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Rh

On conquest not ignoble. That soft gales,

With sunshine blowing, wander o'er the land;

That earth's fair fruit, rich increase of the flocks

Fail not my citizens for evermore,

With safety of the precious human seed;—

But, for the impious,—weed them promptly out,

For I, like one who tendeth plants, do love

This race of righteous men, by grief unscathed:—

Such be thy charge. Be mine not to endure

That, among mortals, in war's mighty game,

Athena's city be not conquest-crowned."

And in a new strain they sing:—