For their gratitude’s praise for his kindness is gushing
From the hearts in loving reverence bowed.
O Deinomenes’ son, the Lokrian maid
In the far west sings at her door unafraid
The delivering might of thine arm, that stayed
War’s march of afflictions spirit-crushing,
That her eyes no longer are terror-cowed.
In old-time legend it stands recorded
That Ixion, the while on the fire-winged wheel
By the sentence of Gods he is endlessly whirled,
Ever shrieketh his warning, a cry that is hurled
Unto men’s ears up from the underworld—
“Be the kindness of thy benefactors rewarded
With all the love that thine heart can reveal!”