As the crisis comes nearer the Chorus long for the moment of
escape--the sensation of the hart that has leaped the net and with
storm-wind haste escaped the hunter's pursuit and reached the silent
shadow of the old hospitable wood. VICTORY IS THE JOY OF JOYS. Slow
and true are the avenging deities, with printless foot hounding the
impious along their winding path: for law is old as oldest time.
VICTORY IS THE JOY OF JOYS. Happy the sailor in port, he whose race is
o'er: hopes hover over thousands, but
Happiness alone is his
That happy is to-day. {928}