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O Warder Hermês of the world beneath,

Son of the Father who is Lord of Death;

Saviour, be thou my saviour; Help in War,

Help me! I am returned from lands afar

To claim mine own. And on this headland steep

Of death, I call my Father o'er the deep

To hearken, to give ear.—Behold, I bring

Out of my poverty one little thing,

To adorn thy grave, though who can touch the dead

Or wake from sleep that unuplifted head?

Yet long ago in Phokis, where I lay

With Strophius in the hills, being cast away

In childhood, plundered by mine enemies,

And friendless, save for this man, Pylades,