Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/208

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And how shall he decree it? say, what hope?

Seëst thou not thy sin? yet of that sin

It irks me sore to speak, as thee to hear.

Nay, no more words hereof; bethink thee now,

From this ordeal how to find release.

Easy it is, for one whose foot is set

Outside the slough of pain, to lesson well

With admonitions him who lies therein.

With perfect knowledge did I all I did,

I willed to sin, and sinned, I own it all—

I championed men, unto my proper pain.

Yet scarce I deemed that, in such cruel doom,

Withering upon this skyey precipice,

I should inherit lonely mountain crags,

Here, in a vast un-neighboured solitude.

Yet list not to lament my present pains,

But, stepping from your cars unto the ground,

Listen, the while I tell the future fates

Now drawing near, until ye know the whole.

Grant ye, O grant my prayer, be pitiful

To one now racked with woe! the doom of pain

Wanders, but settles, soon or late, on all.

To willing hearts, and schooled to feel,

Prometheus, came thy tongue's appeal;

Therefore we leave, with lightsome tread,

The flying cars in which we sped—

We leave the stainless virgin air

Where wingèd creatures float and fare,