They from whom Persephone Due atonement shall receive For the things that made to grieve, To the upper sunlight she Sendeth back their souls once more, Soon as winters eight are o'er. From those blessed spirits spring Many a great and goodly king, Many a man of glowing might, Many a wise and learned wight: And while after-days endure, Men esteem them heroes pure. And again: Shines for them the sun's warm glow When 'tis darkness here below: And the ground before their towers, Meadow-land with purple flowers, Teems with incense-bearing treen, Teems with fruit of golden sheen. Some in steed and wrestling feat, Some in dice take pleasure sweet, Some in harping: at their side Blooms the spring in all her pride. Fragrance all about is blown O'er that country of desire. Ever as rich gifts are thrown Freely on the far-seen fire, Blazing from the altar-stone. * * * * * But the souls of the profane, Far from heaven removed below, Flit on earth in murderous pain 'Neath the unyielding yoke of woe; While pious spirits tenanting the sky Chant praises to the mighty one on high. For Pindar's conception of the destinies of frail humanity, take this sublime but melancholy ending to an ode[118] which has been full of triumphant exultation: "Brief is the growing-time of joy for mortals, and briefly, too, doth its flower fall to earth shaken by fell fate. Things of a day! what are we--and what are we not! A shadow's dream is man. But when the splendor that God gives descends, then there remains a radiant light and gladsome life for mortals." Compare with this the opening of the sixth Nemean: "One is the race of men, and one the race of gods; from one mother we both draw breath. But a total difference of force divides us, since man's might is naught, while brazen heaven abideth a sure seat for aye. Nevertheless, we are not all unlike immortals either in our mighty soul or strength of limb, though we know not to what goal of night or day fate hath written down for us to run." #/