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And, may that power of ancient birth,
From Saturn sprung, and parent Earth,
Of tall Olympus' lord,

Who sees with still benignant eye
The games' long splendor sweeping by
His Alpheus' holy ford :-
Appeased with anthems chanted high,
To Theron's late posterity

A happier doom accord ;-
Or good or ill, the past is gone,
Nor time himself, the parent one,
Can make the former deeds undone;-
But who would these recall,--
When happier days would fain efface
The memory of each past disgrace,
And, from the gods, on Theron's race
Unbounded blessings fall?--

Ex ample meet for such a song,
The sister queens of Laius' blood;
Who sorrow's edge endured long,
Made keener by remembered good.
Yet now she breathes the air of Heaven
(On earth by smouldering thunder riven,)
Long-haired Semele :-

To Pallas dear is she ;

Dear to the sire of gods, and dear

To him, her son, in dreadful glee Who shakes the ivy-wreathed spear.

And thus, they tell that deep below The sounding ocean's ebb and flow, Amid the daughters of the sea, A sister nymph must Ino be, And dwell in bliss eternally :But, ignorant and blind,

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We little know the coming hour;
Or if the latter day shall lower;
Or if to nature's kindly power
Our life in peace resigned,

Shall sink like fall of summer eve,
And on the face of darkness leave
A ruddy smile behind,—

For grief and joy with fitful gale
Our crazy bark by turns assail,

And, whence our blessings flow,
That same tremendous Providence
Will oft a varying doom dispense,
And lay the mighty low.

To Theban Laius that befell,
Whose son, with murder dyed,

Fulfilled the former oracle,

Unconscious parricide.

Unconscious-yet avenging hell Pursued th' offender's stealthy pace, And heavy, sure, and hard it fell, The curse of blood, on all his race. Spared from their kindred strife, The young Thersander's life, Stern Polynices' heir, was left alone : In every martial game,

And in the field of fame,

For early force and matchless prowess known: Was left, the pride and prop to be

Of good Adrastus' pedigree.

And hence, through loins of ancient kings,
The warrior blood of Theron springs ;
Exalted name, to whom belong

The minstrel's harp, the poet's song,
In fair Olympia crowned;

And where, mid Pythia's olives blue,
An equal lot his brother drew:

And where his twice-twain coursers flew
The isthmus twelve times round.

Such honor, earned by toil and care,
May best his ancient wrongs repair,
And wealth, unstained by pride,
May laugh at fortune's fickle power,
And blameless in the tempting hour
Of syren ease abide :-

Led by that star of heavenly ray,

Which best may keep our darkling way
O'er life's unsteady tide.

For, whoso holds in righteousness the throne,
He in his heart hath known

How the foul spirits of the guilty dead,
In chambers dark and dread,

Of nether earth abide, and penal flame :
Where he, whom none may name,
Lays bare the soul by stern necessity;
Seated in judgment high;

The minister of God whose arm is there,
In heaven alike and hell, almighty every where!

But, ever bright, by day, by night,

Exulting in excess of light;

From labor free and long distress,

The good enjoy their happiness.

No more the stubborn soil they cleave, Nor stem for scanty food the wave; But with the venerable gods they dwell: No tear bedims their thankful eye,

Nor mars their long tranquillity;

While those accursed, how! in pangs unspeakable.

But, who the thrice-renewed probation

Of either world may well endure;
And keep with righteous destination
The soul from all transgression pure;
To such and such alone is given,
To walk the rainbow paths of heaven,
To that tall city of almighty time,
Where Ocean's balmy breezes play,
And, flashing to the western day,

The gorgeous blossoms of such blessed clime,
Now in the happy isles are seen
Sparkling through the groves of green;
And now, all glorious to behold,
Tinge the wave with floating gold.

Hence are their garlands woven-hence their hands

Filled with triumphal boughs;-the righteous

doom

Of Rhadamanthus, whom, o'er these his lands, A blameless judge in every time to come, Chronos, old Chronos, sire of gods hath placed; Who with his consort dear,

Dread Rhea, reigneth here,

On cloudy throne with deathless honor graced.

And still, they say, in high communion,
Peleus and Cadmus here abide;

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