Page:Choëphoroe (Murray 1923).djvu/29

Rh My being; and the stormy drops that rise

Full unforbidden from these starvèd eyes,

Gazing upon this hair. 'Tis past belief

That any Argive tree hath shed this leaf.

And sure she shore it not who wrought his death,

My mother, godless, with no mother's faith

Or kindness for her child.—And yet to swear

Outright that this glad laugher is the hair

Of my beloved Orestes. Oh, I am weak

With dreaming! Had it but a voice to speak

Like some kind messenger, I had not been

This phantom tossing in the wind between

Two fancies. Either quick it would proclaim

Its hate, if from some hater's head it came;

Or, if it were our own, with me 'twould shed

Tears for this tomb and our great father dead.

Surely they know, these gods to whom we pray,

Through what wild seas our vessel beats her way,

And, if to save us is their will, may breed

A mighty oak-trunk from a little seed.

Ah see, the print of feet, a second sign!

The same feet: surely they are shaped like mine.

Surely! Two separate trails of feet are there:

He and perchance some fellow traveller.

The heels; the mark of the long muscle thrown

Athwart them on the sand—just like mine own

In shape and measure. What? Oh, all is vain;

Torment of heart and blinding of the brain!