I lift up mine eyes from the skirts of the shadow, [_Str._ From the border of death to the limits of light; O streams and rivers of mountain and meadow That hallow the last of my sight, O father that wast of my mother Cephisus, O thou too his brother From the bloom of whose banks as a prey Winds harried my sister away, O crown on the world's head lying Too high for its waters to drown, 1120 Take yet this one word of me dying, O city, O crown. Though land-wind and sea-wind with mouths that blow slaughter [_Ant._ Should gird them to battle against thee again, New-born of the blood of a maiden thy daughter, The rage of their breath shall be vain. For their strength shall be quenched and made idle, And the foam of their mouths find a bridle, And the height of their heads bow down At the foot of the towers of the town. 1130 Be blest and beloved as I love thee Of all that shall draw from thee breath; Be thy life as the sun's is above thee; I go to my death. CHORUS. Many loves of many a mood and many a kind [_Str._ 1. Fill the life of man, and mould the secret mind; Many days bring many dooms, to loose and bind; Sweet is each in season, good the gift it brings, Sweet as change of night and day with altering wings, Night that lulls world-weary day, day that comforts night, 1140 Night that fills our eyes with sleep, day that fills with light. None of all is lovelier, loftier love is none, [_Ant._ 1. Less is bride's for bridegroom, mother's less for son, Child, than this that crowns and binds up all in one; Love of thy sweet light, thy fostering breast and hand, Mother Earth, and city chosen, and natural land; Hills that bring the strong streams forth, heights of heavenlier air, Fields aflower with winds and suns, woods with shadowing hair. But none of the nations of men shall they liken to thee, [_Str._ 2. Whose children true-born and the fruit of thy body are we. 1150 The rest are thy sons but in figure, in word are thy seed; We only the flower of thy travail, thy children indeed. Of thy soil hast thou fashioned our limbs, of thy waters their blood, And the life of thy springs everlasting is fount of our flood. No wind oversea blew us hither adrift on thy shore, None sowed us by land in thy womb that conceived us and bore. But the stroke of the shaft of the sunlight that brought us to birth Pierced only and quickened thy furrows to bear us, O Earth. With the beams of his love wast thou cloven as with iron or fire,