Chorus.
In all things else may the Olympian Gods
Prosper us. For my youth fear not, my father,
In this ripe season of my beauty. If
The Gods have not appointed some new thing
I mean to walk where heretofore I trod.
Set forward to the city then
And to her Gods give thanks,
Lords of their bliss within her walls
Or dwellers by the banks
Of Erasinus old. And you,
Dear maids, our music sweet
Accompany with clapping hands
And dance of rhythmic feet.
Our song is of Pelasgia's town,
And we will hymn no more
The fullness of the fluctuant Nile,
But placid streams that pour
Deep draughts for thirsty lips, and cheer
The land with childish mirth,
Turning stiff tracts of stubborn ground
To soft and fertile earth.
Chaste Artemis, watch over us,
And love come in tender guise,
Not forced by Cytherea's might;
We wish our foes that prize.
