When Solon gave to Athens laws, and sought
To cleanse it from pollutions and the crimes
Which dire disasters from the gods had brought,
He called a prophet from the purer clime,
Of sunny Crete, great Epimenides,
The wise, the nymph-begotten, whose long sleep
Had let him into nature’s mysteries,
And things that are for common minds too deep:
He came, and did the work of bard and priest,
That Solon’s code might shine clear as the sun.
And what reward?--The people hardly wist
But offered riches for the service done.
“An olive branch is all I ask,” he said;
That branch is green, though Athen’s glory’s dead.