CHORUS
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un, that hast lightened and loosed by thy might 95Ocean and Earth from the lordships of night,Quickening with vision his eye that was veiled,Freshening the force in her heart that had failed,That sister fettered and blinded brotherShould have sight by thy grace and delight of eachother, 100Behold now and seeWhat profit is given them of thee;What wrath has enkindled with madness of mindHer limbs that were bounden, his face that was blind,To be locked as in wrestle together, and lighten 105With fire that shall darken thy fire in the sky,Body to body and eye against eyeIn a war against kind,Till the bloom of her fields and her high hills whitenWith the foam of his waves more high. 110For the sea-marks set to divide of oldThe kingdoms to Ocean and Earth assigned,The hoar sea-fields from the cornfield’s gold,His wine-bright waves from her vineyards’ fold,Frail forces we find 115%To bridle the spirit of Gods or bindTill the heat of their hearts wax cold.But the peace that was stablished between them to stand | Swinburne’s Atalanta in Calydon and Erechtheus 109 Is rent now in twain by the strength of his handWho stirs up the storm of his sons overboldTo pluck from fight what he lost of right,By council and judgment of Gods that spakeAnd gave great Pallas the strife’s fair stake,The lordship and love of the lovely land,The grace of the town that hath on it for crownBut a headband to wearOf violets one-hued with her hair:For the vales and the green high places of earthHold nothing so fair,And the depths of the sea bear no such birthOf the manifold births they bear.Too well, too well was the great stake worthA strife divine for the Gods to judge,A crowned God’s triumph, a foiled God’s grudge,Though the loser be strong and the victress wiseWho played long since for so large a prize,The fruitful immortal anointed adoredDear city of men without master or lord,Fair fortress and fostress of sons born free,Who stand in her sight and in thine, O sun,Slaves of no man, subjects of none;A wonder enthroned on the hills and sea,A maiden crowned with a fourfold gloryThat none from the pride of her head may rend,Violet and olive-leaf purple and hoary,Song-wreath and story the fairest of fame,Flowers that the winter can blast not or bend;A light upon earth as the sun’s own flameA name as his name,Athens, a-praise without end. 120 125 130 140 145 150
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