When pure Dirce’s fount is troubled,
From what waters shall ye taste?
Theban soil, the deepest, richest,
That with fruits of joy is pregnant,
Dirce, sweetest fount that runs,
From Poseidon earth-embracing,
And from Tethys’ winding sons.[n21]
Patron-gods maintain your glory,
Sit in might enthroned to-day:
Smite the foe with fear; fear stricken