As Cloe came into the room t'other day,
I peevish began; Where so long could you stay?
In your lifetime you never regarded your hour:
You promis'd at two; and (pray look, Child) 'tis four.
A lady's watch needs neither figures nor wheels:
'Tis enough, that 'tis loaded with bawbles and seals.
A temper so heedless no mortal can bear—
Thus far I went on with a resolute air.
Lord bless me, said she; let a body but speak:
Here's an ugly hard rose-bud fall'n into my neck;
It has hurt me, and vex'd me to such a degree—
See here! for you never believe me; pray see,

As Chloris full of harmless thought
Beneath the willows lay,
Kind love a comely shepherd brought
To pass the time away.

She blushed to be encountered so
And chid the amorous swain,
But as she strove to rise and go,
He pulled her back again.

A sudden passion seized her heart
In spite of her disdain;
She found a pulse in every part,
And love in every vein.

"Ah, youth!" quoth she, "What charms are these
That conquer and surprise?
Ah, let me--for unless you please,
I have no power to rise."

She faintly spoke, and trembling lay,

O genile-hearied Queen of Peace, thou Daughter
Of Righteousness, to greatness dost thou raise
Cities: of counsel calm and war's mad slaughter
The master-keys thou holdest. Of thy grace
Welcome the praise
Of Aristomenes, in athlete-strife
Won at the Pythian Games. Thou knowest truly
How to receive and give in season duly
The kindly courtesies that sweeten life.

Yet thou, whenever any man hath driven
Thine heart to righteous wrath, relentlessly,
Sternly against the might of foes hast striven:
Their insolence into the abyss of sea

O Golden Lyre, who art Phoebus' treasure
Which he shares with the dusk-haired Song-queens aye,
The light feet hear thee beating the measure
As the revellers marshal their dance-array.
O Lyre, thy signals the singers obey
When in preludes of choral song low-dreaming
O'er thy strings quick-throbbing the harmonies glide
Thou quenchest the thunderbolt's self red-gleaming
Javelined with flame-jets aye outstreaming
On the sceptre of Zeus the slumber-tide
O'er his eagle ripples, on either side.

Of the king of birds as his pinions are trailing:

Archilochus' chant of the sweet voice singing
The Olympian hymn of victory,
With its threefold measure of triumph outringing,
Sufficed to lead onward the revelry
To the Hill of Kronos, as paced along
Epharmostus amidst of his comrade-throng
But now with such soul-stirring arrows of song
As in these our days fly fittingly
Shot from the Muses' bows far-ranging,
Sing praises, my soul, unto Zeus, whose hand
Hurls red-glowing lightnings sin-avenging;
And the holy foreland of Elis-land
Praise thou, the land which long agone

Mother of contests golden-crowned, O Queen
Of truth, Olympia, where from sacrifice
Diviners seek the will of Zeus to glean,
Who hurls white-flickering lightnings through the skies,
To wot if he hath any word of grace
For men whose hearts yearn hotly to attain
To high achievement, and a breathing-space
From toil to gain.

This he vouchsafes to reverent prayer and vow.
O Pisan precinct fair with olive-lines,
Welcome this victory-procession thou,
And the crown-bearing! Bright his glory shines
Whom splendour of thy guerdon shall attend!

As a father with wealth-laden hand uplifteth a cup
With the flashing dew of the joy-giving wine brimmed up,
And pledgeth therein the youth who hath won for a bride
His daughter, and therewith giveth to him, to bear
From the old home unto the new, that golden pride
Of his treasures, and maketh the fair feast yet more fair,
And his kinsman envied of all friends banqueting there
For the marriage that joins hearts, one evermore to abide;

So send I the Song-queens' gift, the nectar outpoured
From my spirit, its vintage of sweetness, a chant to record

Oh Tyndarids, lords of all guest-welcoming,
Oh Helen of the tresses beauty-crowned,
Take pleasure in my praises, when I sing
Akragas far-renowned,
Chanting her son's Olympian victory,
The glory of his tireless-footed team.
The Muse hath thrilled me with new harmony
Of wedded song and dance, in revelry
Where Dorian sandals gleam.

Garlands of victory twined in Theron's hair
Exact of me this debt that Heaven ordains
For Ainesidamus' son in order fair
To blend the varying strains
Of lyres with voice of flutes and ordering

Songs, lords of the lyre! what God shall we hymn?—what hero's praises?—
What man's fame publish afar?
Pisa doth Zeus own; Herakles stablished Olympia's races
With the regal spoils of his war;
Theron, who honours the guest, whose four steeds raced victorious,
Akragas' stay, let us chant, full flower of an ancestry glorious,
His city's saviour-star.

Toils bravely his fathers endured, and a hallowed home by the river
They reared: they were Sicily's eye
And to crown their inborn worth, Fair Fortune attended them, giver
Of wealth and of dignity.

Now, while I laud a house that thrice can vaunt
Olympian victory, gracious to the guest,
To fellow-burghers courteous, I will chant
With theirs the praise of Corinth heaven-blest.
Here Isthmian Poseidon fixed his portals,
This city glorious—noble sons are hers!
Here hath Fair Governance her home mid mortals,
Here dwell her sisters, city-stablishers,
Justice, and Peace her fellow-fosterling:
God's stewards of true wealth to men they be,
Themis's golden daughters, they who bring
Wise counsels from the Queen of Equity;