The fountains are at play,
And Cephissus feeds his river
From their sweet urns, day by day;
The river knows no dearth;
Adown the vale the lapsing waters glide,
And the pure rain of that pellucid tide
Calls the rife beauty from the heart of earth;
While by the banks the Muses’ choral train
Are duly heard—and there Love checks her golden rein.”
EXTANT PLAYS OF SOPHOCLES.