Chorus.
Whoso fears evil where no harm appears,
Reap first himself the fruit of his own fears.
Enter Herald.
Herald.
Hail Argive land! dear fatherland, all hail!
This tenth year’s light doth shine on my return!
And now this one heart’s hope from countless wrecks
I save! Scarce hoped I e’er to lay my bones
Within the tomb where dearest dust is stored.