and what he was with lucid sprite beholding,To shallows led by surging soul again the way 'gan take.There casting glance of weeping eyes where vasty billows brake,Sad-voiced in pitifullest lay his native land bespake."Country of me, Creatress mine, born to thee and bred,By hapless me abandoned as by thrall from lordling fled,When me to Ida's groves and glades these vaguing footsteps boreTo tarry 'mid the snows and where lurk beasts in antres froreAnd seek the deeply hidden lairs where furious ferals meet!Where, Country! whither placed must I now hold thy site and seat?Lief would these balls of eyes direct to thee their line of sight,Which for a while, a little while, would free me from despite.Must I for ever roam these groves from house and home afar?Of country, parents, kith and kin (life's boon) myself debar?Fly Forum, fly Palestra, fly the Stadium, the Gymnase?