Another.
Or pitchers to and fro to bear
To some Pirênê on the hill,
Where the proud water craveth still
Its broken-hearted minister.
Another.
God guide me yet to Theseus' land,
The gentle land, the famed afar . . .
Another.
But not the hungry foam—Ah, never!—
Of fierce Eurotas, Helen's river,
To bow to Menelaus' hand,
That wasted Troy with war!
A Woman.
[Antistrophe 2.
They told us of a land high-born,
Where glimmers round Olympus' roots
A lordly river, red with corn
And burdened fruits.
Another.
Aye, that were next in my desire
To Athens, where good spirits dwell . . .
Another.
Or Aetna's breast, the deeps of fire
That front the Tyrian's Citadel:
First mother, she, of Sicily
And mighty mountains: fame hath told
Their crowns of goodness manifold. . . .
Another.
And, close beyond the narrowing sea,
A sister land, where float enchanted
Ionian summits, wave on wave,
