Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/219

Rh

Surely thy silence hides some solemn thing.

Think on some other theme: 'tis not the hour,

This secret to unveil; in deepest dark

Be it concealed: by guarding it shall I

Escape at last from bonds, and scorn, and pain.

O never may my weak and faint desire

Strive against God most high—

Never be slack in service, never tire

Of sacred loyalty;

Nor fail to wend unto the altar-side,

Where with the blood of kine

Steams up the offering, by the quenchless tide

Of Ocean, Sire divine!

Be this within my heart, indelible—

Offend not with thy tongue!

Sweet, sweet it is, in cheering hopes to dwell,

Immortal, ever young,

In maiden gladness fostering evermore

A soft content of soul!

But ah, I shudder at thine anguish sore—

Thy doom thro' years that roll!

Thou could'st not cower to Zeus: a love too great

Thou unto man hast given—

Too high of heart thou wert—ah, thankless fate!

What aid, 'gainst wrath of Heaven,

Could mortal man afford? in vain thy gift

To things so powerless!

Could'st thou not see? they are as dreams that drift;