I greet thee, native land! thee, shining sun!
Thee, the land’s Sovereign, Jove! thee, Pythian King,
Shooting no more thy swift-winged shafts against us.
Enough on red Scamander’s banks we knew
Thee hostile; now our saviour-god be thou,
Apollo, and our healer from much harm![n47]
And you, all gods that guide the chance of fight,
I here revoke; and thee, my high protector,
Loved Hermes, of all heralds most revered.
And you, all heroes that sent forth our hosts,