Page:Electra of Euripides (Murray 1913).djvu/75

Rh There hath not passed one sun, but through the long

Cold dawns, over and over, like a song,

I have said them—words held back, O, some day yet

To flash into thy face, would but the fret

Of ancient fear fall loose and let me free.

And free I am, now; and can pay to thee

At last the weary debt.

Oh, thou didst kill

My soul within. Who wrought thee any ill,

That thou shouldst make me fatherless? Aye, me

And this my brother, loveless, solitary?

'Twas thou, didst bend my mother to her shame:

Thy weak hand murdered him who led to fame

The hosts of Hellas—thou, that never crossed

O'erseas to Troy! God help thee, wast thou lost

In blindness, long ago, dreaming, some-wise,

She would be true with thee, whose sin and lies

Thyself had tasted in my father's place?

And then, that thou wert happy, when thy days

Were all one pain? Thou knewest ceaselessly

Her kiss a thing unclean, and she knew thee

A lord so little true, so dearly won!

So lost ye both, being in falseness one,

What fortune else had granted; she thy curse,

Who marred thee as she loved thee, and thou hers

And on thy ways thou heardst men whispering,

"Lo, the Queen's husband yonder"—not "the King."

And then the lie of lies that dimmed thy brow,

Vaunting that by thy gold, thy chattels, Thou

Wert Something; which themselves are nothingness,

Shadows, to clasp a moment ere they cease.

The thing thou art, and not the things thou hast,

Abideth, yea, and bindeth to the last