But not for me is legend’s full unfolding,
Who see the law of song mine hand withholding:
Yea, and the hasting hours brook no delay.
A strong spell draws me on to sing the day
Of the New Moon that on those Games was shining.
Though round thee breast-high plash the deep-sea spray,
Stand firm! Strive on ’gainst treacherous foes’ designing!
O’er foes triumphant shall we win the port
In clear day! One of less heroic sort,
With envy evil-eyed, in darkness schemes;
But fruitless to the ground shall fall his dreams.