Τ’ έχεις καημένε Παρνασσέ ⬥ What ails you, poor Parnassós, what ails you that you stand there sadly. Are your snows not deep, are your streams not fresh? ’Tis’ not my snows, for they are deep, nor my streams, for they run fresh. ’Tis Dístomo, whose folk they slaughtered, ’tis [...]
