Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/542

444 And temper duly wrought

To statesman's mind,—

These he hath learnt, and how to flee the power

Of cold that none may bear,

And all the tempest darts of arrowy shower

That hurtle through the air:

Armed at all points, unarmed he nought shall meet

That coming time reveals;

Only from Hades finds he no retreat,

Though many a sore disease that hopeless seemed heals.

And lo! with all this skill,

Beyond hope's dream,

He now to good inclines,

And now to ill;

Now holding fast his country's ancient laws,

And in the state's esteem

Most honoured; but dishonoured, should he cause

The thing as evil known

To rule his heart in wantonness of pride;

Ne'er may he dwell with me,

Nor share my counsels, prompting at my side,

Who evil deeds like this still works perpetually!

Ah! happy are the souls that know not ill;

For they whose house is struck by wrath divine,

Find that no sorrow faileth, creeping still

Through long descent of old ancestral line;

So is it as a wave

Of ocean's billowing surge,