_Band of captive Oechalian maidens:_ The mate of the immortals he, Whose life and fortune hand in hand Go on apace. But worse than death 105 Is life, dragged on with many groans. Whoe'er has trodden under foot The greedy fates, and can disdain The boat that plies on death's dark stream, Will never feel the galling chains Upon his captive arms; nor grace, As noble spoil, the victor's train. 110 For he who faces death with joy Can ne'er be wretched. Should his bark Be wrecked upon the stormy sea Where Africus with Boreas, And Zephyrus with Eurus strive, And rend the seas; he does not seek To gather up the broken parts 115 Of his wrecked ship, that, far at sea, He still may cherish hopes of land. For he, who ever ready stands To give his life, alone is safe From all the perils of the storm. But we are held by shameful grief, The gaunt, drawn face, the streaming tears, By the ashes of our fatherland Besprinkled. Us no whirling flame, 120 Nor crash of falling walls o'erwhelms. Thou dost pursue the fortunate, O death, but fleest from wretched souls. Behold, we live: but Oh, no more, Our country's walls[26] remain; their place Shall soon be hidden by the woods, And all our temples fall away To squalid hovels. Even now 125 The cold Dolopian will come And o'er the ashes, glowing yet, Sad remnants of Oechalia, Will drive his flocks. And soon, alas, Within our walls, the shepherd rude Shall sing upon his rustic pipes, With doleful voice, our history. 130 And when the hand of God shall speed A few more generations on, The very place where once we dwelt Will be forgotten. Happy once, I kept no barren hearth at home; Not mine the hungry acres then Of Thessaly. But now I'm called To Trachin's rough and stony land, 135 To ridges parched and jungle-set, To groves which e'en the mountain goat Would not inhabit. But, perchance, Some milder fate the captives calls. Then will they see the Inachus, Whose rapid waves shall bear them on, Or dwell within Dircaean walls 140 Where flows Ismenus' scanty stream-- And where was once the mother wed Of mighty Hercules. False is that tale of doubled night, When overlong the stars delayed Within the skies, and Hesperus In place of Lucifer arose, And Delia with tardy car 145 Kept back the sun. What Scythian crag Begot thee, or what stony mount? Like some wild Titan wast thou born On Rhodope, or Athos rough? What savage beast on Caspian shores, What spotted tigress, suckled thee? 150 Impervious to wounds is he.