Parodos
Predictions from the birds, in journeying,
Above the abode of either king.
With these, symphonious, sing —
Ah, Linos, say — ah, Linos, song of wail!
But may the good prevail!
Zeus, whosoe’er he be, — if that express
160
Aught dear to him on whom I call —
I cannot liken out, by all
Any but Zeus for refuge at such hours,
165
If veritably needs I must
165
From off my soul its vague care-burthen thrust.
Not — whosoever was the great of yore,
Bursting to bloom with bravery all round —
Is in our mouths: he was, but is no more.
And who it was that after came to be,
170
Met the thrice-throwing wrestler, — he