Earth, whom I chief of all men born would bless,

And call thee with more loving lips than theirs

Mother, for of this very body of thine

And living blood I have my breath and live,

Behold me, even thy son, me crowned of men,

Me made thy child by that strong cunning God

Who fashions fire and iron, who begat

Me for a sword and beacon-fire on thee,

10

Me fosterling of Pallas, in her shade

Reared, that I first might pay the nursing debt,

Hallowing her fame with flower of third-year feasts,

And first bow down the bridled strength of steeds

To lose the wild wont of their birth, and bear

Clasp of man's knees and steerage of his hand,

[Pg 2]

Or fourfold service of his fire-swift wheels

That whirl the four-yoked chariot; me the king

Who stand before thee naked now, and cry,

O holy and general mother of all men born,

 Prev. P 2/116 next