Yet, unto the Mother, the Goddess adored,
For thine helping with prayers would I fain draw near.
Whose praises, with those of the Forest-lord,
Beside my portal chanted I hear
By maidens oft, when the night is still.
But, Hiero, seeing thyself hast skill
To interpret the lore of the ancient seer,
This knowest thou—This is the high Gods’ will
To apportion alway afflictions twain
For each one boon that on man they bestow.
It is only the foolish who cannot sustain
With fit resignation their burden of woe:
But spirits heroic their sorrow can hide
’Neath a calm smile; so life’s fairer side
To the world do they show.