Healer do thou become! — of this solicitudeWhich, now, stands plainly forth of evil mood,And, then . . . but from oblations, hope, to-dayGracious appearing, wards awayFrom soul the insatiate care,The sorrow at my breast, devouring there!

CHOROS.Empowered am I to singThe omens, what their force which, journeying,Rejoiced the potentates:(For still, from God, inflatesMy breast song-suasion: age,Born to the business, still such war can wage)— How the fierce bird against the Teukris landDespatched, with spear and executing hand,The Achaian’s two-throned empery—o’er Hellas’ youthTwo rulers with one mind:The birds’ king to these kings of ships, on high,— The black sort, and the sort that’s white behind, —Appearing by the palace, on the spear-throw side,In right sky-regions, visible far and wide, —