Mellow bird, thou dost not wail,[f26]
For the good gods gave to thee
A light shape of fleetest winging,
A bright life of sweetest singing,
But a sharp-edged death to me.
ANTISTROPHE VIII.
Chorus.
By a god thou art possessed,
And he goads thee without rest,
And he racks thy throbbing brain
With a busy-beating pain,