Their woes shall flow, but like a spring gush forth,
Still fresh enforced. With such gore-streaming death
The Dorian spear shall daub Plataea’s soil;
And the piled dead to generations three
Speak this mute wisdom to the thoughtful eye—
Proud thoughts were never made for mortal man;
A haughty spirit[f32] blossoming bears a crop
Of woe, and reaps a harvest of despair.
Look on these things, pride’s just avengement; think
On Athens and on Hellas; fear to slight