Page:Agamemnon (1877) Browning.djvu/80

64 With backward-turning eyes

Leaving,—to holy seats she hies,

Not worshipping the power of wealth

Stamped with applause by stealth:

And to its end directs each thing begun.

Approach then, my monarch, of Troia the sacker, of Atreus the son!

How ought I address thee, how ought I revere thee,—nor yet overhitting

Nor yet underbending the grace that is fitting?

Many of mortals hasten to honor the seeming-to-be—

Passing by justice: and, with the ill-faring, to groan as he groans all are free.

But no bite of the sorrow their liver has reached to: