to him that knows, Men say, each chance that falls, each wind that blows Hath life, when he seeks counsel. Up, O chief Of men, and lift thy city from its grief; Face thine own peril! All our land doth hold Thee still our saviour, for that help of old: Shall they that tell of thee hereafter tell "By him was Thebes raised up, and after fell!" Nay, lift us till we slip no more. Oh, let That bird of old that made us fortunate Wing back; be thou our Oedipus again.