Chorus
In the past bold Ajax was always my bulwark against night's terrors and flying missiles. But now he has become an offering consecrated [1215] to a malignant divinity. What joy, then, what delight awaits me anymore? O to be where the wooded wave-washed cape fences off the deep sea, [1220] to be beneath Sunium's jutting plateau, so that we might salute sacred Athens!
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