Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/40

10 Like her I wail and wail, in soft Ionian tones,

And as she wastes, even so

Wastes my soft cheek, once ripe with Nilus' suns,

And all my heart dissolves in utter woe.

Sad flowers of grief I cull,

Fleeing from kinsmen's love unmerciful—

Yea, from the clutching hands, the wanton crowd,

I sped across the waves, from Egypt's land of cloud.

Gods of the ancient cradle of my race,

Hear me, just gods! With righteous grace

On me, on me look down!

Grant not to youth its heart's unchaste desire,

But, swiftly spurning lust's unholy fire,

Bless only love and willing wedlock's crown!

The war-worn fliers from the battle's wrack

Find refuge at the hallowed altar-side,

The sanctuary divine,—

Ye gods! such refuge unto me provide—

Such sanctuary be mine!

Though the deep will of Zeus be hard to track,

Yet doth it flame and glance,

A beacon in the dark, 'mid clouds of chance

That wrap mankind.

Yea, though the counsel fall, undone it shall not lie,

Whate'er be shaped and fixed within Zeus' ruling mind—