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But if one of the Blessèd should turn this affliction away, there remain

Countless afflictions beside, far worse than the battle’s strain.

For when through the gates of the grave the older women have passed,

And childless the younger have won to a joyless eld at the last,

How then will ye live, O hapless?—what, will the beasts freewilled

On their own necks cast the yoke, to the end that your lands may be tilled?

And the furrow-sundering share will they drag through the heavy loam?

And, as rolleth the year round, straight will they bring you the harvest home?

Now, albeit from me the Fates still shrink as in loathing and fear,

Yet surely on me, when the feet draw nigh of another year,{690}

The earth shall lie, when the burial rites have been rendered to me,

Even as is due, and the evil days I shall not see.

But for you which be younger, I counsel you, give good heed unto this,

For that now at your feet an open way of deliverance there is,

If ye will but commit your dwellings and all your spoil to the guard