ἴθι μοι, πότνα, πόλιν.
τὰν δ’ ἐχθρὰν στάσιν εἶργ’ ἀπ’ οἴ-
κων τὰν μαινομέναν τ’ ἔριν
θηκτῷ τερπομέναν σιδάρῳ.
A paraphrase might run thus:—
O Peace, thou givest plenty as from a deep spring: there is no beauty like unto thine, no, not even among the blessed gods.
My heart yearneth within me, for thou tarriest; I grow old and thou returnest not.
Shall weariness overcome mine eyes before they see thy bloom and thy comeliness? When the lovely songs of the dancers are heard again, and the thronging feet of them that wear garlands, shall grey hairs and sorrow have destroyed me utterly?
Return, thou Holy One, to our city: abide not far from us, thou that quenchest wrath.