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Speak quickly then, so shall I quickly know.

Be still, unhappy one, scare not thy friends.

Still am I;—with the rest I'll bear my doom.

This word I to thy former words prefer.

Moreover keeping from these shrines aloof,

Proffer the better prayer, e'en that the gods

Our allies prove; then having heard my prayers,

Do thou the auspicious, sacred Pæan raise,

Hellas' accustomed shout of sacrifice,

Cheering to friends, dispelling dread of foes.—

Unto our country's tutelary gods,

The plain who haunt, the market-place who guard,

To Dirka's fountains, and Ismenos' waters,

Make I this promise, that—if all go well,

And this our town be saved—with blood of sheep

Dyeing the sacred hearths, and slaying bulls

In the gods' honour, trophies I will plant,

And will aloft on spears, the shrines before,

Hang in the sacred fanes the spoils of war.

Pray to the gods such prayers, not with fond moans,

Neither with sobs of anguish vain and wild,

For none the more wilt thou escape thy doom.

Meanwhile, six men of war, myself the seventh,