Page:Atalanta in Calydon - a tragedy (IA atalantaincalydo00swinrich).pdf/88

 Flits through flowering rush to fret White or duskier violet, Fair as those that in far years With their buds left luminous And their little leaves made wet, From the warmer dew of tears, Mother’s tears in extreme need, Hid the limbs of Iamus, Of thy brother’s seed; For his heart was piteous Toward him, even as thine heart now Pitiful toward us; Thine, O goddess, turning hither A benignant blameless brow; Seeing enough of evil done And lives withered as leaves wither In the blasting of the sun; Seeing enough of hunters dead, Ruin enough of all our year, Herds and harvests slain and shed, Herdsmen stricken many an one, Fruits and flocks consumed together, And great length of deadly days. Yet with reverent lips and fear Turn we toward thee, turn and praise For this lightening of clear weather