Strange hunters are hard on us, hearts without pity;
They have staked their nets round the fair young city,
That the sons of her strength and her virgin daughters
Should find not whither alive to flee.
And we know not yet of the word unwritten, [_Ant._ 1.
The doom of the Pythian we have not heard;
From the navel of earth and the veiled mid altar
We wait for a token with hopes that falter, 160
With fears that hang on our hearts thought-smitten
Lest her tongue be kindled with no good word.
O thou not born of the womb, nor bred [_Str._ 2.
In the bride-night's warmth of a changed God's bed,
But thy life as a lightning was flashed from the light of thy
father's head,
O chief God's child by a motherless birth,
If aught in thy sight we indeed be worth,
Keep death from us thou, that art none of the Gods of the dead
under earth.
Thou that hast power on us, save, if thou wilt; [_Ant._ 2.
Let the blind wave breach not thy wall scarce built; 170
But bless us not so as by bloodshed, impute not for grace to us
guilt,
Nor by price of pollution of blood set us free;
Let the hands be taintless that clasp thy knee,
Nor a maiden be slain to redeem for a maiden her shrine from the
sea.
O earth, O sun, turn back [_Str._ 3.
Full on his deadly track
Death, that would smite you black and mar your creatures,
And with one hand disroot