CHORAL HYMN. STROPHE I. The hand of Jove hath smote them; thou May'st trace it plainly; What the god willed, behold it now Not purposed vainly! The gods are blind,[n40] and little caring, So one hath said, to mark the daring Of men, whose graceless foot hath ridden O'er things to human touch forbidden. Godless who said so; sons shall rue Their parents' folly, Who flushed with wealth, with insolence flown, The sober bliss of man outgrown, The trump of Mars unchastened blew, And stirred red strife without the hue Of justice wholly. Live wiselier thou, not waxing gross With gain, thou shalt be free from loss. Weak is his tower, with pampering wealth In brief alliance Who spurns great Justice' altar dread With damned defiance; Him the deep hell shall claim, and shame His vain reliance. ANTISTROPHE I. Self-will fell Até's daughter,[n41] still Fore-counselling ruin, Shall spur him on resistless borne To his undoing. Fined with sharp loss beyond repairing, His misery like a beacon flaring, Shall shine to all. Like evil brass, That tested shows a coarse black mass, His deep distemper he shall show {54} By dints of trial. Even as a boy in wanton sport,[n42] Chasing a bird to his own hurt, And to the state's redeemless loss, Whom, when he prays, the gods shall cross With sheer denial, And sweep the lewd and lawless liver From earth's fair memory for ever; Thus to the Atridans' palace came False Alexander, And shared the hospitable board, A bold offender, Filching his host's fair wife away To far Scamander. STROPHE II. She went, and to the Argive city left Squadrons shield-bearing, Battle preparing, Swords many-flashing, Oars many-plashing; She went, destruction for her dowry bearing, To the Sigean shore; Light with swift foot she brushed the doorstead, daring A deed undared before. The prophets of the house loud wailing,[n43] Cried with sorrow unavailing, "Woe to the Atridans! woe! The lofty palaces fallen low! The marriage and the marriage bed, The steps once faithful, fond to follow There where the faithful husband led!" He silent stood in sadness, not in wrath,[n44] His own eye scarce believing, As he followed her flight beyond the path Of the sea-wave broadly heaving. And phantoms sway each haunt well known, Which the lost loved one wont to own, And the statued forms that look from their seats With a cold smile serenely, He loathes to look on; in his eye Pines Aphrodité[f16] leanly.