This from that soul incorrupt whom Athens had doomed to the death,
When Crito brought promise of freedom: “Vainly thou spendest thy breath!
Dost remember the wild Corybantes? feel they the knife or the rod?
Heed they the fierce summer sun, the frost, or winterly flaws?—
If any entreat them, they answer, ‘We hear but the flutes of the God!’

“So even am I, O my Crito! Thou pleadest a losing cause!
Thy words are but sound without import—I hear but the Voice of the Laws;
And, know thou! the Voice of the Laws is to me as the flutes of the God.”

Thus spake that soul incorrupt; and wherever, since hemlock was quaffed,
A man has stood forth without fear—has chosen the dark deep draught—
Has taken the lone one way, nor the path of dishonor has trod—
Behold! he, too, hears but the Voice of the Laws, the flutes of the God.