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Yet one last cry: O Father, hear and save!

Pity thy children cast upon thy grave:

The woman pity, and the weeping man.

And blot not out the old race that began

With Pelops: and though slain thou art not dead!

Children are living voices for a head

Long silent, floats which hold the net and keep

The twisted line unfoundered in the deep.

Listen: 'tis thou we weep for, none but thou:

Thyself art savèd if thou save us now.

Behold, ye have made a long and yearning praise,

This sepulchre for unlamented days

Requiting to the full. And for the rest,

Seeing now thine heart is lifted on the crest

Of courage, get thee to the deed, and see

What power the Daemon hath which guardeth thee.

So be it. Yet methinks to know one thing

Were well. Why sent she this drink-offering?

Hoped she by late atonement to undo

That wrong eternal? A vain comfort, too,