Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/173

Rh Will not the Fury in her sable pall

Pass outward from these halls, what time the gods

Welcome a votive offering from our hands?

The gods! long since they hold us in contempt,

Scornful of gifts thus offered by the lost!

Why should we fawn and flinch away from doom?

Now, when it stands beside thee! for its power

May, with a changing gust of milder mood,

Temper the blast that bloweth wild and rude

And frenzied, in this hour!

Ay, kindled by the curse of Oedipus—

All too prophetic, out of dreamland came

The vision, meting out our sire's estate!

Heed women's voices, though thou love them not!

Say aught that may avail, but stint thy words.

Go not thou forth to guard the seventh gate!

Words shall not blunt the edge of my resolve.