Chorus
STRO. 1.
633
You, on the cliffs, whose jutting brow
O'erhangs the dashing wave,
At whose soft foot the warm springs flow
On Œta's summits rudely piled
Who fix your habitations wild;
You, who the Melian bay command,
The golden-quiver'd Virgin's strand,
Or near the rocky straits reside
Where Greece her Chiefs in council views with pride;
Soon shall you hear the pipe's sweet sound;
No mournful notes it breathes around
But sprightly is the strain;
And, with such airs as joy inspire,
Rivals the Muses' heav'nly lyre.
The winged hours the hero bring,
Son of Alcmena and heav'n's king;
He comes, he chases all our fears,
And the rich spoils of every virtue bears.
The hero absent from our state
Twelve tedious moons we mourn,
Whilst anxious Expectation sate,
And watch'd his wish'd return,
Unknown what seas he ploughs with pain,
What shores his lingering steps detain.
Meanwhile his fond wife melts in tears, '
And yields her heart a prey to fears :
But Mars now bids his fury cease,
And closes his long day of toils in peace.
ANTIS. 2. May he arrive, e'en now arrive
Forbear his welcome bark to drive
On Trachin's shouting shore,
But bring him from the island shrine,
Where now he offers rites divine.
Yes, let him come with all the fire
Of eager love and fond desire;
Come, as the Centaur's words profest,
Wrapt in persuasion's medicated vest !
