Page:Atalanta in Calydon - a tragedy (IA atalantaincalydo00swinrich).pdf/99

 I had set my soul to suffer; or this hunt, Had this despatched them under tusk or tooth Torn, sanguine, trodden, broken; for all deaths Or honourable or with facile feet avenged And hands of swift gods following, all save this, Are bearable; but not for their sweet land Fighting, but not a sacrifice, lo these Dead; for I had not then shed all mine heart Out at mine eyes: then either with good speed, Being just, I had slain their slayer atoningly, Or strewn with flowers their fire and on their tombs Hung crowns, and over them a song, and seen Their praise outflame their ashes: for all men, All maidens, had come thither, and from pure lips Shed songs upon them, from heroic eyes Tears; and their death had been a deathless life; But now, by no man hired nor alien sword, By their own kindred are they fallen, in peace, After much peril, friendless among friends, By hateful hands they loved; and how shall mine Touch these returning red and not from war, These fatal from the vintage of men’s veins, Dead men my brethren? how shall these wash off No festal stains of undelightful wine, How mix the blood, my blood on them, with me, Holding mine hand? or how shall I say, son,