Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/529



, thou art come, Ο guest,

Where our dear land is brightest of the bright,

Land in its good steeds blest,

Our home, Colonos, gleaming fair and white;

The nightingale still haunteth all our woods

Green with the flush of spring,

And sweet melodious floods

Of softest song through grove and thicket ring;

She dwelleth in the shade

Of glossy ivy, dark as purpling wine,

And the untrodden glade

Of trees that hang their myriad fruit divine,

Unscathed by blast of storm;

Here Dionysos finds his dear-loved home,

Here, revel-flushed, his form

Is wont with those his fair nurse-nymphs to roam.

Here, as Heaven drops its dew,

Narcissus grows with fair bells clustered o'er,

Wreath to the Dread Ones due,

The Mighty Goddesses whom we adore;

And here is seen the crocus, golden-eyed;

The sleepless streams ne'er fail;

Still wandering on they glide,

And clear Kephisos waters all the vale;