_Athena._ Such as is meet for no ill-victory.[540] · · · · · And pray that blessings upon men be sent. And that, too, both from earth, and ocean's spray, And out of heaven; and that the breezy winds, In sunshine blowing, sweep upon the land, And that o'erflowing fruit of field and flock May never fail my citizens to bless, Nor safe deliverance for the seed of men. But for the godless, rather root them out: 870 For I, like gardener shepherding his plants, This race of just men freed from sorrow love. So much for thee: and I will never fail To give this city honour among men, Victorious in the noble games of war. STROPHE I _Chor._ I will accept this offered home with Pallas, Nor will the city scorn, Which e'en All-ruling Zeus And Ares give as fortress of the Gods, The altar-guarding pride of Gods of Hellas; 880 And I upon her call, With kindly auguries, That so the glorious splendour of the sun May cause life's fairest portion in thick growth *To burgeon from the earth. _Athena._ Yea, I work with kindliest feeling For these my townsmen, having settled Powers great, and hard to soothe among them: Unto them the lot is given, All things human still to order; 890 He who hath not felt their pressure Knows not whence life's scourges smite him: For the sin of generations Past and gone;—a dumb destroyer,— Leads him on into their presence, And with mood of foe low bringeth Him whose lips are speaking proudly. ANTISTROPHE I _Chor._ Let no tree-blighting canker breathe on them, (I tell of boon I give,) Nor blaze of scorching heat, That mars the budding eyes of nursling plants, 900 And checks their spreading o'er their narrow bounds; And may no dark, drear plague Smite it with barrenness. But may Earth feed fair flock in season due, Blest with twin births, and earth's rich produce pay To the high heavenly Powers, Its gift for treasure found.[541] _Athena._ Hear ye then, ye city's guardians, What she offers? Dread and mighty 910 With the Undying is Erinnys; And with Those beneath the earth too, And full clearly and completely Work they all things out for mortals, Giving these the songs of gladness, Those a life bedimmed with weeping. STROPHE II