THE ELDER OF THE CITY.

From what unheard-of world, in what strange keel,

Have ye come hither to our commonweal?

No barbarous race, as these our peasants say,

But learned in memories of a long-past day,

Speaking, some few at least, the ancient tongue

That through the lapse of ages still has clung

To us, the seed of the Ionian race.

Speak out and fear not; if ye need a place

Wherein to pass the end of life away,

That shall ye gain from us from this same day,

Unless the enemies of God ye are;

We fear not you and yours to bear us war,

And scarce can think that ye will try again

Across the perils of the shifting plain

To seek your own land whereso that may be:

For folk of ours bearing the memory

Of our old land, in days past oft have striven

To reach it, unto none of whom was given

To come again and tell us of the tale,

Therefore our ships are now content to sail,

About these happy islands that we know.