And do ye swell our chorus, ye far Theban daughters,
Whom the child of Tiresias, Manto the seer,
Once taught to bow down to the Delian gods.320
Now peace has come:
Unbend thy victorious bow, O Apollo,
Lay down from thy shoulder thy quiver of arrows,
And let thy tuneful lyre resound
To the touch of thy swift-flying fingers.325
No lofty strain be thine today,
But such as on thy milder lyre