Second Stasimon

CHORUS.When white-haired folk are metIn Argos about the fold,A story lingereth yet,A voice of the mountains old,That tells of the Lamb of Gold:A lamb from a mother mild,But the gold of it curled and beat;And Pan, who holdeth the keys of the wild,Bore it to Atreus' feet:His wild reed pipes he blew,And the reeds were filled with peace,And a joy of singing before him flew,Over the fiery fleece:And up on the basèd rock,As a herald cries, cried he:"Gather ye, gather, O Argive folk,The King's Sign to see,The sign of the blest of God,For he that hath this, hath all!"Therefore the dance of praise they trodIn the Atreïd brethren's hall.

They opened before men's eyesThat which was hid before,The chambers of sacrifice,The dark of the golden door,And fires on the altar floor.And bright was every street,And the voice of the Muses' tree.The carven lotus, was lifted sweet;When afar and suddenly,Strange songs, and a voice that grew:"Come to your king, ye folk!Mine, mine, is the Golden Ewe!"'Twas dark Thyestes spoke.For, lo, when the world was still,With his brother's bride he lay,And won her to work his will,And they stole the Lamb away!Then forth to the folk strode he,And called them about his fold,And showed that Sign of the King to be,The fleece and the horns of gold.

Then, then, the world was changed;And the Father, where they ranged,Shook the golden stars and glowing,And the great Sun stood derangedIn the glory of his going.

Lo, from that day forth, the EastBears the sunrise on his breast,And the flaming Day in heavenDown the dim ways of the westDriveth, to be lost at even.

The wet clouds to Northward beat;And Lord Ammon's desert seatCrieth from the South, unslaken,For the dews that once were sweet,For the rain that God hath taken.

'Tis a children's tale, that oldShepherds on far hills have told;And we reck not of their telling,Deem not that the Sun of goldEver turned his fiery dwelling,

Or beat backward in the sky,For the wrongs of man, the cryOf his ailing tribes assembled,To do justly, ere they die!Once, men told the tale, and trembled;

Fearing God, O Queen: whom thouHast forgotten, till thy browWith old blood is dark and daunted.And thy brethren, even now,Walk among the stars, enchanted.