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CHOROS. Empowered am I to sing The omens, what their force which, journeying, Rejoiced the potentates: (For still, from God, inflates My breast song-suasion: age, Born to the business, still such war can wage) -- How the fierce bird against the Teukris land Despatched, with spear and executing hand, The Achaian's two-throned empery--o'er Hellas' youth Two 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, -- Devouring a hare-creature, great with young, Baulked of more racings they, as she from whom they sprung! Ah, Linos, say -- ah, Linos, song of wail! But may the good prevail!
"But dream-appearing mournful fantasies -- There they stand, bringing grace that's vain. For vain 't is, when brave things one seems to view; The fantasy has floated off, hands through; Gone, that appearance, -- nowise left to creep, -- On wings, the servants in the paths of sleep!" Woes, then, in household and on hearth, are such As these--and woes surpassing these by much. But not these only: everywhere -- For those who from the land Of Hellas issued in a band, Sorrow, the heart must bear, Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there. Many a circumstance, at least, Touches the very breast. For those Whom any sent away, -- he knows: And in the live man's stead, Armour and ashes reach The house of each.