_Chorus:_ If any god for Argos cares, And Pisa's realm for chariots famed; If any loves the Isthmian state Of Corinth, with its double ports, And two opposing seas; 125 If any joys in the far-seen snows Of Mount Taygetus, which lie Heaped on his loftiest peaks what time The wintry blasts of Boreas blow, But which the summer melts again When breathe the soft Etesian winds, Sail filling; if the Alpheus bright With its cool, clear stream moves any god, 130 Far famed for its Olympic course-- Let him his peaceful godhead turn To our affairs; let him avert This dread inheritance of crime; Forbid that in his grandsire's steps The grandson follow, worse than he; And let not worse monstrosities Please generations yet to be. 135 Oh, may at last the impious race Of thirsty Tantalus give o'er In utter weariness its lust For savage deeds. Enough of sin! No longer does the right prevail, And wrong is general. Behold, As Myrtilus his lord betrayed, He, too, was treacherously slain; For by that selfsame broken faith 140 Which he had shown, himself o'ercome,[47] He fell into the sea and changed Its name for his. Amidst the ships That sail the Ionian sea, no tale Is better known. See now, while runs the little son To meet his father's kiss, he falls 145 By that accurséd sword transfixed, Untimely victim at thy hearth, And carved, O Tantalus, by thee, That so thou mightest grace the board Of friendly gods. That impious feast Eternal hunger, endless thirst Rewarded; penalty more fit 150 For such a crime could not be found. See where, with gaping throat, forespent, Stands Tantalus; above his head Hang many luscious fruits; but, swift As Phineus' birds, they flee his grasp; On every side the tree droops low, With heavy-laden boughs, o'erweighed 155 By its own fruit, and mockingly Sways to his straining lips. Yet he, Though with impatient longing filled, As often mocked, so often fails To grasp the prize; he turns away 160 His longing gaze, strains close his lips, And grimly bars his hunger fast Behind his teeth. But still again The whole grove lets its riches down, And flaunts them in his face, soft fruits On drooping boughs, and whets once more His hunger, bidding stretch again 165 His hands--but all in vain. For now, When it has lured him on to hope, And mocked its fill, the boughs recede, And the whole ripe harvest of the wood Is snatched far out of reach. Then comes a raging thirst more fierce