(from the Golden Lyre)
Proud Ares lays at rest, in Aphrodite’s golden bower,
Ravaging powerful male sweetened can calmed by tender love.
The Muses sing and cajole to provoke a mighty dance,
That the clang of spear and shield rise above to celebrate.
That he join the shout of the company of happy men,
Depart, depart gentle girl, sweet wife and mother women.
Hail Ares ever vigilant, scanning the dusty perimeter,
Hail giant among gods, the strength of arm protecting.
Let not the wolves at the gates tear away at our race,
To not drench the fields in our innocent children’s blood.
The guard at the gate wears proudly his towering helm,
Standing at the gates of our homes, of city, you are guarding.
And when the dogs of war do race, like plagues across the land,
Sound the troops, rouse their warrior spirits with loud cry,
That they go to off to fight, that they go whether to live or die.
May those that would cause us harm tremble before your wrath,
Blood-lusting god your thirsty sword will drink the blood of men,
To protect the wealth, in family and gem, of our noble land.