Chorus
Goddess of the hills, Earth all-nourishing, mother of Zeus himself, you through whose realm the great Pactolus [395] rolls golden sands! There, there also, dread Mother, I called upon your name, when all the insults of the Atreids landed upon this man, when they handed over his father's armor, that sublime marvel, [400] to the son of Laertes. Hear it, blessed queen, who rides on bull-slaughtering lions!
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